Cupid’s Confederates

by Jennifer Greene

  Bett tossed him just a wisp of an unholy smile. She knew Zach hated salmon. He served himself another helping of green beans. Picking up her fork again, Bett stifled a yawn.

  Plum harvest had just started. With both peaches and plums going on at the same time, she barely had time to breathe, even if Zach took on the brunt of the work. In the meantime, she’d spared every free minute she could for her mother…and that included, so far, every single evening. Elizabeth did her best worrying after midnight, after she’d tried to go to sleep and discovered that the house was too quiet.

  Now, everything was going well, Bett told herself. Just as she’d been telling herself regularly since the minute her mother had arrived. The two women were getting along splendidly, better than they ever had before. There had been no friction, none of Elizabeth’s tearful crying bouts; her mom’s face had taken on color and animation. Everything Bett wanted for her mother had been happening. And Zach must have told her a dozen times that it was an ideal arrangement, that she should just stop worrying about the farm work that wasn’t getting done and spend as much time with her mother as she wanted.

  It would have been very selfish indeed to admit that anything was bothering her. The canaries cheeping at five in the morning didn’t bother her. The fact that making love with Zach had been interrupted twice by their resident insomniac didn’t bother her. Coming home after seven straight hours in the orchards to wash ceilings with her mother didn’t bother her. Her mother’s delicate suggestions that ruffles and padded bras and makeup “would help” didn’t bother her.

  Nothing bothered her. Not even tonight. Bett was close to being slaphappy tired. And Zach hadn’t even guessed that something odd was afoot, even though her mother was sitting there in a black linen dress.

  Zach viewed his mother-in-law with increasingly suspicious, though hooded, eyes. Elizabeth favored colors that verged on fluorescent. Not black. Elizabeth automatically spent every entire dinner period chattering. Yet tonight she was reasonably silent.

  He hardly knew what to do with the peace.

  “Are you going out to work after dinner, Zach?” Elizabeth asked idly.

  “For a while. Just to tinker with a carburetor for a short time.” Not long. Bett’s eyes had shadows under them. Since his wife, for some strange reason, had given up sleeping this past week, he was determined to get her into bed at a reasonable hour. For one purpose or another. The pale yellow smock she wore had long sleeves and an open throat; she looked feminine and tiny and delectably touchable. In the meantime, she and her mother exchanged swift glances.

  Elizabeth rose, reaching for the empty plates. “Well, if you have to work after dinner, you have to, I guess, Zach.”

  “Hmm.” That was not the tune she’d been singing previously. Elizabeth had been meeting him at the door with iced tea and long, ego-boosting monologues about how hard he worked, how strong he was and how much he needed a little spoiling. He’d sponged it up, the first two days. By the third day, he was thanking God that Bett was nothing like her mother.

  “You two aren’t planning on going anywhere after dinner, are you?” he asked idly.

  Bett lurched up from her chair; Elizabeth shot him a startled look. “What on earth makes you say that?” his mother-in-law asked with a little laugh. “I’m going to get you your coffee now, Zach, and if you want some dessert-”

  “No, thanks-honestly, Liz. I’m more than full.”

  “Well, there are éclairs in the refrigerator for whenever you want them. I made them especially for you; Bett told me how you-”

  “Thank you. Where,” Zach said patiently, “were you two planning on going?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Bett promised from the doorway, and disappeared.

  Elizabeth glanced at the empty doorway with a sour expression. “We were just going for a little drive.”

  “Anywhere special?”

  “Can’t hear you,” Elizabeth told him over the rush of both water faucets at the sink.

  “Anyplace special?”

  “Still can’t hear you. Could it wait until I get the dishes done, Zach? Oh, your coffee…”

  “No need,” Zach said quietly, which Elizabeth heard just fine.

  He found Bett inside the closet in their bedroom, bending over as she slipped into a pair of heeled sandals. Sniper was lounging on the buttercup-yellow spread; Zach scooped the cat up, plopped him outside the bedroom door and closed it.

  Bett stiffened at the sound of the door closing. She gave one quick glance at the interesting scowl between her husband’s brows and went back to fastening the second sandal. “Now, just don’t ask. You’ll be happier.”

  “I’m happy enough.”

  She shook her head, straightening up. “You have that ‘difficult’ look on your face.”

  “What I have is a strong inclination to put you to bed. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for the better part of a week.”

  “I’ve got energy coming out of my ears,” she assured him. She flashed him a smile as she crossed swiftly to the dresser. She picked up a hairbrush and rapidly restored her hair to order, unobtrusively glancing worriedly at the mirror at the same time. Did she really look so tired that he noticed? she wondered.

  Behind her, the sunset was pouring pastel rays through the windows on either side of their double bed. The vaulted ceiling and huge domed windows were Zach’s designs. Her choices were the gentle yellow color of the carpet and fabrics, and closets that had enormous mirrors on the doors. Nasty things to clean, those mirrors, but then a few candles and darkness and bare skin and those mirrors-and Zach-could produce a remarkable number of variations on a theme…

  “Is there some particular reason you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?” his baritone growled behind her.

  “Of course there is,” Bett said cheerfully. Finally, her hair lay silken and still on her shoulders. She set down her brush. “You wouldn’t approve.” Spraying on a quick whiff of perfume, she turned. “For no good reason. Not to worry.”

  “Then why am I worried?”

  “Now, we’re giving you a perfect chance to put your feet up in peace for an evening,” Bett teased, but her light tone was at total variance with the sudden rush she made for the door. Zach had to be faster than lightning to catch her, but suddenly his hands were at her waist and the door was behind her. Her husband had the magical ability to appear huge at will. The whole range of her vision was filled with his short-sleeved navy blue sweatshirt. The chest it covered wasn’t remarkably different from the door in terms of flexibility.

  She tilted up her head and looked into Zach’s eyes. A whole bluer-than-blue sky couldn’t have been that full of laughter. She considered making another escape attempt, but didn’t have the chance before he placed a kiss on her mouth. The kind designed to remind her that it had been far too long since they had last made love. “Lord, you’re a tease,” he murmured.

  She was the tease? He’d refined the practice since they’d been married. His tongue slipped between her parted lips and sought hers. Ever so gradually, a steady, unconscious tension that had gripped her for days relaxed; a languid weariness flowed through her body. His tongue continued to play a game of thrust and parry, very gentle, very provocative. No hurry, said the movements of Zach’s tongue, as if something inside him was quite aware she’d been leading the life of a racehorse all week.

  When Zach took over, he took over. The race was over, and she found slow motion infinitely preferable to fast. Her fingertips slowly walked up his forearms, up the soft material covering his shoulders, up and into his hair. He seemed to like that quite well, because when he finally came up from the first kiss for air, on the inhale he was already dipping down for the second. That one lasted until he’d thoroughly mussed her hair and run his hands all the way down to her bottom and back up again. Bett was clinging to him, rubbing her hips in a most private rhythm against his hard thighs. Zach flicked open the collar of her dress to press a kiss against her collarbone
. “Now, where is it you’re certainly not going?” he murmured idly.

  “To a psychic,” Bett answered, and leaned her cheek into his shoulder. She felt Zach stiffen, and sighed. “I had a feeling you heard me,” she said dryly. “Mom read this card on the bulletin board in the grocery store two days ago and called the guy. He reads…auras. She’s decided to…um…have a little chat with Dad.”

  Zach very definitely pulled back then. “Let’s hear that again?”

  Bett’s hands fluttered in the air. Anxiety darkened her eyes, but at the same time a hint of humor softened the curve of her lips. “Mom…she seems to feel it’s about time she let go of grieving, which you know I’d do anything to help her with! But she’s so set on this idea. She figured that one last chance to contact Dad-”

  “When exactly did your mother lose her mind?”

  “Be nice,” Bett coaxed.

  “I’m being very nice.”

  “Zach, she is going. Now, there’s no talking her out of it; I tried. And obviously I couldn’t let her go alone. The Lord knows what she’d get herself into…” Bett caught her breath. “It’ll probably be fun. Ghosts and levitation and stuff…”

  Zach pushed back his hair with a thoroughly perplexed frown. He held back the expletive on the tip of his tongue. Bett was so tired she could barely stand up straight, but her eyes stared determinedly up at him. Lord, she was a stubborn little minx! “So how much is the resident ghost hunter taking her for?” he asked flatly.

  “I don’t know. Neither does she. Mom doesn’t care.” Bett clearly did.

  “You want me to talk to her?”

  “If I thought it would do any good, I’d say yes. Unfortunately, I really believe she’d just sneak off to him sometime when she thinks we don’t know about it, and then I would worry-”

  “Yes.” He had the measure. Bett had been roped in. She didn’t need anyone giving her a hard time. His eyes held hers, half filled with humor. “If there are black candles and they ask for a show of hands for a virgin sacrifice, don’t volunteer.” His half-smile died when she didn’t return it. “How bad can it be, some guy who advertises in a grocery store?” he asked wryly.

  “Mmm.” Bett chewed on her lower lip, and moved out of his arms to reach for the brush again. Zach had no appreciation for hairstyles. He was a toucher. “That isn’t exactly why I thought you wouldn’t approve of the idea.”

  “What exactly is the part I’m supposed to object to?”

  “Nothing, really.” It was just the place they were going. Kind of a rural slum on the edge of nowhere, the tag end of a poor farming community about twenty miles away. Anyone with a suicide wish could wander around there at night without any problem. “I’m sure its reputation is vastly overrated. So it’s a poor area. Zach, that doesn’t necessarily mean-”

  “Oh, no. But I should have guessed where the local psychic would hang his shingle.”

  Unsmiling, Zach pulled off his sweatshirt and reached into the closet for a short-sleeved blue shirt.

  “Zach, you don’t have to go. Really.”

  Buttoning his shirt, he was inclined to take both women over his knee. The older one for a spanking. The other one to cuddle up.

  ***

  Pushing the gearshift into neutral, Zach leaned forward and peered through the windshield. The pitch-black gravel road had never seen a streetlamp. A single swaying lantern creaked back and forth over a peeling sign that read:

  Reverend Moody, Spiritualist

  Psychic Readings

  Séances Healings

  Appointment Only

  He and Bett exchanged a dry glance. There wasn’t much they could tell from the exterior of the ranch house; it was too overgrown by shrubbery and low-hanging trees to get a good look at it. Bett had relaxed from the time she knew Zach was coming along, but the mood was still rather eerie. A chill had touched the back of her neck and was more than ready to travel up and down her spine at a moment’s notice. Zach couldn’t have been less affected, as he matter-of-factly leaned over the back seat with a carefully serious expression on his face.

  “Listen, Liz. No need for all of us to go in, now is there? You two stay in the car; I’ll just pop in there and…um…talk to Chet, and then-”

  “Oh, no, Zach. I’ve talked to the Reverend Moody three times in the last two days, and I definitely have to be there. I thought you knew all about psychic spirits? When you said you were coming, you told me how interested you’d always been-”

  “Mmm,” Zach grumbled as he cut the engine and jerked out of the car. Opening the door for his mother-in-law, he watched Elizabeth dart out and start up the dark, winding path, as excited as a little kid, her hands firmly clasped in front of her. Exasperation warred with humor inside of him.

  Bett slipped an arm around Zach’s waist, glancing up at him as they strolled up the walk. “You’re really irritated, aren’t you?”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Not at you.” A hiss and a snarl from the front porch made Bett stiffen in alarm. “A black cat,” he murmured under his breath. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Bett relaxed again. “Behave yourself,” she mouthed, her lips twitching with laughter.

  “Are you kidding? I am,” he mouthed back.

  Reverend Moody was already greeting Elizabeth at the door. He was a gray-haired man with a long face, soulful eyes and a black suit that was just a touch shiny in the seat. He chattered to Elizabeth as if he’d just found a long-lost friend, eyed Bett at length from head to toe and wasted a fleeting disappointed look as he registered Zach’s presence.

  By the time the “so glad you’re here” stuff was over with, the three of them were inside. “Perhaps a slight libation to relax all of us before we begin,” the reverend suggested soothingly as he led them through a carpetless hall, lit only faintly by a dangling lightbulb.

  “Thanks, but we’re not much into libations, Reverend,” Zach said pleasantly. “Before we go any further, though, I wonder if I could have a private word with you.”

  “Certainly, certainly.”

  First, Zach took a cursory look at the room into which Reverend Moody was ushering the two women. It was square and dark, lit only by candles, and held a circular table in the center of it, covered, not surprisingly, with a black tablecloth. Harmless. Bett shot him a startled look, but he closed the door on her and faced the reverend without any more smiles.

  “How much?” he demanded flatly.

  “I sense,” the tall man said soothingly, “a slight skepticism, which I assure you I have encountered before. Once you’ve seen-”

  “I’m sure,” Zach agreed. “How much?”

  The reverend shook his head sadly. “A really very nominal contribution.” He cleared his throat. “Twenty-five dollars.”

  Zach dug into his pocket, handed the man his fee and leveled him an iceberg stare. “Rev? Just so we both know what I’m paying for. You lay any hocus-pocus on those two, and I guarantee you’ll have a real vision of the spirit world-direct. Got it?”

  “Sir-”

  “And you’ll also see that Mrs. Cordell gets enough out of this experience that she will have absolutely no need ever to return here. Ever. Now, are we clear on that, too?”

  “You may just be surprised with what the spirit world can come up with, Mr. Monroe,” the Reverend Moody said acidly. Under Zach’s steely stare, he turned away. “I think we’re all very clear on what to expect this evening.”

  Bett felt a zigzag of apprehension tickle her spine as the door opened and Zach finally returned with Reverend Moody. The whole room, the whole house and grounds, gave her the creeps. Rationally, she knew very well that the “Reverend,” though no man of the cloth, was only a harmless character and that there was nothing to be afraid of. In college, she’d even fooled around with ESP, a fascinating experience. But this was different. Her brain seemed to be functioning at only half the speed of the pulse beating in her throat. Cobwebs was what this place suggested to her-she felt as though they were going to
cover her head any minute and smother her. She couldn’t really shake the idiotic feeling until Zach sat down rather heavily beside her and laid a possessive hand on her thigh.

  The reverend sat down, took Elizabeth’s hands in his own and stared deeply into the lady’s eyes for several silent minutes. “I sense,” he said slowly, “the most wonderful, loving aura around you, Mrs. Cordell…”

  After a time, Bett’s spine gradually unglued from the back of the straight chair. The rev really wasn’t so bad; she was even beginning to be rather taken by his low, sonorous voice. He was actually very comforting, in a spooky sort of way.

  He related a number of incidents in the life of her mother and father that he could not possibly have known-if, that is, Bett weren’t already aware that Elizabeth had spent time on the phone with him. Her mother seemed suspended in that world of wanting to believe. Bett felt a rush of protective love for her…but it wasn’t necessary. The reverend wasn’t doing any harm.

  He claimed Chet loved Elizabeth and would always love her, that he wanted her to be happy. That he would be waiting for her in another world, but in this one he wanted his wife to take up the reins of life again, even to find someone else to love…

  Elizabeth stiffened indignantly at that.

  Bett didn’t. Her dad, who would have deplored this whole scene almost as much as Zach did, would probably have offered those same words, and meant them. The reverend went on a little longer, surprising Bett when he assured Elizabeth that Chet didn’t need to talk with her again through any medium when he was always in her heart. Didn’t the rev count on repeat visits for his money? Bett was even more surprised when he finished with her mother and, before she could rise from the table, grasped both her hands.

  “Oh, really, this isn’t necessary. I-”

  “There’s a spirit calling you, too, Mrs. Monroe,” the Reverend Moody said soothingly. “All you have to do is relax and let it happen.”