“So how’d your research go?” Mike asked.
“Great. I found a picture of Simon.”
“I assume while he was alive, not in his haunting days.”
She made a face at him as she reached for a piece of pizza. “Yes, while he was alive. What is the story behind him, do you know?”
Mike cut himself a large piece, apparently not as averse to vegetables as he pretended. “Only vaguely. The story goes that his fiancée left him and he never got over it, even though he married later.”
Casey watched Mike’s face, struck by the awful coincidence of both of them being jilted. “Who was Priscilla? One of the cops here last night mentioned her.”
“His fiancée,” he said.
Simon’s Darcy. “And what happened to her?”
Mike just shrugged and took a large bite of the pizza. “That’s not part of the story. Maybe she married his doctor. Hey, this is pretty good.”
He talked about marrying a doctor offhandedly, like it didn’t matter one way or another, but Casey knew that couldn’t be true. It must still hurt. “Why is he haunting the place?” she asked.
“He’s not,” Mike answered. “He died about fifty years ago, at the ripe old age of eighty. He has not been around since.”
She ignored his skepticism. “He built this house, didn’t he? That’s what your aunt said.”
“Timing would be right. It was built in the 1890s.”
She looked around her, as if feeling the presence of all the past inhabitants. “I wonder if he built it for Priscilla.”
Mike took another piece of pizza. “I imagine he built it to have a place to live.”
Casey knew nothing was that simple. And the sorrow she felt in the air confirmed it.
Chapter Four
Casey popped up in bed, her heart racing. The room was dark, with just a faint light filtering in around the drapes. Both cats were awake, energy pulsating from them as they stood at the foot of the bed.
Simon was up and about.
Snowflake let out a yowl, a deep guttural sound that reached into the far corners of Casey’s soul, then was joined by Midnight’s soft, singing whine. They jumped off the bed and raced to the door.
As they hurried—almost floated—out into the darkness of the hallway, Casey was right behind them, pulling on her thick fuzzy robe as she went. This was her chance to meet Simon, to get a sense of why he was still here. It would be the basis of the family history. The floorboards groaned beneath her while the whole house creaked, as if fighting a bitter wind outside.
Casey held her breath as she and the cats passed Mike’s room, but both he and Gus seemed to be sleeping soundly. Just as well. They’d had a good time at dinner last night, but there was no reason to push things. Her attempt to have a talk with the ghost might be a bit too much for him. She slipped by his door and went down the stairs, breathing once again when she got to the bottom. The cats turned left, leading her into the dark living room.
Casey slowed her steps and fought to slow her racing heart, as well. It was chilly in the room, with a skewed square of light lying across the rug. The high ceiling harbored all sorts of shadows, just as the house itself harbored secrets.
“Simon,” she said, barely whispering. “Simon, are you here?”
The cats had settled at her feet, staring off toward the built-in bookshelves on the far wall. She could feel his presence. It was faint at first, like he was hesitating, but then seemed to be getting stronger. He was reaching out to her, she was certain. She got a whiff of a faint scent. Peppermint.
“Are you looking for Priscilla?” she breathed into the darkness.
Suddenly there was a flash, and a blinding light filled the room. She blinked and stepped back. Her eyes and thoughts cleared then, and she realized the ceiling lights were on!
“What in the hell are you doing?” Mike barked.
Casey spun to find him in the doorway, one hand on the light switch, the other holding his gun. “Don’t swear at me,” she said. “And I might ask you the same thing. What are you doing?”
Everything that hinted at paranormal was gone. No presence. No load of pain. No peppermint. Nothing. Just the empty cold of an old house and the anger of a young police officer. Casey wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Was this house always so cold or was it just her?
“Why in the world do you go sneaking around in the middle of the night?” Mike yanked the clip from his handgun and ejected the round from the chamber. “You can get seriously hurt doing that.”
“If you weren’t so on edge,” she snapped, “maybe we wouldn’t have to worry about my getting hurt.”
“Hey, lady. I hear these weird sounds and someone sneaking around down here,” he said. “I’m responsible for this house, and you while you’re in it. Just what the hell do you expect me to do?”
“Damn it, I told you not to swear at me.”
“I’m not swearing at you,” he replied. “I’m swearing with you.”
There were more words that she wanted to throw at him, but that would just be playing into his game, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. She clenched her teeth hard and just stood there, trying to keep herself from shivering.
Once they stopped shouting at each other, the normal creaky quiet of the old house surrounded them, wrapping them in an invisible, thick fog. The five of them—two people, two cats and one dog—just stood there staring at each other. Gus was the first to move, walking over to the two cats and sniffing at them. Snowflake ignored him, but Midnight touched noses—a big, black furry one going against a small, soft black one.
Casey felt the hardness in her heart melting. People talked about fighting like cats and dogs, implying how the two species hated each other. But looking at the animals here, she couldn’t help wonder if the world wouldn’t be a better place if people treated each other as well as they did. And a good place to start would be between herself and Mike. Sighing, she turned toward him and—
”Well, I hope you learned your lesson,” Mike snapped. “And that you don’t do anything this stupid for a while.”
Casey’s mouth fell open, and she could feel her anger return like a California brushfire. Just who in the hell did he think he was, calling her stupid?
“You are an insufferable pain in the ass,” she shouted.
Her cats snapped around to stare at her, and she could hear Gus whimper a little. The hell with them all, she thought.
“Me?” he shouted back. “I’m not the one waking people up.”
“I live in this house, too. I have a right to walk around.”
“Fine, walk around,” he snapped. “But turn on the lights like a normal person. Don’t go sneaking around in the house like some nutcase.”
“Oh, excuse me. I suppose you’re an expert on nutcases.”
“I know what’s normal.”
“Oh, right. You live alone in a big house with just your dog and a loaded gun by your bedside. I can see how you’re an expert on normal.”
“I’m a cop.”
“That’s no excuse.’
“I have it on the best of authorities that it’s the best excuse to live alone there is.”
“On the best of authorities?” she repeated, totally confused. It was hard to stay angry when she couldn’t come up with a snappy retort.
“Sure, that nobody in their right mind would want to live with a cop.”
She frowned at him. “Who would say that?” she asked.
He just glared at her, a mixture of annoyance and regret on his face. “Never mind,” he said. “Forget I said anything.”
“Did Darcy say that?” Casey demanded. “I’ll bet it was her.”
He looked like a man sorely put upon. She could see the indecision in his eyes.
Then he sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, she did. Not quite like that, though. She said she didn’t think she could live her life, fearing that every time there was a knock at the door it was someone co
ming to tell her something had happened to me. Anything else you want to know that’s none of your business?”
But before Casey could answer, Mike had already turned and left, stomping upstairs like a three-ton elephant, with Gus at his heels. If she didn’t feel so badly for him, she’d say he was totally insufferable.
“Come on, guys,” she called out softly. “We’re done for the night.”
She turned off the light and led the way back to their bedroom. No ghost in his right mind would come out now, not with all the negative vibes floating around the house. Hell, she’d be lucky if he ever came back, especially an uptight male ghost like her spirit appeared to be. It was easy to see that the ghost and Mike were related. The family resemblance was more than a little obvious.
Mike sat on the edge of his bed. It was morning already, but he felt as if he’d hadn’t slept at all. Thanks to Casey’s little stroll last night, he hadn’t slept much.
Why had he let her bait him into telling about Darcy? It was that old mesmerizing trick of hers, that and being woken from a sound sleep. He was going to have to be more careful in the future. He could see all sorts of sympathies appearing in Casey’s eyes. Just what he didn’t need—someone feeling sorry for him.
Darcy had been right—fearing every knock on the door and ring of the phone would be a hell of a way to live. And if he needed proof of it, he just had to look at the divorce statistics for cops. No, he realized now there were some things a man had no right to ask for, some things that a man couldn’t allow another to give. But it wasn’t a cause for sympathy; he had chosen his path and continued to choose it each day.
“Something I may have to explain to the redhead,” he said to the dog. “And to her cats.”
Gus yawned and thumped his tail on the bed.
“I thought you hated cats,” Mike said. “You’re always chasing Mrs. Kinder’s Dusty.”
After giving Mike a quick glance, the dog stood up on the bed and shook himself, then jumped off and stretched his front paws. If Mike thought Gus was thinking anything—which he wasn’t—he would have thought the dog was thinking that chasing a cat didn’t mean he didn’t like them.
Criminy, that woman was affecting everything he did. Now she was having him attribute thoughts to a dog. “I wonder if Aunt Myrna’s going to tell us when the ‘all clear’ sounds and Casey’s no longer in danger.”
Speaking of danger, he needed to get himself in gear and check the place out. He showered quickly, got dressed and, after cautioning Gus to be quiet, went downstairs carrying his boots so that his steps would not make any more noise than the creaking floors already did.
If he owned this place, he’d have a bunch of rugs thrown around. Give the place a homey feel. Make it warmer, too. But he didn’t own it and never would. Myrna had tried to give it to him, but he’d turned her down too many times to count. Darcy had taught him to beware of letting anything cling to his shirttails, even a house.
He and Gus went outside, into the brisk morning air. It was chilly, but clear. A good day for the Pickle Festival to begin. While Gus checked out the backyard, Mike walked around the house. Everything looked secure. No new scratches by the windows or doors. No—
He stopped. There were fresh footprints near the dining-room window. The snow was trampled just at the spot where the drapes parted slightly, but since the tracks led back to the snow-free driveway, Mike couldn’t tell where the person had gone from there. He took a deep breath and stepped back. Damn. Slowly, cautiously, he walked out to the front of the house, looking down the deserted street.
“Hi, Mike,” Dubber called. The boy was sitting on the Randalls’ front porch, packing newspapers into a canvas bag.
“Hi.” Mike walked over. “You see any strangers around here this morning?”
The boy shook his head. “Nope, why? You looking for somebody?”
Mike shrugged. “There’re footprints over by the dining-room window.”
“Oh.” Dubber’s face turned red—his color these days it would seem. “That was just me.”
“You?”
The boy shrugged self-consciously. “Yeah, I was seeing if you guys were up yet. I thought maybe you’d want your newspaper right away.”
Him or Casey? “Well, that was nice of you,” Mike said carefully. “Sure. I’ll take it.”
“Huh?”
“The paper,” Mike said, holding out his hand. “You were going to give us our paper early.”
“Oh yeah.” He pulled a paper out of his bag, and as he gave it to Mike, his face lit up. “Hi, Casey.”
Mike had known she was there from Dubber’s face, but he turned slowly. She was in her fuzzy red robe, which should have made her look like a giant red bear, but instead made her look as cuddly and cozy as a kitten. Even her leather boots, peeking out from under the robe, didn’t spoil the effect. Mike had the urge to go over and bury his face in her neck, to hold her in his arms and—
”You’ve got a phone call,” she told Mike.
“Okay.” She had to have been out here for a reason other than that she was looking to cuddle with him.
“Hi, Dubber,” she called over to the boy. “You all ready for the parade?”
“Uh-huh.” He ran across the yard, beating Mike by a few yards. “You want a newspaper?” he asked her, holding one out to her.
Mike frowned at him. “You already gave me one.”
“This one’s for Casey,” he said, and turned back to her. “You know, in case you want to do the crossword puzzle.”
Casey just smiled at him. “Thanks anyway, but I think we can share Mike’s.”
“You sure?” Dubber pressed. “I got extras.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said.
“And she’s probably also freezing,” Mike noted. Dubber’s eagerness was getting to be a bit much. As was Casey’s ever-so-sweet reaction.
“Oh.” Dubber looked deflated as he glanced at her robe. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Casey flashed Mike a definite glare before she smiled back at Dubber. “No reason to be. My robe is warmer than my coat, but I don’t want to keep you from your paper route. You’ve got a parade to be in.”
“Right.” He moved back toward the porch. “I’ll see you there?”
“You betcha,” she called, waving as she and Mike walked around the corner. “He was only trying to be nice,” she said to Mike.
“He’s got a crush on you.”
“I know.”
“Well, don’t you think you should be discouraging him?”
She frowned at him. “What would you suggest? Slamming the door in his face? Telling him to bug off? Has it been that long since you were eleven?”
Mike let her go up the back steps first, a sudden thought taking hold of him and bringing a smile to his face. Of course, it all fit—short; didn’t drive; not involved in a physical relationship. “Hey, how old is Melvin?” he asked. “He wouldn’t be eleven, by any chance, would he?”
Casey turned, looking confused. “Melvin? He’s in his early thirties.”
Mike followed her up onto the porch. All right, so old Mel was an adult, but probably as irresponsible as an eleven-year-old. “Why doesn’t he drive? Can’t afford a car?”
“He could afford about a hundred cars if he wanted them,” Casey said. “He developed some new computer chip that he sold for millions of dollars.”
Hell. Mike pulled open the back door, fighting an irrational urge to kick it in instead. “What’s he think about you coming here?” he asked. “Probably ticked off, right?”
She stopped on the porch. “He thought it was a great opportunity for me. He knows how much I like doing family histories.”
“Fine. Great. He’s perfect,” Mike snapped. “So why don’t you marry him?”
“Boy, you got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Casey retorted. “Go answer your phone call. I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on Gus.”
“He doesn’t need anyone to keep an eye on him.”
“Go answer the phone before I slug you.”
Casey smoothed her blanket out the best she could around a snoozing Snowflake. “So is he always this grumpy?” she asked Gus. “Or was he just needing his morning coffee?”
Gus was too busy to answer. He and Midnight were lying on their bellies, staring under the dresser. Casey was certain she didn’t want to know what they were looking at.
“I suspect this is just your way of avoiding the whole subject,” she told the dog. “You have lived with that guy too long. You are just like him.”
Well, maybe not just like him. The dog was much more easygoing, did not seem to have a fixation with Melvin that set him off into dark moods and seemed quite delighted to be sharing living quarters with Casey and her cats.
“I’m going down for breakfast,” she told the whole crowd. Snowflake was the only one who moved—she yawned. “Yes, I’ll miss you all, too.”
Casey went into the hall and down the stairs, glancing through the balustrades to see if Mike was still around. No sign of him. Maybe he’d left while she was taking a bath—with the new hook securely holding the door shut. That would be fine with her. She had enough on her mind without having to deal with his mood swings.
She hurried down the steps, across the black-and-white marble foyer and down the hall to the kitchen. Mike wassitting at the kitchen table and she screeched to a halt.
“Something wrong?” she asked. “Was your call bad news?”
He shook his head. “No. It was Stephen, my father. He and his family are coming up for the day. They were just double-checking as to the time of the parade.”
“Goodness, this festival draws out-of-towners? Do I need to stake out my spot along the parade route early? Maybe I should go down there now.”
“No, there’s always plenty of room.”
He cleared his throat and then got to his feet. He seemed to fill up the kitchen with his Mr. March macho body, and she considered making up some excuse to go back upstairs until he had left. When had she become so chickenhearted, though?
“I want to apologize for this morning,” Mike said. “You were right about Dubber. He’s a good kid and I appreciate you being so nice to him.”
Christmas Magic Page 6