by Ani Gonzalez
"Someone else wants the Rosemoor?" Laurie squealed, her voice thick with disbelief.
Elizabeth looked at her strangely. "Of course not. This guy is a big time chef who's getting a TV show with the network. This is just part of his promo. It won't affect the competition at all."
"He'll be serving food though," Patricia interrupted. "And people will eat it. That will affect the competition."
Her heart sank. She thought she'd be competing against Zach, whose dishes were, let's be honest, less than sophisticated. Now the diners would be comparing her dishes to those of a professional chef.
This was a disaster.
"Can someone help us move this stuff around?"
They turned to see an exasperated cameraman trying to maneuver around a particularly lush ficus specimen.
"I'll get that." Laurie ran to help. "Please don't hurt that plant. I'm staging the corner around it."
Elizabeth frowned at the hapless technician. "Oh dear, is she making trouble already?"
"Who?" the director asked.
"Mrs. Danvers," Patricia explained. "She likes the conservatory. She was an enthusiastic gardener."
Enthusiastic wasn't really accurate. Mrs. Danvers was an expert on medicinal plants and the conservatory had been both a greenhouse and a pharmacy. She loved the room and was very particular about it.
She also hated electricity.
"Is that the ghost everyone is talking about?" the director asked, as he tried to untangle the cords. "You don't really believe in that, do you?"
He cursed as he tripped over a cord and fell, butt-first, on the cold stone floor.
Elizabeth sighed and glanced at Patricia apologetically. "He's new."
Patricia smiled, but her mind was racing. "Are you expecting a...manifestation?"
She seldom used the word, which seemed overly dramatic for what the Banshee Creek natives considered everyday annoyances, but, in this case, it was accurate. Her bakery's brownie was an irritant, but Mrs. Danvers was a full-fledged supernatural powerhouse. One with a penchant for electric cords and appliances.
"Not here," Elizabeth replied with exaggerated firmness. "Caine did some research and Mrs. Danvers' sanatorium used to have tea parties in the conservatory and drinks and snacks in the library. You guys should be fine. The drawing room is a bit iffy, but Mr. Network Big Wig's assistant asked for it specifically so we don't have a choice about that." She smiled, but the expression had an edge to it. "I'm sure he'll be able to deal with the fallout."
She seemed to relish the possibility. Patricia felt sorry for Mr. Network Big Wig. Dealing with a cranky spirit was no joke, and dealing with a hostile Elizabeth Hunt was even worse.
"And speaking of fallout," her friend continued. "What's this I hear about you and Zach?"
Shocked, Patricia whirled to glare at Laurie, who was helping the director stand up. Her friend, however, had not heard the question, and she bent to pick up the director's equipment, unconcerned.
"Caine said you two were making out in the woods and you scared away all his vampire deer." Elizabeth raised a perfectly-plucked brow. "I was skeptical, more about the kissing than about the blood-sucking mammals, but he said his drones caught it on tape."
Great, keeping a secret in this town was hard enough, now the gossips -- for Caine and the paranormies were the biggest rumormongers in town -- had aerial surveillance equipment. Privacy was a thing of the past.
But Elizabeth was still looking at her, waiting for an answer.
"We're kind of...you know..." She couldn't even get the words out. Her horrible experience with Trevor and the way the humiliating end of the affair had embarrassed her in front of her peers and colleagues made it difficult to admit that she was involved with Zach.
Her evasive semi-confession was enough for Elizabeth. Her friend's eyes brightened and she fairly squealed with glee.
"That's awesome," she said, enveloping Patricia in a tight hug. "You guys are perfect for each other. I mean, you're not perfect, more like total opposites, but you complement each other. I guess that's what I'm trying to say."
Patricia found her friend's enthusiasm alarming. "It's not going to last." A nervous laugh escaped her. "We'll probably drive each other crazy."
Elizabeth laughed. "Well, that's Zach's specialty, isn't it?"
Patricia joined in the laughter, even though she didn't find the comment even a tiny bit funny. Sure, being with Zach was hot and exciting, but it would end up as another failed relationship under her belt, and she wasn't looking forward to that.
Not at all.
But maybe Elizabeth was right. Maybe the situation wasn't as hopeless as Patricia thought. Zach had his flaws, but he wasn't a lying cheat like her ex-boyfriend. After all, their fledging love affair was weathering a major stress factor. Even though they were in fierce competition, they were getting along, having fun, supporting each other. True, he'd pulled a weird disappearing act in the past three days and she'd have to have a stern talk with him about that. But if they could survive the Rosemoor, they could probably survive anything.
Anything at all.
"I guess you're the reason he's singing again," Elizabeth mused, as the band outside started on their practice set.
Patricia's train of thought was instantly derailed. "What?"
Elizabeth raised a brow as the music grew louder. "You hadn't heard? He's joining Abby's band."
Patricia turned toward the ballroom, hands clenched. "No, I hadn't heard."
But she was going to give someone an earful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
"WHAT ARE you doing?" Patricia stood next to the stage, arms crossed. Her eyes flashed angrily.
Zach stopped adjusting the amplifier and stood up with a guilty jump. Patricia was in work clothes, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with the motto of the local high school's football team, "We're going to make you SCREAM," and her expression made it clear that she was ready for a smackdown.
One he thoroughly deserved.
The group turned to look at them. They'd just finished their song and Abby was still on stage, bent over her lyrics, but even she looked up. She frowned when she recognized Patricia.
Zach sighed and opened his mouth to respond, but Patricia gestured him into silence.
"Don't bother," she said, glaring at him. "Elizabeth already told me. You re-joined your old bandmates and dusted off your old songs and you're going to sing at the Valentine's Day Ball. Your family and friends are half excited and half freaked out, because they think you may get your heart broken again. Well, some of your friends, at least, not me. I didn't even know about the most important development in your life to date."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have called."
Patricia stared at him, looking hurt. Then she shrugged.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said, with studied nonchalance. "It's not like we're...anything really." Another shrug. "Anyway, good luck with the performance."
She turned to walk away. He cursed, grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward one of the Rosemoor's many rooms. Unfortunately, most of the rooms were occupied by staffers readying the place for the party. Diego and Sarah were in the kitchen divvying up the fridge space, and Arcanum Films staffers were in the hallways, measuring and taking phone pictures.
"Let go." Patricia struggled against him. "I have cream puffs to plate."
He headed for the study, but a group of high school volunteers were there already, setting up lights. They ended up in a telephone room near the entry foyer. The room was a relic from a time when landline phones merited their own private alcoves, and the antique telephone, with two round bells on top and a wooden earpiece attached by a cord, still hung on the wall.
A very small relic. It was dark and wood-paneled and there was barely enough room to stand. They were squished together like sardines in one of those artisanal wooden boxes that his supplier preferred because aluminum tins were too common. Patricia's body pressed against his, the scent of gardenias filled the air, and he wa
s suddenly painfully aware of one of the drawbacks of live performances.
They always made him horny.
And this was exactly the wrong time for sexual titillation. This would have been a promising situation with interesting possibilities just a few days ago, but right now he was too worried about Patricia's reaction.
Patricia looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he felt his heart sink. He'd really hurt her.
"I wanted to tell you," he started.
He'd left the midnight videotaping and rushed back to the barn, ready to share the surreal experience with Patricia. He'd wanted, no needed, to talk to her about it, to figure out why, after years of self-imposed exile, he was now being dragged back into the music world.
Willingly dragged, he had to admit. And that was a problem. But it wasn't his main problem at the moment. Right now, he had to fix things with Patricia. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to do so. As his experience with Brenda, the Girl Who Watched Too Much Charmed, proved, he wasn't very good at fixing things with women.
But he had to try.
"But you were gone," he continued. "You'd left for the bakery by the time the filming ended. We had to tape the songs right away, so we flew to the recording studio and stayed there all night. Then I came back and had to deal with the event prep and stuff." He ran his hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "Abby is the only one who knew and she had to tell Elizabeth that the band line-up changed. My mom and dad suspected something because I asked them to take over the pizzeria, but I didn't have time to tell anyone." He paused. "You're the first person I've told."
Patricia stared at him, clearly unconvinced. Which was, all things considered, not surprising. He wasn't any good at the whole explaining-things-t- women thing. He never had the right words. It usually didn't bother him though, plenty of fish in the sea and all that.
This time it did.
At least Patricia wouldn't come up with an ancient Yoruba spell that involved chains and nudity. He had that going for him.
And little else.
Patricia's furrowed brow and her wounded eyes seemed to indicate that he'd failed once again, and he braced for the inevitable onslaught. She was upset and she had a right to be.
"You filmed a music video?" she asked. "And an album? Are you serious?"
He laughed, he couldn't help it. He couldn't believe it himself. "Well, the music video is a done deal, but the album is just a demo, kind of a first draft. It's pretty crappy, which is normal for an all-night jam. The band had everything already set up so I just joined in. It would have been impossible otherwise."
"But, what about the Rosemoor?"
He shrugged. "Sarah and Diego took care of it. I gave them the general idea and told them where they could get the supplies. I think they did a good job."
Actually, Sarah did an outstanding job. For all her irritability and snark, Sarah was smart and creative and she really liked the new concept.
Go figure.
"So music, uh?" Patricia smiled. "That sounds...good? I guess?"
Trust Patricia to get to the bottom of things. He'd been so busy that he hadn't had time to think about the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Was returning to music a good idea? He had no clue. That's what had been bothering him all this time.
"I don't know," he said. "It may be good or it may be awful." He noticed that he was rubbing his scarred arm and stopped. He'd been doing it for the past two days, and the skin was now rubbed raw. Hell, it must be some kind of subconscious compulsion. "It feels...strange to be onstage without a guitar."
Strange...and liberating. His singing was better, even though he'd been rusty at first. It helped to not have to focus on an instrument.
"But the record people liked it?" Patricia asked.
He shrugged. "They thought my voice was okay. They mostly liked the songs, because Abby has been on a dry spell lately and she just told them about the pregnancy, and they'd pretty much given up on next year's record. Then they saw the photo shoot results and they really liked that."
Patricia laughed. "They thought you looked hot?"
Zach chuckled. "Welcome to the music business. Hot goes a long way."
He had no illusions as to why the record company was interested in him. Space Cowboys was a huge hit, but, thanks to Abby's pregnancy, they would have to go on hiatus for a year, maybe two. They were desperate for an act to fill the void, one that would complement, and not compete, with their cash cow. A solo act with an existing connection to the band and a song list in the same genre? Perfect.
He'd spent years working on his guitar skills and songwriting, he'd won a slew of prizes and accolades, but it the end, only one thing counted.
Dumb luck.
"Doesn't sound that attractive." Her lips curved into a small smile. "I'll stick to pastry, thank you."
He could hardly contain his relief at the sight of that tiny smile. "You're not angry at me."
Her expression turned serious. "No, I'm sorry for...I overreacted." Her voice dropped, and she looked troubled. "I don't like it when people keep secrets from me."
He frowned, confused. He wouldn't have characterized his transgression as "keeping a secret." It was more of an "asshole disappears for three days after sex" kind of thing, but Patricia clearly felt otherwise.
And her feelings were strong. Was it his vanishing act? Was it the Rosemoor competition? Whatever it was, something was seriously bothering her. She looked troubled, her trademark ponytail askew, a strand of hair falling over her face.
"I'm not the keeping secrets type." He trailed a finger over her cheek and pushed the loose strand of hair behind her ear. "My life is an open book."
"Really?" She smiled, leaning closer, and he was suddenly very much aware that he was in a very small room, pressed against a very attractive woman who didn't seem to be mad at him anymore. "A picture book maybe."
"I like Dr. Seuss," he started, but his thoughts scattered when Patricia's hips brushed against his. Images rushed through his brain and they were nothing like Horton Hears a Who.
"Not that kind of picture book," Patricia whispered, leaning into him.
He bent down, suddenly starving for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her closer, and she complied, melting into the embrace. She smelled of sugar and cinnamon and all things that were sweet.
A loud jangling sound rang out, making them jump.
"What the...?" The ringing went on and on, stabbing his ears. Hell on wheels that was an annoying sound.
Patricia stared at the wall behind him, eyes wide. "It's the phone...it's ringing."
Ringing didn't do it justice. The thing was stabbing his ears like a sonic drill. He looked down, found a cord and pulled...
The cord wasn't attached to anything.
"This isn't connected," Patricia said, sounding confused. "I bet there hasn't been a landline in this room for decades."
The phone rang on. Zach sighed. He loved his hometown, but there was a definite downside to living in Banshee Creek.
The damn ghosts.
"Er," Patricia cleared her throat. "Should we answer it?"
"No," Zach said firmly. "It's on one of the pizzeria t-shirts. 'Survival Tip Number Twelve: Don't Answer The Phone.'"
The phone rang on. Patricia stared at it, as if hypnotized.
"Let's get out," Zach said, pushing her out of the alcove.
They almost collided with Diego and Sarah, who were coming out of the kitchen, probably attracted by the ringing phone. His restaurant manager rolled her eyes when she saw him with Patricia. She opened her mouth and Zach braced for her trademark sarcasm, but the ringing phone interrupted her.
Sarah glared at the offending appliance. "Are you going to get that?"
"No," Zach said. "And neither are you. If you don't pay attention to her, she'll get bored and stop."
"Ah, just like the bloody bugger in the pizzeria then," Sarah noted.
But the ringing didn't stop. The wor
kers gathered in the hallway, staring at the phone alcove. Zach noticed that a couple of PRoVE guys took out phone cameras and started recording. The Arcanum Films crew also showed up and set up their cameras, all aimed at the alcove.
After a couple of minutes a buzzing sound joined the cacophony.
"I think that's the doorbell."
Then a shriek rang out from the direction of the ballroom, making Zach wince.
"That's the band's amp," he said.
Elizabeth strode into the hall, all high heels and elegantly coiffed hair. "We're taking a little break, guys." Her voice smooth as silk, and, somehow, perfectly audible. That classical acting training sure came in handy. "The house has had enough, so we'll see you all tomorrow morning."
A loud groan from the PRoVE guys greeted her words.
"Aw, c'mon," a large guy in biker goggles shouted from the hall. "That was a bona fide manifestation. Don't be a buzzkiller, Hunt. The party's just getting started."
Elizabeth's eyes grew hard. "No, it is not. We're going to give Mrs. Danvers a chance to rest now. I'll be turning off the breakers in five minutes, so you should finish up and start heading..."
The ringing stopped. The buzzing ceased. The shrieking noise from the amp died down.
Laurie walked into the foyer.
"Guys." She paused, surprised at seeing two dozen people staring at her expectantly. "You may want to check out the conservatory."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"THANK YOU so much for helping out," Patricia said, trying to hide her nervousness.
It was morning. The morning. The Valentine's Day Ball was today and she had a pile of work to do to finish the preparations for the competition.
Unfortunately, she also had a town full of visitors who all needed early morning coffee and enough sugar to power them through the day. And her trusty customer-cum-assistant, Laurie, would be busy helping her at the Rosemoor. She'd thought she'd come up with the perfect solution last night, but, in the light of day, it wasn't looking so brilliant anymore.
"No problem," Cassie replied, smiling broadly. "We have nothing to do until the party starts and I know you guys are busy with the event prep." Her blue-colored hair was styled in neat cornrows with blue and silver beads in the ends and she was wearing a "Banshee Creek: Things Go Bump in the Night...and Day" t-shirt.