by Lena Gregory
All right, so seeing might be too strong a term. She hadn’t actually seen Luke in over a month, but they talked on the phone often. Sort of. She huffed out a breath.
“Exactly.”
“Hi.” The stranger closed the door behind him. “Cold enough out there?”
Bee nudged Cass with his elbow.
“Uh . . .”
Beast’s wagging body made it difficult for her to concentrate. Right . . . Can’t be the handsome stranger interfering with my ability to focus. Ignoring the internal reprimand, Cass stepped forward and gripped the hand the man extended toward her.
“I’m Jim.”
“Cass. Cass Donovan. Are you here for the psychic weekend? You’re a little early. We have a few hours left before we begin.” Were there really only a few hours left? She checked the clock over the mantle. About eight hours, really, but it still wasn’t enough. Butterflies flitted through her stomach and into her throat.
He released her hand and reached for Bee’s.
Thankfully, Bee shook hands with no drama.
“Yes, I’m here for the weekend. I wanted to make sure I got over here before they stop ferry service because of the storm.”
“Are they already talking about shutting down?” The thought of canceling this whole cockamamie idea flitted through her mind, followed by a wave of relief. Then reality set in. There was no way out. The worst of the storm wouldn’t arrive until close to midnight, hours after the guests were due to arrive.
“Nah. Not yet, at least, but they will soon enough.” Jim dropped his black duffle bag on the floor in the foyer. “So, what can I do to help?”
Shooting Bee a—hopefully discreet—shut up stare, Cass struggled to figure out where to start. Isabella would be arriving with the food soon, so she had to check the kitchen. She had to find her room and stash her overnight bag.
Jim shrugged out of his coat. A brown sweater stretched across his muscular chest, and the muscles of his back rippled beneath the fabric when he turned to hang his coat on the rack beside the door. Okay, she was definitely not taking him up to her room. She’d have to take care of that later. “Did Priscilla send you?”
“Yup. She issues the commands, and I obey.” His laugher echoed in the high ceilings. His calm, easy demeanor worked to soothe Cass’s nerves. If he was an example of Priscilla Wellington’s lackeys, she was one lucky woman.
“I guess you can take a walk with me to the kitchen. I have to check that everything is in order for the caterer, and the rest of the staff is due to arrive any minute.”
Beast whimpered and barked, trying to pull free of Bee’s hold.
“You can let him go.” Jim’s grin sparkled in the green of his eyes as he showered Beast with attention, petting behind his ears, then squatting down when Beast rolled over and bared his belly for a rub. “What a beautiful animal. He’s got a great temperament.”
Yeah, as long as you don’t turn your back on him or leave him alone anywhere.
Bee caught Cass’s gaze over Jim’s head, bit his lower lip, and fanned himself.
Firming her mouth into a line, she narrowed her eyes in a warning glare.
The front door opened again. This time Priscilla blew in with the wind.
She opened her arms wide, and Jim stood and embraced her, kissing each of her cheeks.
Disappointment flared in Cass’s gut, surprising her.
“Hello, dear.” She offered Cass a quick embrace, which she awkwardly returned. “Don’t you love what we’ve done with the place?”
“Umm . . .” Not really. “Sure. It looks beautiful.” That’s true enough.
“I see you’ve already met the third Wellington sibling.” She gestured toward Jim.
Easygoing Jim was James Wellington? It didn’t seem possible that he was related to high-strung Conrad or in-constant-motion Priscilla.
Bee offered a sympathetic smile before easing the awkward moment of silence. “I have to run back to the shop for a few things, and I want to do it before this storm blows in and the roads get bad. Come on, Beast—want to take a ride?”
Beast yelped once and trotted toward Bee, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
Bee held out a hand to Cass, palm up.
“What?”
“You don’t think I’m putting this monster in my car, do you?”
Huffing out a breath, Cass fished the keys from her pocket and dropped them in Bee’s hand. Pain in the—
“Thanks, dear. Be right back. Go tend to whatever you have to do.” He shooed them toward the kitchen.
Biting back a growl, she shut the door behind them and turned back to the Wellingtons.
3
Cass stood beside Priscilla at the open front door, greeting people. The more information she had about each of them, the easier it would be for her to “read” them, so she tried to study everyone who entered and pick out who seemed nervous, who seemed excited, who seemed skeptical—
Bee’s curse came to her from the living room, followed by Stephanie’s “Shush.”
Cass winced as she glanced at Priscilla, who was shaking hands and smiling at a woman who had just entered. Good. Maybe she hadn’t heard.
Half of the guests had already arrived, and Bee hadn’t yet finished setting up the sound system. But, to his credit, the house definitely looked much spookier now. The lighting had been dimmed. He’d brought fabric from Dreamweaver Designs and dyed it to look age-stained—which was the reason he was currently running so late—and made slipcovers for the couches. Wispy cobwebs rippled in several corners, stirred by the wind from the open front door.
Priscilla had balked at first, but Jim had come to the rescue, convincing her that spooky would be better for their purposes. She’d agreed, but only for the séance. Tomorrow morning, before the readings, everything would have to be restored.
Conrad had simply looked at them with disgust, rolled his eyes, and walked away.
The woman moved on to shake Cass’s hand. “I’m Joan Wellington. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ah, Conrad’s wife. The mousy woman didn’t seem as formidable as Cass had expected. She was thin to the point of being frail, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, her features delicate.
“It’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for coming.” Cass released her hand and started to turn to greet the next customer.
Joan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’ve actually heard of you. A friend of mine went to your shop over the summer and had a reading. She asked me to pass on a message.”
Cass waited, anxious to move on to the rest of the guests and get the front door closed before she froze to death.
“She and her husband came in when she first found out she was having a baby, and you told her she was having a girl. Her husband was skeptical, but Simone believed you completely.”
Cass couldn’t place the couple, since so many came in asking the same question, but she held her breath waiting to see if she’d been right.
Joan’s grin answered the question before she said anything. “She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl two weeks ago.”
Joy spread through Cass. “Tell her I said congratulations.”
“I will. Thank you. I’m looking forward to having a reading from you.”
She moved on. Conrad, who’d been hovering nearby, placed a gentle hand on Joan’s elbow and guided her toward the back of the house, and Cass turned to greet the next guest. The smile froze on her face.
In front of her stood Donald Larson, her ex-husband, and Sylvia Marshall, her ex–best friend, arm-in-arm. Fear was etched on Donald’s face as he extracted his hand from Sylvia’s grip and moved forward to greet Cass. His eyes held a plea—for her to remain silent, maybe.
When he extended his hand, Cass took it automatically, unable to even form a coherent thought.
He leaned ov
er, her hand gripped in his, and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry. Priscilla forced all of us to come.” Then he released her hand and moved on, leaving her head reeling.
Sylvia breezed past her with no greeting, her expression smug, her long fur coat trailing behind her.
Cass greeted the rest of the guests automatically, a haze of bad memories plaguing her. Sylvia had been her best friend until the day Cass had gone home early. The day she’d needed Donald’s support after one of her patients had committed suicide soon after leaving her office. The day she’d found Donald and Sylvia engaged in . . . inappropriate activities in Cass’s living room.
“Are you okay?”
Cass jumped, the hand on her shoulder bringing her back to the present. The concern in Jim’s eyes sent heat rushing to Cass’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I must have zoned out for a minute.” The front door was already closed, and Priscilla was walking up the stairs with the last of the guests. “Is everyone here?”
Jim shrugged. “Most everyone, though a few haven’t shown up. The ferry is shut down now, and the roads are getting bad, so I doubt anyone else will show.” He grinned. “I do feel bad for those who didn’t make it without a good excuse, though.”
“Oh.” Keeping her mind on what he was saying was a struggle, the image of Sylvia’s self-satisfied smirk raking Cass’s last nerve. “Why’s that?”
He laughed out loud, a deep, rich sound that made her smile in spite of her ex’s presence. “Priscilla can be a real sweetheart, but if she tells you to be somewhere, you’re there. No excuses.” He put a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the ballroom at the back of the house. “Come on. It’s time for the séance, and Priscilla doesn’t tolerate tardiness.” He released her when he spotted Priscilla and went to whisper something in her ear.
Cass’s stomach heaved, its contents roiling and sending bile rushing up the back of her throat. She forced it back down. How was she supposed to do this with her exes sitting there staring at her? She glanced around the room for Stephanie. Bee would already be long gone—hopefully he’d remembered to get Beast from her room—but she needed some support if she was going to get through this. Entering the ballroom brought a small measure of comfort. A beautiful stone fireplace lent warmth as well as ambiance. The long table would easily seat everyone; she’d just have to make sure to have Stephanie seat her exes as far from her as possible. The wallpaper in the ballroom hadn’t yet been replaced, and the yellowing paper was peeling at the corners. Sconces dotted the walls of the octagon-shaped room.
Cass drew in a deep breath, searching for calm, and fingered the small stones she’d put in her skirt pocket to help soothe her nerves. Did they really work? Who knew? But her customers sure seemed to think they did . . . plus, they couldn’t hurt.
As she massaged the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, Cass studied the guests in attendance. It seemed at least half were already seated at the large table. Soft mood music played in the background, and she offered a silent thank-you to Bee.
Dessert and coffee would be served after the séance, but the thought of food set her stomach off again.
“Jeez, you look like you saw a ghost.”
Startled by the voice in her ear, Cass jumped and turned.
“Hey. You all right?” Stephanie frowned and gripped both of Cass’s arms.
“Yeah.” Cass shook her head. “No. Ugh . . . I don’t know.”
“What’s the matter?” Stephanie’s urgent whisper echoed in the high-ceilinged room.
Blowing her bangs up off her forehead, Cass grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the corner. “Donald is here with Sylvia.”
“What!” Stephanie’s confused expression hardened into a scowl. “That snake.”
Warmth surged through Cass. It would be all right. She’d get through this, with the help of one of her best friends, just as she’d gotten through the past year and a half. Donald’s presence would probably be tolerable, especially since he’d had the decency to show some level of embarrassment. Sylvia’s snide smirks could be a problem, though. She’d always been a bit condescending, especially where Cass was concerned, but it had worsened after she’d stolen Cass’s husband.
Stephanie squeezed her hand, and Cass shoved the thoughts aside. This was her night. She’d built Mystical Musings from nothing, and she wasn’t about to let Sylvia take anything else away from her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll dump coffee in her lap after the show.” Stephanie’s grin lightened Cass’s mood.
Cass sucked in a breath, pulling her thick cable-knit sweater over her head. She untangled the chain of her good luck necklace from her wavy blond hair, tucked it back in place, and handed the sweater to Stephanie. She took the purple robe Stephanie held out to her and slid it over her black leggings, skirt, and camisole top. The coin belt jangled as she cinched it around her waist, the familiarity of the routine working to soothe her nerves.
Cass reviewed the information Bee had given her. But who should she contact? Buford Wellington, who’d died in the house a hundred years ago, or Horatio Madison who’d died more recently? Bee had suggested Horatio Madison, since he wasn’t an ancestor of anyone in attendance, but Cass didn’t have a copy of the complete guest list, so how would she know if any Madisons were among the guests?
Horatio had only died ten years ago. There was a chance, however small, that someone in attendance could have known him. Buford, on the other hand . . . Well, there was no possibility anyone here had known him.
She rolled her hair into a bun and tucked it beneath the purple sash. With a deep breath, she smoothed her robe and started forward. Problem solved. She’d contact Buford.
Silence descended on the guests as Cass took her place at the head of the table. The crackling of flames and the soft music playing in the background were the only sounds in the room. An occasional gust of wind blowing off the bay rattled the windows.
Thankful Donald and Sylvia were seated at the far end of the table—but off to the side where she wouldn’t have to look straight at them—Cass took a deep cleansing breath and stood. Everyone followed her lead. “I’d like to thank all of you for coming.” She surveyed the faces staring back at her, some familiar from town or her regular monthly readings, but many strangers. She stared at Priscilla, who stood opposite Cass at the far end of the table, her brothers flanking her. “I’d also like to thank the Wellingtons for hosting this event. And wish them much success with the new Wellington Inn.”
A smattering of applause as she lifted her glass of wine from the table in a toast, then the others followed suit.
“Please, be seated.”
Cass sat, adjusting her purple satin robe to stall for an extra minute or two. She worked to clear her mind. With the unexpected props they’d needed, Bee had been busy all afternoon. By the time he’d finished, she was already greeting guests, so he’d never had a chance to go over everything with her. Hopefully, he’d told Stephanie what to do.
She heaved in a breath and began. “Please hold hands.” Cass gripped Sara Ryan’s hand on her right, thankful Stephanie had seated someone familiar beside her.
Rustling sounded, along with a few nervous giggles, as everyone moved to grab their neighbors’ hands.
Stephanie leaned over the table and lit several candles then extinguished the lights. The music continued, but with the volume lowered. A few dim sconces on the walls remained lit. Their flames flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room.
Nice touch, Bee.
When Stephanie sat beside her at the table, Cass gripped her hand, closed her eyes, and remained quiet.
Someone shifted.
She tried to ignore it. Lowering her head, she searched for calm, tried to center herself, to find peace.
Someone coughed.
Pushing everything else away, Cass steadied her breathing. A séance was actually much
easier than a reading. While doing a reading, she had to be fairly accurate, since the guests interacted. During a séance, she could say whatever struck her. Usually, something did.
Not this time.
Sweat sprang out on her forehead and crawled down the side of her hairline. Oh, please. Not now. A lump formed in her throat. Don’t let me choke. Not in front of Sylvia.
Someone fidgeted.
Cass concentrated harder. Buford Wellington. He’d shown himself to Horatio Madison—supposedly—causing the man to have a heart attack. He must have wanted something. “I sense a presence.” Okay, corny, but better than nothing. Ugh . . .
A soft gasp.
Hmm . . . maybe it would be okay. She resisted the urge to break the circle and wipe the sweat from her brow.
“An ancestor. A man. He died here, a long time ago.” Cass tried to focus. “Hung. He died hanging in the cupola.” The dome-shaped cupola, walled in by windows, had caught her attention when she’d first noticed the house. Was that where the idea came from? It didn’t feel right. But, no matter, she was quite certain that was what had happened. She must have seen it in one of the books Bee’d brought to the shop.
A low rumble started in the distance. Thunder? During a snowstorm? Was that even possible? A snow plow maybe?
Someone cleared their throat.
She regained her focus more easily this time, the words coming more readily. “He wants something.” True enough, or he wouldn’t have shown himself to Horatio. But what would he want after all these years? “A secret. Someone is hiding something important. He says someone has a secret that needs to be exposed.”
The thunder rumbled again. Louder this time. Closer.
“This is ridiculous.”
Cass opened her eyes. Conrad was standing, hands hanging at his sides, the circle broken.
Priscilla issued a warning glare. “Sit down, please, Conrad.”
Wisps of smoke curled up the wall beside the fireplace behind the Wellingtons. Odd.
Conrad ignored his sister’s warning. He propped his hands on his hips. “This is the most asinine thing I’ve ever seen. What on earth would a hundred-year-old ghost know about someone having a secret?”