Shades of Midnight

by Linda Winstead Jones

  He listened to the fading sound of Eve’s retreating footsteps as she made her way to the kitchen at the back of the house. When he heard her moving things about, he laid his eyes on the spirits who lurked, almost invisible, in the corner.

  “Alistair,” he said. “We aren’t finished.”

  Alistair needed no further invitation. He did not take form and shape today. Instead the light danced this way, flitted around for a moment, and then shot directly at Lucien. Lucien held his breath at the initial jab, but as always the pain faded quickly.

  He took a deep breath. The weakness was no longer a surprise, and it wasn’t nearly as debilitating as it had once been. He’d learned to maintain better control as the years had passed.

  Tell me what happened.

  “Where’s the woman?” Lucien’s eyes, guided by Alistair, searched the room.

  Forget about the woman.

  “The ladies are my weakness. Every man has a weakness, you know. I don’t drink overly much, and I never gamble. Well, almost never. But a beautiful woman… they’re so soft. So warm. And that one, she’s…”

  Tell me about the night you died, Lucien interrupted, pushing past the spirit’s obsession.

  Alistair said nothing, but Lucien felt his sudden fear, his sheer panic.

  Tell me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Why? Lucien’s hands clenched his knees, his eyes went to the foyer beyond the parlor door. I know you didn’t kill her.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Lucien was not surprised. Then who did?

  “It was dark. I couldn’t see.”

  Why are you sorry?

  Tears that were not Lucien’s dripped down his cheeks. A lifetime of regrets and memories washed through Lucien as if they were his own. Alistair Stamper’s life, the good and the bad, rushed through him so fast and furious that it took his breath away. Emotions—fear and love and regret—grew inside him. Images, memories, flickered in Lucien’s mind.

  “I saw him kill her.” Alistair’s voice, through Lucien, was soft and uncertain. “I tried to get to her to stop him, but I was too slow. I could barely move. I… saw him kill her, and I couldn’t make him stop.”

  Alistair’s pain went deep; Lucien felt it. “She won’t listen to me,” he said softly. “I’ve tried to tell Viola, again and again, that I would never hurt her, that I didn’t kill her, but she won’t listen. She’ll relive the days we spent before that night, she’ll lie with me in that cold bed… but she won’t move on. She won’t go past that last night.”

  Why don’t you move on?

  “I won’t go without her.”

  Of course. He should have thought of it before. Why does Viola think you killed her?

  “The man with the knife stabbed her in the back, and when he did he… whispered something in her ear. I don’t know what he said, but after he spoke Viola cried out my name. She wasn’t calling for help, she was pleading with me to stop, and I couldn’t manage to make so much as a sound to assure her that it wasn’t me standing behind her.”

  Once Viola knew her husband had not been the man to stab her in the back, perhaps she’d be able to move on. Alistair, I have an idea.

  *

  Flour dusted the front of Eve’s apron, her hands, even her cheek, but she didn’t mind. Lucien liked her biscuits. She hadn’t had much of an opportunity to cook for anyone, so she was thrilled to know that a man who occasionally forgot to eat found her biscuits memorable.

  She heard him coming up behind her, his step slow and steady.

  “Patience, Lucien,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t even cut the biscuits out. It’ll be a little while, yet.”

  He didn’t leave but instead moved close, breathed against her neck, and almost lazily wrapped his arms around her. She knew she should scold him, tell him to back away, but she liked the closeness. It was so right. So unexpectedly nice.

  Lucien wasn’t satisfied to simply wrap his arms around her and stand there. He laid the flat of his hands against her flour-dusted apron. With a subtle shift, he pressed his body against hers, his chest against her back, his legs brushing against hers. She glanced down at the arms that encircled her. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms. He had such fine, strong forearms. She longed to touch them, to run her fingers from wrist to elbow again and again and again.

  “Lucien!” she scolded without heat as his hands began to rock back and forth. Inside, her blood thrummed and her stomach danced. He had fine, strong hands, too. “I’ll never finish these biscuits this way.”

  “Who cares about biscuits?” he asked in a deep Georgia drawl.

  Eve spun around, still caught in his arms. “Alistair!”

  “One and the same,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “Where’s Lucien?” she asked primly. “I want you to go away so I can speak to Lucien.”

  His hands crawled up her back, touching all the way, tickling and arousing. Lucien’s hands, guided by Alistair. “This Lucien likes you,” Alistair said. “He likes you very much.”

  Eve pursed her lips as Alistair moved Lucien’s mouth to her neck and laid it there. Soft. Warm. The tip of his tongue flickered out to tease and tickle. She really should push him away. His embrace was not so tight that she was trapped here.

  And yet… she didn’t lift her hands and give a gentle shove that would send Lucien… Alistair… the two of them back.

  “I like him, too,” Eve said, her voice just a little shaky as that mouth at her neck continued to caress. “But that doesn’t concern you. Now… go away.”

  Firm hands raked down her back, the lazy move as arousing as the upward motion had been. Those hands stopped and cupped her bottom. Pulled her closer. Thumbs rocked. She felt that touch everywhere, in a tingle that traveled through her veins, in a gentle throb that worked its way through her body. His touch was so warm, so sure.

  “He wants you,” a wicked voice whispered against her neck. “He wants you so much. More than that, he truly…”

  Alistair’s voice stopped, Lucien’s lips stilled, and his hands dropped from her backside. Eventually.

  Lucien lifted his head from her neck. “Sorry. He got away from me.”

  He truly what? Damnation. “You sent me in here to make biscuits so you could channel Alistair without having someone there to watch over you. I thought you were going to be unerringly honest.”

  “Well, your biscuits are wonderful and I am hungry, so I did not tell a lie.”

  “Perhaps not, but really, Lucien. It’s so dangerous to open yourself up that way without having someone nearby to help if it becomes necessary.”

  “You distract us,” he explained in a low voice.

  “Well, that’s no reason…” She placed her hands against his chest, puzzled. “When Viola was with me, for no more than a minute, she completely drained me of energy.” She knew Lucien was stronger than she; he’d even said that over time he had acquired new skills. But still… “I could barely move. How did you manage to walk all the way in here and… and… that wasn’t Alistair at all, was it? Lucien!” She couldn’t help but smile. “It isn’t nice to tease.”

  “Of course it is.”

  She hadn’t even known he could tease, that way. It was awfully close to lying, by her way of thinking. No, like it or not, he had retained a piece of Alistair, for a while after the spirit had left him.

  Her grin faded. “But you did channel Alistair again, and you did it alone.” That was how he’d gotten that southern accent down so perfectly. For a little while it had been a part of him; Alistair had been inside his head as well as coming out of his mouth.

  Lucien nodded and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I was right all along. He didn’t kill her.”

  “You might be right, but…”

  “And we know how to prove it.”

  Lucien kissed her, too quickly, and departed. Alone with her unfinished biscuits. Eve wondered, if Alistair’s visit left behind a hint of his accent, the flavor of a r
ogue, what else might he leave inside Lucien? If Alistair was truly innocent, they had nothing to worry about. But if he was indeed a man who would stab the woman he loved in the back…

  An unpleasant chill danced down Eve’s spine.

  *

  “I never had a more successful dinner party!” Daisy said with a grin.

  She had stopped by the house to give Eve and Lucien their embroidered handkerchiefs. Crisp linen squares were emblazoned with the elaborately fashioned red initials, PGS.

  Lucien sighed, openly dismayed as he took his handkerchief. “Secret society hankies,” he muttered. “Lovely.”

  Daisy, missing his sarcasm, smiled and responded with a bright, “Thank you.”

  “Did you get the pumpkin off the ceiling?” Eve asked as she studied her own handkerchief.

  “Most of it,” Daisy replied, seemingly unconcerned.

  Lucien stuffed his hanky into his pocket, shaking his head slightly.

  “Last night was fun,” Eve said. She leaned in close to her friend. “But I do have a bit of a headache this morning. I think we should leave the whiskey to Garrick, from now on.”

  “I agree. We don’t want to be inebriated when we take on a ghost or two. Why, I imagine I’ll be frightened enough without being dizzy, too!” Daisy turned her attentions to Lucien. “So, what should my first duty as a member of the Plummerville Ghost Society be? Besides embroidering the hankies,” she added quickly. “Because that’s already done.”

  Eve cast a questioning glance to Lucien. Things were quickly coming to a head here, and after weeks of delaying the inevitable she was finally ready to tell her friend about the ghosts. She might not ever be ready to tell everyone, but Lucien’s annoying honesty was beginning to rub off on her. Not telling Daisy was beginning to feel like lying.

  Lucien hadn’t wanted her to tell all last night, when everyone at Daisy’s table had been in high spirits and she’d been woozy, and he’d been right to caution her. This wasn’t an entertaining story to be shared over dessert. But would he object if she wanted to tell Daisy, now? He shrugged and then nodded his head. With his approval, Eve led Daisy to the sofa.

  “I have ghosts,” she said simply.

  “The Stampers?” Daisy didn’t seem too terribly surprised.

  Eve nodded. “I guess you’ve heard the stories.”

  “Yes, I just didn’t believe they were true,” Daisy whispered.

  “They’re true, I’m afraid. I asked Lucien to come to Plummerville to help me rid my house of ghosts, but another problem has arisen.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Lucien thinks they were both murdered, that it wasn’t Alistair who killed Viola and then himself, as people believe.”

  “Oh, who did it?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  Daisy clasped her hands together. “You’re trying to solve a crime! How exciting. What can we do to help? Oh, I know! A reenactment. Someone can play Viola, and someone can play Alistair. I think Katherine should play Viola. I would be quite terrified to pretend to be murdered, but it seems nothing terrifies Katherine! Garrick can…”

  “No,” Lucien interrupted. He loomed over them.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Eve said.

  “It’s a terrible idea!” he shouted.

  “Tomorrow night is the thirtieth anniversary of the murder or murders,” Eve argued sensibly. “If we can’t solve this mystery on our own… Viola will be stuck here for at least another year.”

  “You don’t know that,” Lucien said, his voice lower and kinder.

  “I do,” she whispered.

  “Tomorrow’s Halloween,” Daisy said sheepishly. “Won’t it be a little scary to reenact the murder on Halloween?”

  “No,” Lucien said firmly. “It would be very scary, should we do anything so foolish.”

  “We’ll call an emergency meeting…” Daisy began.

  “No meeting.” Lucien offered his hand to Daisy, and she took it. “No reenactment,” he said as he pulled her to her feet. “I thank you for the hankie. Now, go home and finish cleaning the pumpkin off your ceiling.”

  “All right,” Daisy said, chagrined. “But I still think it might be a good idea…”

  Lucien, shaking his head, silenced her. Daisy answered with a wrinkling of her pert nose.

  “And remember,” Lucien said as he walked Daisy to the door, “any society business must stay between us. Evie doesn’t want half the town banging on her door wanting a glimpse of the ghosts.”

  “Of course,” Daisy said. “If you don’t need help with the Stampers, then maybe we can all help you get rid of Katherine’s husband. After you solve the mystery here, of course. At least he wasn’t murdered. His horse threw him, right in the middle of the street. I heard he was a mean man, but of course I never believed it because he always looked so normal when I saw him in town.”

  “We will make Katherine’s husband our first official society business,” Lucien said, his patience obviously wearing thin.

  Eve smiled as she watched the two people she loved most walk to the door, Lucien guiding Daisy along, Daisy halting here and there with another idea, a new plan for the society. Clandestine meetings, an official seal, a secret handshake. At each suggestion, Lucien nodded and then started Daisy moving forward again with a gentle nudge.

  When Daisy was gone and Lucien stood with his back to the door, eyes closed as he breathed deep, Eve smiled. Her house was haunted, her best friend was decidedly ditzy, and the man she loved was far from perfect.

  But imperfect as they were, they were all hers. And she would do whatever she had to in order to keep them.

  Chapter 16

  Lucien stared in amazement. They looked almost tangible, as if he could reach out and touch them both. Viola’s gown was blue, and so were her eyes. There was a golden hue to her fair hair, and the strands around her face were oddly paler than the rest. Almost white. Alistair, dressed in a dark gray suit, wore a diamond stickpin and his shoes needed polishing. He had laugh lines around his eyes. Viola stood by the window and waited, while Alistair walked toward her.

  Lucien looked down at Eve, who was every bit as amazed as he was. “I’m telling you, I don’t look anything like that,” he said, still somewhat annoyed that both Mrs. Markham and Eve had said there was a resemblance, and that Viola had momentarily mistaken him for her husband. Alistair was several years older than he, was an inch or two shorter, and had a mouth on the thin side.

  “Just a little,” Eve whispered.

  Viola turned her back on her husband, and Alistair wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. They stood that way for a few minutes, silent, comfortable with one another, and then Alistair led his smiling wife to the sofa.

  Lucien took Eve’s arm and led her from the room. There was no reason for them to watch the ghostly lovers again tonight… but he couldn’t wait to see what the ectoplasm harvester—which tonight had been placed directly beneath the sofa—would collect.

  He led Eve to the dining room, pulled out a chair for her, and when she was seated Lucien took the chair beside her. He couldn’t do a thing about the lustful noises that emanated from the parlor. At least the murmurs and moans from that room were low, at the moment.

  Eve laid her hands on the table. “Are you going to tell me about this plan you and Alistair cooked up?”

  “Not yet. I’m not even sure it will work.”

  She looked concerned.

  “It’s nothing dangerous,” he assured her.

  “Lucien,” she said in a voice that warned him there was a lecture coming, “are you certain you can trust Alistair?”

  “Of course. I’ve had him with me twice, now.”

  “Yes, but… what if he fooled you and Viola. What if he’s leading you both astray?”

  Lucien shook his head. “No, that’s not possible.”

  “Just because it hasn’t yet happened, that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

  He c
ouldn’t argue with that one.

  “Be careful,” she whispered, as if Alistair might be listening. Judging by the passionate female moans coming from the parlor, moans that grew louder and more earnest with each passing moment, Lucien suspected that Alistair was well occupied.

  “I always am.”

  Eve shook her head softly. “No, you’re not. You’re never careful.” She sounded as if his lack of concern for his own well-being made her sad and angry. “I have seen you take incredible risks in the past four years, and this… this secret plan of yours… just thinking about it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something’s not right here. Maybe we should put the plan on hold.”

  In his heart, Lucien believed that Eve still loved him. If all went well, the ghosts would move on to the other side tonight. Come tomorrow, was he supposed to head for home and leave Eve here? How could he do that?

  “What do you suggest? That we call in the Plummerville Ghost Society for assistance?”

  That got a smile out of Eve, as he had suspected it would.

  “Might not be a bad idea,” he said in a lowered voice. “I have a feeling those four could very easily scare just about any ghost into seeking the safety of the other side.”

  “We six,” Eve said softly.

  Lucien lifted his eyebrows in question.

  “Well, we are a part of the society, after all,” she argued. “They will need us, Lucien. Can you imagine Garrick leading the way as the four of them do battle with a reluctant ghost or two?”

  “Poor ghosts,” he teased.

  “Exactly. I imagine they could send just about any trapped spirit fleeing this earthly plane.” Her expression changed subtly, her lips relaxed. “Seriously, Lucien, we can’t possibly allow them to do anything on their own. They don’t know the rules. They have no idea what they’re up against. Someone could get hurt.”

  “It wasn’t my idea to get them involved. I didn’t ask for help, and I certainly did not suggest that we band together and form a ghost league.” The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for four amateurs jumping into the arena.