“Amor de mi vida,” he greeted her, a tender look on his face.
She rose and they shared a sweet but thorough kiss. I smiled, even as a twinge of envy reverberated in my heart. I missed effortless moments like that with Neil. Though I thought he’d forgiven me for the lie, our parting this morning was stilted, both of us almost afraid to commit to words that might do more harm than good.
“Sam, this is Maggie Phillips and…?”
Mental forehead smack. I’d forgotten to introduce Sylvia. Luckily, she was the kind of gal who had no problem introducing herself with an outstretched hand. “Sylvia Wright.”
Sam flashed even white teeth. “Ah, cazador de fantasmas.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“The hunters of ghosts, seekers of the espíritus perdidos.”
“Lost spirits,” Alex translated with an eye roll. “For an educated man, you buy into a whole lot of rubbish, Sam Ruiz.”
Sam didn’t appear fazed by his wife’s critical assessment. “I’m not the only one. The town hasn’t had so much to discuss in years.”
Compelled by God only knew what, I hastily added, “We’re not really ghost hunters. Not like we’re certified or anything.” Hell, I didn’t even know if ghost hunters needed to be certified. Maybe they were just certifiable.
“No?” Sam’s dark brows drew together.
“What we’re doing is cleansing the house, both physically and spiritually,” Sylvia added.
While she and Sam lapsed into a discussion of the techniques she intended to use, I turned toward Alex.
“You don’t believe the place is haunted?”
She hesitated and I saw she was careful to choose the right words. “Well, I’ve never seen anything personally, but there have been rumors for as far back as I can remember. Creepy old estates are perfect for teenagers bent on mischief and raising hell. My friend Erin had gone there to make out with her boyfriend and said she heard something weird down by the water. She told me it was like singing, but it made all the hair on her body stand on end. Her boyfriend wanted to explore, but she was too scared so she convinced him to take her home. He went back though.”
Something about her face clued me in. “Did something happen to him?”
She shook her head but before I could breathe in relief she said, “No, not to him, at least not that he would say. But that night, his father had a heart attack.”
A chill raced through my bloodstream and left ice crystals in its wake. Just like the stories we’d unearthed about the bean nighe. “Did he actually see the ghost?”
Alex shrugged. “I have no idea. His family moved away after that and he and Erin broke up. He might have told her about that, you’d have to ask her, but it was a long time ago.”
“Anyone else that you know of who saw the ghost?”
“The Grants,” Sam, having overheard my question, offered.
Grant was a Scottish surname, one that dated back to the time of the highland clans. This had to be the right track. I barely stifled the urge to rub my hands together. “Where do they live? Do you think they’d talk to us?”
Sam and Alex exchanged a look and Alex nodded slowly. “Maybe. They were caretakers of that property as well as the Grey estate. If anyone knows something about the ghost, it’ll be them.”
“Grey?” Sylvia blinked. “They used to own the lock house property, right?”
“Along with half the damn county,” Alex muttered. “But the taxes have been brutal for property owners and they’ve been selling off big chunks at a time whenever they can.”
“Do you think they know something about the ghost?” I asked.
Sam rubbed his smooth chin and shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to ask, right?”
****
Neil was busy mowing the lawn when we returned to the house. I couldn’t contain my smile at his thoughtfulness. He could have started on any of the millions of tasks the place required but he was doing this one for my mental comfort. Short grass gave snakes less places to hide, just in case the exterminator had missed any.
The warm spring afternoon gave us a chance to open all the windows and let the fresh air combat the damp interior. Leo unrolled blueprints across the card table, the house and grounds as he envisioned them when we were finished.
“We’re going to take out this wall here.” He pointed at the two dimensional sketch and then at the hallway. “Make one giant great room out of it for wow factor. Floor to ceiling windows to capitalize on the view.” He rattled on about the proposed changes.
“Great,” I said when he paused for breath. “What do you want us to do?”
Though my mother-in-law had made it sound like Sylvia and I were in charge of any and all changes, I knew better. Leo had marching orders straight from the source and Laura trusted no one else to accomplish the job to her satisfaction.
“Today we want to take note of anything salvageable. Light fixtures, windows, bathroom fixtures, etcetera. You two can test things out and make a list of what stays and what needs to be replaced. Eventually we’ll rent this place out and we want whatever property manager we hire to know what’s original and what’s been upgraded.”
Set to our tasks, Sylvia and I explored the house, starting with the upstairs bedroom where she’d spent the night. Huge evergreens flanked the room on either side, wreaking havoc on the gutters but providing a nice bit of shade, which was badly needed in the sultry summer months. The house had one ancient air conditioning unit in the master suite.
I spun slowly to study every corner of the octagonal shaped room. “It reminds me of a fairy princess’s tower.”
Sylvia paused in her prodding of the baseboard heater. “Now which of us is the kooky one?” She gave the rusty cover a rattle and it promptly fell off.
“Gotta fix that.” I scribbled it on the list. It’d probably be easier to just scrawl the word “everything” in the gotta fix column and call it a day.
I spied Neil out the window, working with his shirt off. A sigh escaped. He was perfect, from the dark hair that was just starting to thread with silver to the flex of ropy muscles beneath the tanned skin as he loaded debris into a wheel barrow. Sharing was caring and I beckoned Sylvia over. “Check out the view.”
“Hubba, hubba.” She winked at me and then leaned out as far as she could and catcalled, “Hell-ooo, sailor.”
Neil, sweat-slicked and utterly glorious, turned in our direction, looked up and waved. “Ladies.”
We watched him work for a while, ogling as he bent, stretched and moved. “I feel like a pervert,” I said, my gaze glued on his jean-clad posterior. Atlas bounded up from the brook sopping wet, stopped three feet from Neil, and shook. Neil yelped as he was coated in half a bog’s worth of water. A bevy of colorful curse words drifted our way, along with a glee-filled bark.
“He’s yours to watch,” Sylvia pointed out. She somehow managed to turn away from the earthy display below. “So, it’s not like you’re tired of each other.”
“I’ll never be tired of him,” I replied. “Doesn’t matter how old he is, or how old I am, I’ll still want him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Somehow I found the strength to turn away and hold up my hands for her inspection. “You see this? That’s the problem.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “The scars? Do they hurt?”
“No, but just look at him.” I gestured at Neil’s golden glory. “He’s perfect and I’m a mess.”
Sylvia didn’t say anything and, disgusted with myself, I picked up the pad of paper and looked around. The light fixture in the ceiling was garish but functional. I added a maybe column there. Neil had something in the truck to test the outlets to make sure they worked, so we’d come back to that later.
“Maggie.” Sylvia sat on the bed, her legs crossed in front of her. She patted the spot next to her, indicating that I should sit and talk with her.
“There’ll be hell to pay if Leo catches us sitting down on the job,” I warned her.
She shrugged. “Like he’s not just finding busy work to keep us out of the way.”
I sat, though my body refused to bend the way hers did.
Old. Broken. Mess.
I must have made a face, because Sylvia took my hands in hers. “First of all, no one is perfect.”
My chin went up. “Neil is.”
She shook her head. “No, he’s not. Ask him, he’ll tell you.”
“His shoulder isn’t his fault.” Neil had done serious damage to his rotator cuff years ago, effectively ending his career with the SEAL teams. “And other than that he’s the picture of health. He can still run a five minute mile, for crying out loud.”
Sylvia nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll give you he’s physically fit. He works hard to stay that way. You could too, if you really wanted it.”
I snorted. Sylvia had tried to drag me down the healthy lifestyle road before and it had ended in a five car pile-up.
“You could, but I’m not going to argue with you over it. You weren’t exactly an Olympic Athlete when you guys first got together, right?”
I shook my head. My rounded physique had been a constant since I was eight, part of being bred from sturdy Scots stock. Generations back, thin people died from starvation caused by famine, while heftier ones lived to procreate and pass on their chubby DNA. Extra weight piled onto my hips, thighs and ass and whenever I did manage to shed a few pounds, it always came right from the boobs.
“So, how are your scars any different than Neil’s rotator cuff?”
I glared at her. “It is different. He got those in the line of duty.”
“You saved a woman’s life.” Sylvia’s tone was quiet. “These are a badge of honor. If you were in the military, you’d be awarded a purple heart. You’re as much a hero as your husband.”
I opened my mouth, and then shut it again when I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. Did she really view me in that light?
She did, I could tell by the look on her face. Sylvia believed I was some sort of champion of the weak, defender of the oppressed, instead of a dumbass busybody who didn’t have enough sense to stay home.
“It’s not only me, either. Neil sees you like that, too. Like a hero.”
I made a rude noise. “No, he doesn’t. He kept telling me to stay out of it, tried to keep me out of it. I didn’t listen and ended up in the hospital. Twice.”
“I’ve seen how he looks at you when you’re doing something else,” she argued. “He may be upset that you got hurt, but there’s this…I don’t know quite how to describe it.”
“Obligation to the mentally handicapped?” I offered.
She waved her hand in circles, as though conjuring the words out of the air. It must have worked because she continued, “Sense of wonder. As though he’s struggling to accept that you’re real. As if he can’t believe you’re his. He’s in awe of you, Maggie.”
The breath caught in my throat and it took some effort to get the word up out of my chest. “Why?”
Sylvia shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Chapter Eight
“You smell like wet dog,” I said and plucked a stray piece of grass off Neil’s bare chest, then handed over the glass of ice tea I’d brought him.
“All part of my master plan.” He wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead and took the glass with a grateful smile, which was just so Neil. Appreciative, regardless of how small the gesture. “What have you been up to?”
I studied him from beneath my lashes, in search of the awe or wonder Sylvia had mentioned, but saw only mild curiosity. My hand shook a little and I clenched my fist so it wouldn’t show. I strove to keep my tone light, “Besides ogling the help, you mean? Why, exploring the great wide world of inspecting toilets. The pipe in the wall behind the master bath sounds as though someone flushed a wrench whenever the upstairs bowl sees any action.”
“Fascinating.” He drained the glass and handed it back to me and turned back to his raking. “Any sign of the ghost?”
“No, and personally, I hope it stays that way, considering she predicts death. Alex from the diner gave me the Grants’ address. I was thinking of stopping by. Wanna come with?”
Instead of answering, he tipped his head to the side and asked a question of his own. “Isn’t Sylvia going with you?”
I shook my head. “No, she’s going to be burning sage and cleansing the house of any lingering spirits. There’s not much we can do about the bean nighe, but any other ghosts will skedaddle after that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Skedaddle?”
I nodded. “The official ghost-hunting term.”
He smiled. “Just give me a few minutes to clean up.”
“Tell me if there’s anything hinky with the shower,” I called out to his retreating backside. Damn, a few weeks ago he would have invited me to shower with him. He must have grown tired of nonstop rejection. Could I blame him?
I sat down on a river stone bench and stared out at the water. And if he had invited me to join him, would I have been able to get over my mental hang-ups and accept? Probably not. I wanted him, but ran when he expressed any sexual interest, and when he didn’t, I felt lost.
There really wasn’t any pleasing me. So why did he keep trying?
I snorted. The answer came before the question fully formed in my head. Because he was a SEAL and they never said die, never gave up, even when they probably should.
The water level was higher than it’d been that morning, almost completely covering the huge boulders that made up the rapids of the scenic upper Delaware. A train roared along on the Pennsylvania side of the river, adding a manmade element to this otherwise pristine bit of nature.
I felt something at my side, a presence, but when I looked over my shoulder expecting to see Atlas, there was nothing.
Probably too much time contemplating the ghost. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. From Granny McIntyre’s stories, Celtic spirits were one of two distinct kinds—mischievous or vengeful. For centuries Scotland had been a hard, unyielding place that produced hardy and strong-minded inhabitants. No Casper the friendly ghosts populated highland lore. Changelings, Selkies, frigging Nessie, all had their own agenda and would harm humans willy-nilly if it served their purpose. No, righteous souls didn’t linger on the mortal plane, but moved on to whatever came next, be it heaven or damnation.
Of course that was the old country, and while this place had a history, we weren’t hearing tales of river trout that captured weekenders or wood sprites who enchanted children and led them to their doom. This was a different location, a different age, so why had a bean nighe immigrated?
Where the tellers went, the stories followed. I still hadn’t made up my mind if I actually believed in ghosts in general but some deep-seated instinct warned me to tread carefully. Skeptics weren’t immune to whatever mischief the ghosts came up with.
My phone rang. My signal was sketchy at best in the house but outside I got half a bar. “Hello?”
“Hey hag, how’s it hanging?” my brother asked.
I grinned in spite of myself. “If you’re talking about my sanity, by a thread of dental floss. How are things there? Did the boys get off to school all right? How’s May? And Penny?”
Marty snorted. “Sixteen more until you make the full twenty questions.”
“Huh, I didn’t know you could count that high.” It felt good to banter with my brother and my shoulders relaxed. “Seriously though, what’s up?”
I’d spoken to the boys last night after our arrival and they’d seemed all right but I knew from experience that adolescent boys could go from zero to oh holy hell in three point two seconds.
Marty heaved a put-upon sigh. “Can’t a brother just call his big sister to chat without something being wrong?”
Maybe somebody else’s brother. “No.”
“Fine, but it’s really not—”
“Out with it, Marty.”
He hesitated
but then blurted, “It’s May’s father.”
May was not Marty’s biological daughter. The real baby daddy was supposedly a bigwig in the small southern town Penny hailed from, as well as an abusive womanizer. Marty had absconded with Penny while she was still pregnant, with big plans to rescue her and her child, but in typical Marty fashion, he’d gone about it in an incredibly half-assed manner. Still, his heart was in the right place, and Neil and I had agreed to help him sort out the whole kerfuffle.
“What about him?” My tone was wary. “I thought the lawyer Ralph recommended had handled everything.” My family had been giving the Massachusetts legal system a helluva workout.
“He’s demanding a paternity test.”
I blinked, not sure I’d heard that right. “He doesn’t think May is his?”
“I guess not.” Marty sounded glum.
“What does Penny have to say about it? Is there any possibility he’s right?” Penny had arrived on our doorstep—or more accurately, in our bathtub—six months pregnant. She’d been showing when Marty first met her, so we knew he wasn’t the father. But maybe Penny had a few secrets of her own.
“I haven’t said anything to her yet.”
“Marty! Why the hell not?” I rose, unable to sit still while we had this conversation.
My brother’s tone turned defensive. “She’s so stressed out, Maggie. She barely sleeps at night and she’s just getting used to everything with May. I try to help her out, the boys too, but still, she cries half the time she’s awake.”
Guilt surged up inside me like one of those giant rocks in the river. Damn it all to hell, I knew I shouldn’t have left them. Neil and Atlas approached from the side, my husband clean once more, but the dog muddier than ever.
“Marty,” I mouthed at him. “All hell’s breaking loose.”
Hazel eyes searched my face. “Do you want to head home?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, but then really looked at him. Dark circles ringed his eyes like a coffee mug would a hardwood end table. I’d taken on this job for one main reason, to reconnect with my husband. If I called it off now, we might never get our marriage back on track.
The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: All Washed Up: (Book 3 in the Misadventures of the Laundry Hag series) Page 7