She did love him. And she had dreamed about him before she arrived, though she hadn't understood what she was dreaming about. While John was able to mess with her dreams here in the house, he couldn't have done it before she'd gotten here, so maybe Carson was right. Maybe she was supposed to be here. "To be honest, I don't think I could walk out now, even if I wanted to. But every time I think I've made the decision that I'm definitely staying, I start to worry about something else." She laughed, more at herself than out of any real humor at the situation.
"Get out of your head is my advice. Shut that shit off and go with your heart. I had to do it with Jerome," she said quietly.
There was pain in her voice, and April's head shot up, turning to look at her. "Jerome? Why? He seems like a great guy and you have this in common," she blurted.
"Uh-huh. We always had a lot in common. We've been dating since high school. Shared pretty much everything since then, but it wasn't easy." She cleared her throat, looking embarrassed. "I told you my mother was from Alabama. Some parts of the country are a little slower than others on the whole, uh, interracial thing." She shrugged and concentrated on making the dough into round biscuits that she could drop into the bubbling pot when it was ready. There was a closed look on her face, leaving April unsure if she should respond.
She'd grown up with that. As a mixed-race child, she'd dealt with prejudice on both sides. Even her grandmother, whom she'd always thought of as open-minded in most ways, had struggled to accept the relationship, at first. A part of it, her grandmother had admitted once, was that she'd seen it as Foshi giving up her educational dreams to settle down far too young, but a bigger part was her concern over how their children would be treated.
She wanted to express that to Carson, but their budding friendship was still so fragile that she hesitated. Instead, she asked, "How did things turn out? I mean, you're still together."
Carson piled the uncooked biscuits on a plate. "Well, I haven't talked to Mom since we got engaged. So not great, but when you love someone, you have to be willing to give up everything to be with them." She shot April a look that clearly said, 'Don't fuck it up' and April found herself nodding to both the spoken and unspoken words.
The doorbell rang, echoing through the house, and April stiffened. "That's him," she said. She looked at Carson nervously, and the other girl put a finger to her lips in the universal 'Shhh' motion. April took a deep breath and nodded, remembering their plan. She'd let Charles in without mentioning Carson's presence. With the van gone, he'd have no idea she wasn't alone. The tech would be watching from the equipment room and would come immediately, if there was a problem, to stop it and also to be a witness.
She was glad that lunch hadn't finished cooking yet; her stomach suddenly felt queasy as she left the kitchen and headed for the front door. The bell rang again, several short tones, as if being jabbed impatiently. She tugged open the door to find Charles Bruebeker, as expected, glaring and looking annoyed.
"Took long enough," he snapped as he brushed by her and entered the house without waiting for her to move out of the way.
"Sorry, I was making lunch," she said, making no effort to sound like she meant the apology. "The door was unlocked, and I thought you had a key, anyway," she added. She wondered why he bothered with the polite nicety of ringing at all; in most other ways, he seemed to lack manners altogether.
"Easier to ring, so I don't have to track you down in this mausoleum," he said coldly. He hated the house, and there was fear there. She'd noted on several occasions his nervousness, and yet he persisted in coming inside.
"Okay. Just dropping off my check?" she asked, holding out her hand in an effort to make the visit as short as possible.
He looked down at her hand, one eyebrow going up, and then turned and stalked off towards the library. His highly polished shoes clicked across the parquet floor at a rapid pace. "You'll have to sign, of course," he called back over his shoulder without waiting for her.
"Why can't I sign here?" she asked in a plaintive voice and then sighed. He was already out of sight, leaving her standing in the open doorway like an idiot. She shut it quietly and followed him. There was something he seemed to like about the formality of the library. The elegant antique desk drew him and he settled in the high-backed chair like a king on a throne.
She frowned, watching from the doorway as he made himself at home, and then reluctantly dragged herself to stand at the side of the desk, feeling small in comparison. She waited for him to get out the paper she needed to sign to claim her check but he seemed to be in no rush. It was hours until sunset and he felt safe in dragging things out. She cleared her throat, hoping to spur him to get a move on, but he just stared at her.
"So, how did the week go?" he asked, finally. There was a slight hint of condescension in his tone.
"It was fine," she said shortly. Then made herself elaborate. "Some good poltergeist activity in here the other day; the professor was really excited about it."
"I heard. And how are things with your…lover?" he asked, as his eyes bored into hers with an intensity that was frightening.
She shivered and gave him a blank look. "Fine."
"I understand things are going to be changing around here. Elizabeth's new idea is exciting; don't you think? I hope you're giving her lots of material to use," he said. The words were subtle; the tone was lascivious.
She just stared at him for a second. "So, the papers?" she pressed, keeping her voice polite and steady.
"In a rush to fuck your ghost?" he asked, being deliberately insulting, and not for the first time.
"Yes, absolutely, I can't wait for him to bend me over the desk right here and take me from behind. Jealous?" she snapped. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her; it was unlike her to be so confrontational but she was sick of the way he treated her.
He smiled, showing all his perfect white teeth and she was reminded of a shark. Despite the pale color of his eyes, they were as emotionless as a shark's, too. He snapped open the briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of forms, dropping the packet in front of her. The bottom line was highlighted for her signature, but she took her time reading it, anyway, before she scrawled her name.
"You'll get tired of having a lover you can never go outside with. That's no way for a pretty girl like you to live. You'll want a real man. I can do more for you than he can," Charles said, leaning in and making his words barely a whisper.
"He is a real man and he gives me all I need," she said, biting the words off sharply as she shoved the papers back in his direction.
He took them, without looking, and tucked them into his briefcase. His eyes roved down over her body, pausing on her breasts briefly, a smirk on his lips. "We'll see. Maybe you've just forgotten what a real man feels like. Maybe I—"
"Hey. April? Lunch is about ready," Carson called from the doorway behind them.
April straightened, looking relieved. She flashed Carson a smile and then turned back to the lawyer. He looked like he was furious but trying not to show it. "Do you have my check? It's lunchtime and I don't want it to get cold," she said sweetly.
Bruebeker's face went blank and then he forced a smile. "Of course, Miss Cassidy. It's right here," he said as he handed her a plain white envelope.
"Did you want to stay for lunch? I made plenty," Carson asked. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, staring him down. Her invitation was not a warm one, but rather a challenge, and as expected, he shook his head firmly.
"Thank you, but no. I've got too much to do today." His eyes slid back to April. "Maybe another day," he said. His tone was completely professional, friendly even, but she knew there was a threat under there, and she swallowed hard.
Both women walked him to the door and locked it behind him before retreating to the warmth of the kitchen, with a home-cooked meal bubbling merrily on the stove. It wasn't actually ready yet, it had just been a convenient excuse to interrupt and Carson now took the time to drop the dumplin
gs in and turn the heat down to simmer. "He's dangerous," she said.
"You really think so? I can't tell if maybe he's just really bad at flirting? I mean, he's a lawyer. He can't just attack women; he'd lose his career," she suggested tentatively. It wasn't what she felt deep down in her icy insides, but it was what she hoped.
"I know the type, April. If he thinks he can get away with it, he'll do what he has to do to get you. If you go willingly, fine, if not, I wouldn't rule out rape," the girl said. She took a seat across from April, her hand teasing her short blue-green spikes, with a serious look in her eyes.
Something told April that Carson had dealt with a guy like that before. She sighed, slumping in her seat as she gave in. "Yeah. But he hasn't done anything I can prove."
"Yet. Maybe you can tell Elizabeth you want another lawyer. She's a woman; she should understand," Carson pointed out.
"Yeah, maybe." Elizabeth hadn't been extremely helpful to anyone but herself, so far, but maybe a phone call would help. "I'll try talking to her." Her hands were shaking and she pressed them flat against the table so it wasn't so noticeable how upset she was.
"Good and—oh hell—am I sitting where you guys fucked?" Carson narrowed her eyes, brows coming to a point in the center of her forehead as she looked down at the table. "Gross," she said as she pushed back her chair.
April snorted a laugh, nodding. "Afraid so," she admitted, punctuated with wheezes and giggles.
Carson, who'd said it on purpose to help April calm down, sighed dramatically. "Well, we're eating in the dining room, for sure. Please tell me you haven't screwed on the dining room table yet?" she asked.
That set April off in peals of laughter while shaking her head frantically, trying to catch her breath, finally forcing out, "Not yet, maybe tomorrow!"
It was nice to laugh. It had been a long time since she'd just hung out and laughed with someone; her weird talents tended to scare people off, no matter how she tried to bury them. With Carson, there was no hiding, and now that she'd gotten over her attitude, April was finding her to be, well, friendly.
They did have lunch in the dining room, and shortly after they finished, Jerome returned for Carson. April walked her to the door, thanking her again for staying.
The girl shrugged it off. "It's no problem. I know what it's like. I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she headed out to the van and got in the front seat.
It left her alone in the house with a few hours until John arrived. He'd continued to stick to his sunset rule, staying away to give her privacy, and she appreciated it. She knew she could call him and he'd come, but she'd found other things to keep her occupied. Today, she'd decided that she was finally going to do some exploring in the house. After two weeks, it was time.
The first floor was where she spent most of her morning. The parlor was used for her morning interviews with the professor, and the equipment room (more like a large closet, really) was extremely familiar. The library and the media room were where she spent most of her afternoons and some of her evenings. The kitchen and dining room, of course, for meals, and there were several bathrooms and a laundry room. But she hadn't taken much time to look beyond that.
Wandering through the rooms, she now paused to open doors and poke her head into corners. She found that some doors didn't lead to closets as she'd expected, but to full-size rooms. She found a large pantry, cabinets stocked with several expansive sets of china—place-settings for dozens of people, at least. They looked old and she thought they must be quite valuable.
There was also a set of sinks and even a deep freezer tucked back there, though it was empty and unplugged. Beside it, there was a door that led directly to the patio where she'd had her meeting with Elizabeth, and that was a pleasant discovery. It would make it easy to duck outside for lunch on warm days.
There was a coat closet so large, it had a set of wing-backed chairs tucked inside, though she couldn't imagine why. Maybe it was just to fill the space, she decided; there was enough of it. The rest of the downstairs held nothing unexpected, just the usual assortment of closets and storage rooms you'd expect.
Mindful of John's tragic story, she chose not to investigate the basement, instead climbing the stairs to the second floor to begin a methodical search, starting at the first room. The lawyer, Charles, had shown the other bedrooms briefly on her first day when he'd given her a fast tour of the house, but she hadn't done more than glance inside as he'd hurried down the hall, in a rush to leave.
Once she'd seen the master bedroom suite, she'd had no interest in any of the other rooms, but now she stopped and wandered through each. There was a lot to admire in the decor and design. Each stood alone, separate and unique, and she wondered if Elizabeth had chosen the mix of paints and fabrics or if she'd hired someone. If it was her own work, it was impressive, but maybe game design and house design held things in common.
Despite the elegant beauty, which was worth seeing, there was nothing unexpected in the first couple of bedrooms. The third one was something special, though, and it was the only one that might have pulled her away from the master suite, if its bathroom had been anything as luxurious. It held, as part of the room, a cozy reading nook in a rounded turret section. The arc was filled with a padded bench that looked comfortable and was covered with throw pillows, and it had a beautiful view of the estate through windows that were taller than she was.
She curled up and pressed her nose against the glass. She could just see the garden at the far end of the yard and imagined how relaxing it would be to sit there and listen to the rain beating against the glass while she read. The room's fireplace—most of the bedrooms had one—faced her from where she was sitting, so she'd be able to enjoy the sight of firelight reflecting on the glass on cold winter nights. She loved it and immediately decided to turn it into a study.
She sighed, and after a few minutes, she got up to explore again. It was fun to make plans, to think about changing things to suit her own style better. Not that she'd dare make any changes to the house itself. John would probably be displeased about that, but he would simply have to allow her to have some say in the furnishings, if he wanted her to feel like it was her home, too.
The rest of the bedrooms, while lovely, didn't hold her interest for more than the time it took to walk through them. But halfway down the hall, she got a surprise. There was a sharp turn and a recessed door at the end of the truncated hallway. She opened it, curiously, and then stopped short as her mouth dropped open. Whoever had planned the house originally had decided, for whatever reason, that a ballroom was needed among the bedrooms on the second floor.
She'd heard there was one, of course, but this was the first time she'd seen it. It wasn't big, as far as ballrooms went. Not nearly the size of the ballrooms she'd seen in movies, but she estimated twenty-five people could fit inside without feeling cramped. It was deceptively long, stretching far out the length of the house. "I wonder why they tucked it back here," she whispered. Her voice echoed in the cavernous room, and she jumped.
"They didn't." She jumped a second time, turning in surprise and then relaxing as she saw John. He'd appeared silently behind her, as ghosts tended to do.
She frowned. "You're early," she said. The accusatory tone was more from the fright he'd given her than annoyance that he was there.
"I'm on time," he said, chuckling. "You must have gotten distracted. Exploring your new home?" he asked, tilting his head in question.
"Well, it seemed about time," she replied. She felt foolish and knew her cheeks were flushed so she turned to draw attention to the room. The highly polished floors, perfect for dancing, gleamed from the light of the chandeliers. And floor to ceiling mirrors at the sides made the room seem much bigger. A piano sat at the far end, gracing a small stage. "What were you saying?"
"I said they didn't. This was a servant's door, meant to be unobtrusive so waiters could slip in with trays of drinks. Guests were never meant to use it. The three bedrooms on this side of the hall a
re new. Originally, the main staircase led directly to a large set of doors that could be opened wide. People would enter there, into the salon where they could relax, leave their wraps and jackets, chat and then slowly make their way here for the dancing." He frowned and she noted a glint of anger.
She remembered how upset he'd been at changes Elizabeth had made to the house, and assumed this was one of them. It made sense; she wouldn't need a ballroom that took up half the floor. The only surprise was that she'd kept any part of it at all, though, obviously, the open space could be used for many things. "It's beautiful but I doubt I'll ever have a use for it," she commented, trying to change the subject.
He was still looking ominous as he turned. She knew he was seeing it as it once was and it struck her as odd that he cared. He'd been murdered in the basement before the house had been finished. He'd never danced on this floor, but he seemed to hold every part of the house as sacred, despite that. "Over there is a balcony to get a breath of air when the room grew too warm," he said. He took her hand and pulled her over to the tall French doors, letting her look out at the empty patio.
"We could hold a ball here, or however such things are called now," he said suddenly. His face looked distant as he stared at the glass; she suspected he wasn't seeing what she was.
"Party," she said. "We just call it a party now. But, John, we can't entertain," she pointed out gently. It was as if, sometimes, he forgot he was dead, and he was trying to regain all that he'd lost when his partner had swindled him out of the money to build the mansion and then had him killed when he'd discovered the theft.
"Of course, we—" He stopped; his shoulders slumped just a touch and then he laughed as he pushed his hair back behind his shoulder. It was a bitter laugh, and when he turned back to her, his eyes held a sheen of moisture. "You're right, of course. I only meant perhaps you'd like to have a party here. I'd be happy to watch you enjoy yourself," he said, clearly covering for his lapse.
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