by Unknown
“I guess we can remain friends,” Vanessa replied with a frown, “although it won’t be as much fun.”
Nick chuckled. “But think of it this way. I will always be here if you need someone to talk to. If you meet a new guy and you want his background checked, I’m your man.”
A grin stretched across her face. “Why do you make it sound exciting when I know it’s not?”
“Because to me, it is exciting. I need friends right now, Vanessa, not a girlfriend.”
After the waiter took their orders, Vanessa’s gaze moved around the room until she found someone to wave at. At least she’d gotten the point Nick was trying to make tonight.
“So tell me, Vanessa, has your family always been in the jewelry business?” he asked when she looked at him again.
“Yes, I think they have. Why do you ask?”
“Did you know that in 1912 the building belonged to Edward Carlisle and he used it for his newspaper business? He was a very wealthy man back then.”
“No, I didn’t know that. I wonder why he sold it to my greatgrandmother.”
“According to the articles I’ve read on the Internet, when Edward Carlisle died, his money fell into the wrong hands. Not too long after that, Cassandra Brown bought the building.”
Nick had decided not to tell Vanessa about the brother, Alexander Carlisle, since that man’s life was still a mystery.
“That’s very interesting,” Vanessa said. “I’ve always wondered how my great-grandmother came to own a jewelry company. I mean, back then, not many women owned businesses, right?”
“True. She was very young, too. At least she didn’t look very old in the picture.”
“Do you know if she was married to my great-grandfather then?”
Nick shrugged. “The article talked about Cassandra Brown, not Cassandra Westland. So I doubt she was married. Unless . . .” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Was she married to a Brown before she met your great-grandfather?”
“I don’t know. In all the stories I’ve heard, nothing was mentioned about a previous husband.”
“That makes the story even more amazing, doesn’t it?” Nick said. “Mainly because she was single and she owned a business.”
“Yes, it does.”
Dinner passed quickly, and when Vanessa didn’t try to hit on him, he thanked his lucky stars. While she rambled on about nothing, he kept going over in his mind everything they’d discussed about Cassandra Brown. Things didn’t add up. If she was 118 years old now, she would have been 24 in 1917—too young to be considered seriously in that day and age. And she’d been single, to boot. Unless her parents were filthy rich, where had she gotten the money to buy a large building and open a jewelry store?
Nick drove Vanessa home. When he walked her to the door, he hugged her. It surprised him when she didn’t try to steal a kiss.
He couldn’t wait to get back to Abby, so when he got in the car he punched the gas pedal harder than he should have. After parking his car at the building, he hurried inside and up the stairs to his office. “Abby?” he called as he opened the door.
He turned on the light and waited for a few minutes, but his ghost friend didn’t show up. She’d mentioned staying in the attic, and although he didn’t know where that was, he was determined to find it.
He took the elevator to the top floor. The smaller hallway was dark, but he found the light and turned it on. Nick looked for an out-of-the-way door, different from the office doors, and finally found it at the end of the hallway by the window. He tested the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.
With a groan, he tried again, this time slamming his shoulder into the door as he pushed. It opened and he fell through, stumbling inside. The musty air tickled his nose and he sneezed. From inside a woman gasped, and something clattered to the floor.
He grinned. “Abby, it’s me, Nick.”
When she emerged from behind a stack of boxes, he wanted to rush to her, pick her up, and swing her around. He felt like an infatuated schoolboy, and he decided maybe it was a good thing she was a ghost.
Then he noticed the trembling frown on her lips and the tears in her eyes. He hurried to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Another newspaper article.” Abby sniffed and wiped her swollen eyes. “The news is devastating. I still cannot believe it.”
His chest clenched. “Show me the article.”
Seven
With a shaky hand, Abigail wiped her wet cheeks. Emotion clogged her throat, and her heart felt like it would break. “While you were with Vanessa, I thought about how I could help you, so I looked through every newspaper I could find that had been kept here since I died, to see if there was anything about my father’s death, or even anything about Uncle Alexander.” She sniffed. “This is what I found.” She pointed to the newspaper on the floor.
Nick picked up the paper, then stood and held it closer to the single-bulb light. “‘Mistress demands money,’” he read aloud.
He looked at Abigail and she motioned toward the paper. “Keep reading.”
“‘After the death of millionaire Edward Carlisle and his daughter, Abigail, Miss Lillian Burnett came forward with startlinginformation.AccordingtoMissBurnett,sheandEdward Carlisle had been intimate for the past ten years. Although they never married, Miss Burnett says they had discussed the idea in great detail. Miss Burnett feels she is entitled to some of Edward Carlisle’s millions, which have now been passed to his younger brother, Alexander Carlisle.’”
Hearing the words in Nick’s voice made Abigail’s chest tighten even more. His deep tone always stirred her, but now the words penetrated her mind, confirming the truth she had wanted to deny since reading the article herself.
“Is this true?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It just can’t be! My father was a very proper man, and he wouldn’t have done something so low, so scandalous. He was a good man and had a respectable name. He would not have done this, I assure you.” Abigail wiped away a tear. “Besides that, when would he have had time for this woman when he couldn’t spend enough time with his own daughter?”
Abigail held back a sob. Her father had never found much time for her, and now she wondered if this Lillian Burnett was the reason. Abigail had fought for his attention for so many years, knowing the only way she’d get it was to take an interest in the newspaper. She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.
“Maybe this woman, Lillian Burnett, was lying,” Nick said.
Abigail wiped the tears from her face. “Possibly.”
He sat on the floor and motioned for her to join him. When she did, he tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but of course she felt nothing. She wanted so much to cuddle against his chest, to feel the warmth that came from a living person.
“It’s surprising what greedy people will do or say in order to get money,” Nick said. “I’m sure this lady was investigated thoroughly and her story was checked out. In fact, I’d bet she was just a schemer, and that your father wasn’t the first person she tried getting money from.”
“Do you really think so?” Abigail’s hopes lifted a bit.
“Yes. People do this all the time in today’s world. I’m guessing this Lillian Burnett figured it out way back then.”
Abigail leaned into him and tried to rest her head on his shoulder. When warmth touched her cheek, she jumped back and gasped.
“What’s wrong, Abby?”
“You are warm!”
“Yeah, I usually am,” Nick said. “Why?”
“I can feel it.”
“You can feel me?”
She shook her head. “Only your warmth.”
He smiled and motioned his head for her to come closer. “Then by all means, lean against me and share my heat.”
Once again, she scooted closer to him. She noticed his chest rising and falling faster, and she felt hers do the same.
“I wish I could hol
d you,” he whispered.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Me too.” She swallowed nervously. “What do you feel when I’m this close?
“You feel like a cool mist.”
Abigail shifted away from him and met his gaze. “Then I should not get so close.”
“No.” He motioned for her to come back to his shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me. It feels rather nice.”
“That is pleasing to hear.” She smiled and moved back to his shoulder, wishing she could feel something more solid. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes. “How was your evening with Vanessa?”
“Very enlightening,” Nick replied.
“It was?”
“Yes. Cassandra Brown is her great-grandmother.”
Abigail straightened, looking at him. “Are you jesting?”
“Nope.” He grinned. “Even more surprising is that the old woman is still alive.”
“Impossible!”
“That’s what I thought, too.” He shook his head. “Cassandra would have to be over one hundred.” “One hundred and eighteen, to be exact.”
Abigail gasped. “And she is still alive? How could anyone be alive at that age?”
“I couldn’t tell you that, but Vanessa is arranging for me to meet her.”
Nick raised his hand and brushed his fingers by her chin. Once again, warmth touched her soul, and she wanted to sigh with happiness.
“I wish you could go with me,” he said.
“Not nearly as much as I do.”
“We need to find a way for you to leave the building.”
She tilted her head. “How? I have been here since I died.”
“Have you tried to leave?”
“Several times, but an invisible force always pulls me back.”
“Well, I’m still determined to find a way.”
Abigail laid her head back on his shoulder, or tried to. “Nick Marshal, you’re a very kind-hearted man. Why aren’t there more men like you?”
His body shook with a soft laugh. “That’s a sweet compliment, and very flattering. But truly, there should be more women like you in the world.”
“What? Ghosts haunting buildings looking for men with the initials N.M.?” She giggled at her own joke.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I think you have a kind and giving heart, too, and there aren’t a lot of women I’ve met who I can say that about.”
Abigail smiled and cuddled closer, but her hat got in the way. It sat crookedly on her head, making her uncomfortable. Strange, since it had never done that before. She sat up and took out the pins holding it to her hair, then tossed the bothersome accessory to the ground beside her.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Nick said.
“What? Remove my hat?”
“Yes.”
“I can. I only wear it when I’m in your presence.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the proper thing.”
He grinned. “We’re not in 1912 any longer, sweetie. There’s no propriety here.”
She laughed. “All right then. I’ll not wear it anymore.”
“What about your gloves?”
Her heart hammered as she slipped off her gloves and placed them with her hat.
“And what about your hair?” he asked.
Abigail touched the tight bun she’d always worn it in. “What about it?”
“Women in my day don’t wear their hair like that unless they’re eighty years old, and then that’s not accurate either, since some keep their hair short. Anyway, since I’m the only one who can see you, why don’t you take your beautiful, brown hair out of that coil and let it fall over your shoulders?”
Her heart beat a crazy rhythm against her chest. Dare she? She’d never done anything so brazen before.
Nick swept his fingers along her jaw. “Please? For me?”
Oh, dear! How could she turn him down? But she must, for she was a proper young woman. Then again, why did it matter? She was dead. And to be completely accurate, she was a very proper old woman. She was even older than Cassandra Brown.
Abigail reached behind her head and found the pins in her bun. With all of her heart she wanted Nick to know she’d do anything for him. But she had only known him a week. How could she feel this way for a man she hardly knew? Yet her heart told her differently. He was her soul mate! Her grandmother had known and had told her about Nick. How could Abigail deny destiny?
One by one the pins fell to the floor, and her long tresses tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Since she didn’t have a brush, she threaded her fingers through her locks to smooth them.
Nick lifted his hand to touch her hair, but then stopped and frowned. “You have beautiful hair,” he said as he lowered his hand to the floor.
“Thank you. No one has seen it down except for my father, my grandmother, and my maid.”
Nick sat straighter. “You had a maid?”
“Yes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How well did you know your maid? Would she have gained anything by your death? Should we put her on our suspects list?”
Abigail shook her head. “I cannot see why she would have had anything to gain from my death. She wouldn’t have inherited anything. With both my father and me dead, she’d have to find other employment.”
Nick sighed. “Well, that idea is shot.”
“Thank you again for trying to help.” As she continued to comb her fingers through her hair, Abigail thought about the woman who had always been her maid. Lily. Kind, sweet, and wonderful Lily. Almost like a mother.
“I wonder what happened to her,” Abigail whispered mostly to herself.
“Who? Your maid?”
“Yes, Lily. I don’t think she would have easily found other employment at her age.”
Nick’s brows creased. “How old was she?”
“I don’t know for certain, but probably around my father’s age. Maybe a little younger.”
Nick groaned, his eyes widening.
“What’s wrong?” Abigail asked.
“You said your maid’s name was Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Could that have been short for her real name?”
“I cannot remember. Why?”
“Because Lily is a nickname for Lillian.”
As soon as the words registered in Abigail’s head, her body felt as if she’d just been dunked in ice-cold water. Could her father have been having an affair with her maid? Impossible! Then again, now that she thought about it, the year before her father died, she had walked in on him and Lily talking, and they had jumped apart like scared rabbits. Abigail recalled wondering why the two seemed so nervous around each other.
“Oh, good heavens. I do believe you’re correct.” She placed her hands over her face as tears gathered behind her eyes. How could her father have done such an awful thing? And why would he carry on with her maid, of all people?
“No, Abby. I don’t have to be right,” Nick said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
She shook her head, still keeping her hands over her face. “Now that I think back, I do remember them being together entirely too much, since she was my maid, not his. Foolishly, I dismissed the idea of them having an affair. They always had an excuse for being in the same room so close together, alone.” She groaned. “How naive I was.”
“Abby, please don’t do this to yourself.”
Warmth touched her shoulders, and she knew Nick’s hands were on her. Then something touched her forehead. This too was warm, but a bit of moisture followed. She dropped her hands to see what he was doing, and his face was so near. Had he kissed her?
“Please, don’t cry,” he said. “It breaks my heart to see you like this, knowing I can’t do anything about it.”
Abigail’s heart twisted, but she wiped her tears and nodded. “Once again, you’re correct. I shouldn’t cry. If my father chose to have an affair with one of his servants, that was his decision. Who was I to stop him? Besides, that was in the
past. It’s over now, and I need not worry about anything but my future.”
Nick gave her a tender smile. “That’s my girl.”
Her stomach fluttered at the endearment. Why hadn’t she been fortunate enough to meet a man like him in her lifetime? Where there men like him in the early 1900s? If there were, had she been too blind to notice them?
Nick pulled away and stood. “I need to get home. It’s late.”
“Yes. I shouldn’t expect you to be here all weekend just for me.”
“I’m very tired. But I promise to come see you tomorrow.”
“No. You need to get rest to be alert for your real clients.”
He tilted his head. “And you’re not a real client?”
“No. Have you forgotten? I’m a ghost.”
He grinned. “You’re still real to me.”
“Only in my dreams,” Abigail muttered to herself as she walked out of the attic beside him.
They took the elevator down to his office so he could turn off his lights and lock the door, and then she followed him to the front door of the building.
“Goodnight, Nick.”
Abigail looked out into the night, where only a few streetlights lit the front of the building. Two cars passed as she and Nick stared silently out the double-glass doors. How she missed going outside! Then again, she missed a lot of things about being alive.
He turned and met her stare, his grin widening. “Come outside with me.”
“What?”
“Come on. Let’s find out how far you can go.”
Abigail wrung her hands against her stomach. “I don’t think—”
“You’ll never know until you try. I just may be your lucky charm.” Nick motioned with his head as he opened the door. “Please?”
“But what if—”
“Come on. Walk me out to my car.” He opened the door and stepped outside.
Her heart hammered and her limbs shook, but she forced herself to walk toward him. When she stepped outside and the door closed behind her, she sucked in a quick breath. The last time she’d tried this, she’d been following one of the people helping renovate the building. She’d followed him almost to the edge of the building property before the invisible force yanked her back. So far, walking beside Nick was working out well.