Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2)

by Robin D. Owens

  The housekeeper said, “If that is all for now, Mr. Laurentine?”

  Laurentine, dressed in custom jeans and a tailored denim shirt, waved a hand. “Of course. I’ll see you at breakfast,” Laurentine said.

  Without another word, the woman left.

  “How are you?” Zach asked Clare.

  She smiled. “Pretty well.”

  “I’m fine,” Laurentine said. For an instant, Zach caught a flash of slyness in Laurentine’s eyes. Was he just maliciously amused? Or was he involved in the accident? He sat on a couch with his arm around the beautiful Missy Legrand, who leaned against him. From the subtle body cues, neither of the two was more emotionally involved than hot sex and posturing for others.

  “Good to know.” Zach’s gaze met Laurentine’s for a fleeting instant as he checked out the rest of the room. Heavy, floor-length curtains probably masked tall windows or sliding doors. The rest of the room was decked out as an office, with an impressive desk that screamed look-at-me-I’m-a-big-shot and loaded bookcases. Since some of the volumes appeared well read, Laurentine’s character rose a bit in Zach’s estimation.

  He released Clare’s hands after chafing them to warmth and he stared at Laurentine. “So do you want to tell me what the sheriff found out?”

  Laurentine arched his brows. “You’ll get Clare’s story later.”

  “They took my phone,” Clare said. She straightened her back until she sat ramrod stiff, mouth flat, staring at Laurentine. “Mr. Laurentine made it clear when I spoke to him yesterday afternoon that I was to consider myself on call. So when I received a phone call from him near midnight, I, of course, came down to see him.”

  “You work from eight a.m. to eight p.m. from now on,” Zach said. “No earlier and no later. Rickman will adjust the bill, if necessary.”

  Clare turned a chill look on him. Uh-oh.

  “I will take your advice under consideration,” she said.

  “Right. My advice.”

  “I don’t mind paying for Ms. Cermak’s time.” Laurentine’s smile showed an edge of teeth. He seemed to want to aggravate the situation. Because he liked trouble making, didn’t like Zach, didn’t like Clare, or didn’t like them both.

  “That was not the impression I received from you yesterday,” Clare said. “I will discuss any hours with you, and confirm such with Tony Rickman tomorrow.”

  “If we stay,” Zach said, reached for her fingers and squeezed them, then sent her a tender and lopsided smile he hoped would soften her.

  She glanced sideways at him. “If we stay. I don’t need to speak with J. Dawson here.” A tiny sigh escaped her. “I suspect he’ll follow me until we find his murderer.”

  Missy Legrand’s eyes widened. Maybe Laurentine had kept her in the dark about the situation.

  Clare waved a hand. “To continue, I hurried down the stairs and slipped on some furniture polish on the third or fourth step.” She grimaced and her fingers tightened on his.

  “The sheriff found more than what is used to polish the stairs,” Laurentine said. “Nearly a pool, and it wouldn’t be easily seen, since apparently it blends in with the wood.” Laurentine flicked his fingers. Of course he wouldn’t know about furniture polish. “Naturally the lights are low in the corridor and the great room at night.”

  “A lot of furniture polish is almost clear,” Clare said.

  Zach grunted. “Anything else?” He’d take her through everything once they got back to her room, then talk to the sheriff in the morning.

  Laurentine said, “The sheriff found an outside door unlocked.” The multimillionaire scowled. “I pay people to do a security check, and I have a system.”

  “Who checks?”

  “Ms. Schangler and her nephew see to the windows and doors. Of course, they state that they’d checked everything, and all was fine.”

  “I’ll take a look at the door shortly, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s late,” Laurentine said.

  “It’s assault,” Zach stated. He stood and went to the curtains, separated them enough to see they did cover a door to a terrace. A door with standard locks. Pitiful. Zach’d ask Rossi for a floor plan. The guy would have one and was easier to work with than Laurentine.

  He saw nothing in the dark beyond the doors, but didn’t plan on giving his eyes time to adjust. “Why didn’t you want Rossi here with you?”

  Missy Legrand rose with a sensual movement and said, “I asked Dennis to have him stay out there when the sheriff and his two deputies came in. So many men in law enforcement.” She scanned Zach, and, like Clare, ignored his cane. Point for her.

  “I get tired of having Rossi with us all the time. Are you done, Mr. . . . Slade?”

  Zach offered his hand. “Zach Slade, I’m with Rickman Security and Investigations.”

  “You were wounded by an armed drunk driver in Montana six months ago.” Missy took his hand, gave him a soft grip. The touch of her skin had no effect on him; her scent was pleasant but not interesting. He stiffened at her words.

  “I’m a bit of a news junky,” the actress said. “I recognized you.”

  Zach let her fingers go. “Ms. Legrand.”

  Clare stood slowly, as if her body pained her. He moved to her side.

  Looking at Laurentine, she said, “I’m off the clock until eight a.m. tomorrow morning.” She paused, then ruined the moment by saying, “Unless J. Dawson visits me.”

  “Come on, Clare,” Zach said.

  “I assume you intend to stay with Clare,” Laurentine said.

  Zach shrugged. “If you have a problem with that, we’ll leave.” Again he met Laurentine’s eyes. “Feel free to fire us.”

  Clare stiffened beside him, no doubt her frugal soul flinching at the thought of doing work for no money. Or at him making decisions for her again.

  “That reminds me.” Now Laurentine stood. “How are you doing at solving J. Dawson’s murder?”

  Smiling with teeth, Zach said, “Pretty well. We can talk later.”

  Since Clare was moving slowly and steadily toward the door, he didn’t taunt Laurentine any further. Zach reached the door first and opened it for Clare.

  “I’m on the second floor,” she said.

  “Is there an elevator?” Zach asked, tapping his cane louder than necessary in the hallway.

  Clare didn’t even glance at him, lifted her chin. “It’s best I get accustomed to taking the stairs. I can’t ignore staircases the rest of my life.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Zach said. She wasn’t moving with her usual suppleness.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Especially since I have some pain meds in me.”

  He wanted to take a good look at the scene, too. Unlike Laurentine, he knew what furniture polish looked like.

  They walked slowly side by side to the stairs and went up. There were fancy gold velvet cords attached to posts blocking off the top three stairs, which left only enough room for a person to pass on the right, next to the wall. Ropes like the kind that were used in a museum. Like what Laurentine might have in the ghost town of Curly Wolf.

  “I wasn’t running,” Clare said with only a small hitch in her voice. “Even though he’d—or I thought it was Mr. Laurentine—called twice.”

  Zach smiled. “The irritation and rebellion factor.”

  “Yes.” She wet her lips. “I’m not . . . not sure how much worse it might have been if I’d been going faster.”

  “Hard to say. Did the voice sound like Laurentine’s?”

  “That’s a good question. The number showed up as his. As a house phone.”

  “Interesting.” And not too surprising that a place in the mountains would have a landline as well as a satellite.

  “I suppose. To be honest, I don’t know if the voice was Mr. Laurentine’s, the words were so short.”

  “Yeah?”

  “‘Meet me now.’ Like I said, the sheriff took my phone to check the logs or do tests on it or something.”

  “Uh-huh.�
�� They turned left and walked down the hall that was open to the great room. She stopped at the second to the last door on the right, which would face toward the back. No view of Curly Wolf.

  Once inside they turned to each other. Zach put his arms around her carefully as she held him tight, burrowed into him.

  “Clare.” His own voice caught. Here she was, close, so he could feel her, her curves against him, the fullness of her in his arms, the life of her. And her scent washed through him and she was near and safe. “Clare.”

  “Oh, Zach.” Her voice came muffled and her back trembled as he stroked her. “I don’t trust anyone here except Rossi.”

  “Good choice.”

  “But he’s not you.”

  He touched her side under her robe. “Cracked ribs?”

  “Yes, two cracked ribs and multiple bruises.” She pulled away from him before he was ready. Her eyes were damp but no tear tracks showed. Tough lady.

  She dropped her robe, standing in panties only, and let him circle her, see the darkening of the skin on shoulder and arms and hip.

  “Just how far did you fall?”

  “Most of the way down.” She lifted her hands, wincing, and sifted them through her hair. “Thankfully, I didn’t hit my head.”

  Zach thought he heard barking, and that usually meant Enzo was around. He felt a chill around his legs, a touch near his groin. “Will you tell him not to do that?”

  Clare laughed and it was the most wonderful sound he’d heard in hours. He glanced at the bed. “Queen, huh?”

  She lifted her nose. “This is the jade guest room. I don’t think it’s one of the premiere rooms in the house.” She smiled, petted an invisible Labrador.

  “Where was Enzo when this was happening?” asked Zach. “What’s the use of having a ghostly companion if he doesn’t help out?”

  Clare tensed.

  “What?” Zach asked.

  “Um, Enzo says there’s a bad ghost out in back.”

  “A bad ghost?”

  “It’s not of my time period, so I don’t need to deal with it, but Enzo seems to think it could harm me somehow. Ah . . .” She turned pale, stumbled to the bed, and sank onto it as if her knees had given out.

  Zach picked up her robe and bundled it around her though the room was warm, then sat next to her.

  “Ah, what?”

  She leaned against him and he put his arm around her, keeping his clasp loose since his arm caught her near her bad ribs. “Right after the fall, I had a conversation with Enzo and the Other about, ah, life and death.”

  He tensed. “Do I want to hear this?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”

  “All right then.” He lowered them down backward, his hand going naturally to her full breast, covering it, feeling the steady beat under his palm, and his own body gave one atavistic shudder. She was all right. Not hurt too bad. And he was with her and she was safe with him.

  He rolled onto his left side, felt the strain on his leg brace, ignored it. Nothing mattered but Clare. He’d like to feel her surround him in the best way possible, but not when she was hurt.

  A sharp bark, then eerie silence. Enzo was gone. Fine with him.

  Carefully, making sure he wouldn’t jostle her, he took Clare’s mouth, felt the softness of her lips, the warm tangle of her tongue.

  FOURTEEN

  HER SCENT ENVELOPED him, stirred him, let him know she was all right. Especially when he moved his lips to the pulse in her neck, and felt the throb of her blood under his mouth. He molded her breast, and her nipple hardened in his palm.

  God, all he wanted to do was tuck her under him, be inside her. But he had work to do . . . to protect her . . . and she was hurt.

  He let out a long sigh and relaxed, rolled from his side to his back, ignoring his erection. His hand fell away from her breast, but he reached for, found, and twined her fingers with his. “Despite what we said to Laurentine, you don’t want to move somewhere else?”

  “I think we—I—need to stay here in South Park until I”—she made a futile gesture—“get a feel for the place. Fairplay’s the closest town. I’m sure that town wouldn’t be good for me because there’d be too many ghosts.”

  “You’re determined to help J. Dawson.”

  Clare squeezed his hand and turned her head to meet his eyes. “So far, it seems that I’ve been assigned ghosts to help. Helping my first major ghost move on was tough, but he wasn’t too scary, and neither is J. Dawson. Perhaps The Powers That Be or the mechanics of my gift are easing me into this . . . new vocation.” She waved her free hand. “It’s better that they choose, than I go fumbling around finding ghosts myself.”

  “All right. We’ll stay for now. I think most of my research into the murder will have to be here.” He found himself smiling. “At least Laurentine didn’t kick me out of the house. I’m here with you.”

  “I’m glad you are.”

  “Good.” He glanced at her old travel alarm clock, which she’d set on the bedside table. “We need to get some sleep to function well tomorrow . . . later today. I have an appointment with the Park County archivist late in the morning, but I’ll want to interrog—talk to some of the staff before then. And whoever’s handling this in the sheriff’s office.”

  “Breakfast is from six a.m. to nine a.m.” As always, she knew the rules.

  He grunted. “All right. I’ll set the clock for eight.” He got up, limped to the table, and reset it from 6:45 a.m. to eight. “This will give us time to wash and dress before we eat. Still too short on sleep, though.” Especially since he still needed to check the door that had been found unlocked, and he had a very full morning planned.

  He waited until she fell asleep, then with a kiss on her temple, he picked up his cane and trod softly to the door. He slipped from the room, walked to the staircase in full light, and wasn’t surprised when the bodyguard at the bottom of the stairs whirled around with a gun.

  Rossi grunted, slipped his weapon back into his shoulder holster. Ms. Schangler and a man who looked more like a handyman than indoor staff had faded back down to the bottom of the stairs, along with the poles and ropes. The housekeeper’s eyes flashed with anger. “We got the all-clear from the sheriff to remove these,” she said stiffly.

  Zach nodded to her. “I’m glad you’re still up. I’d like to speak to you.”

  Her lips thinned, then pursed. “I’ve already discussed everything with the sheriff. Neither I nor my housekeeping staff was responsible for leaving a puddle of furniture polish on the stairs.” She sniffed.

  “Of course not,” Zach said. “Do you know whether it was your furniture polish that was used? Or did the culprit bring his or her own?”

  “Huh,” Rossi said.

  Awareness dawned in Ms. Schangler’s eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that.” In and out, her lips puckered, relaxed. “The sheriff didn’t ask. But they took all my polish.”

  “Which step was the liquid on?”

  “Mostly the third, some on the fourth,” Rossi said. “And some down the stairs, smeared, maybe, as Clare fell.”

  Zach’s gut tightened at the thought of her plummeting. He nodded. Addressing Ms. Schangler, he said, “Do you know if the furniture polish smelled the same? Looked the same as the product you use?”

  She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes. I think I would have noticed if it had been a different brand.”

  “All right, then.” Zach made a memo in his phone. “I’ll talk to the sheriff about the—cans?”

  “Bottles.”

  He nodded. “Bottles and any fingerprints that might be on them.”

  “Can I take these things back to the storage area in Curly Wolf?” asked the man.

  Ms. Schangler looked at Zach and he nodded. The guy left.

  Proceeding down the stairs, Zach said, “Did you check the locks tonight?”

  He glanced at Rossi, who grimaced and answered, “Laurentine knows what I think about his locks, and
I always give him a hard time when I check them, so he doesn’t want me doing it.” The bodyguard shrugged his heavy shoulders. “This is a quiet location.” His lip curled as he slanted a stare at Ms. Schangler. “They don’t even turn on the alarm most of the time. And they have some house cameras but they weren’t on either. Used mostly for big parties. We had them on when the bones first appeared and saw nothing about how they came. Laurentine didn’t like that. I think it weirded him out wondering how they showed up, so he turned the cams off again when the entertaining was done. This isn’t Denver. The staff isn’t used to being always observed and people don’t like it.”

  “Someone knew the cameras were off,” Zach said.

  The housekeeper’s shoulders sagged a little. “My nephew, Tyler, checked the doors and windows before he left at eleven p.m. He would have told me or Rossi if anything was amiss. And no, the alarm was not on tonight.” Her chin lifted. “Though if it had been, the intruder was probably smart enough to get around it.”

  “Who has the codes?” Zach asked. He kept his voice conversational and slowly took the stairs one foot at a time. It would make him appear less dangerous.

  Rossi opened his mouth, and Zach shot him a look to keep quiet.

  “I have the code, of course, as does Mr. Laurentine,” Ms. Schangler said. “So does the foreman of the ranch, the manager of Curly Wolf, Rossi, my nephew, the chief maid.”

  “When was the last time the code was changed?” Zach asked. He was now close to her and decided to move a little more rapidly so he wouldn’t tower over her.

  “I believe it was changed three months ago.”

  “We didn’t handle the house alarm system,” Rossi stated. “Security sucks.”

  Ms. Schangler clicked her tongue in disgust.

  “Do you know if the sheriff or his deputies spoke with your nephew?” Zach asked Ms. Schangler. He put his back to the wall and leaned against it.

  She nodded. “Yes. Tyler called me. He was upset. He did his job.”

  “I’m sure. Can I speak with him, too?”

  “He doesn’t remain onsite. He’ll be back on tomorrow at three. He has flexible hours, comes in when I need him.”