Fatal Fixer Upper Page 6
He shrugged. “Need a plate, here.”
She hopped up, got two plates from the cupboard and handed him one. He stacked three slices of the toast onto it, handed it back to her and threw three more onto the griddle. “Go ahead and start without me.”
She set her plate on the table, went to the fridge for margarine and maple syrup, and got out a bottle of orange juice while she was at it. Then she got silverware and glasses for them, and when that was done, she poured two mugs full of coffee and set the creamer and sugar on the table.
“There.”
By then he was flipping his three slices onto his plate and joining her. He sat down. She said, “So, where should we begin?”
“Well, you can tell me what your life was like before you came to Burnt Hills,” he said.
She looked up quickly. “I meant with the ghost. Can you just exorcise this thing, or do you need to know more about it, first?”
He seemed to be taking his time, thinking it over while adding syrup to his toast, cream to his coffee. “Well,” he said at length. “The more information we have, the more effective the exorcism will be.”
“That’s what I figured. So, what’s the plan?”
“Right now, eating breakfast. And talking. Where are you from, Kiley?”
She sighed. “You really wanna know?”
“Yeah. I know, it seems odd to me, too.”
She shrugged, took a bite and moaned in ecstasy. When she’d swallowed, she said, “This is incredible.”
“I know.”
She sipped her coffee. “I was a spoiled little rich girl from Richmond, Virginia. Inherited my parents’ entire fortune. Fell for a con man who married me, took me for every red cent, and then left me high and dry.”
She felt his eyes on her, realized he’d stopped eating. Slowly she looked up at him.
“That’s why you’re so down on people you perceive to be hucksters?”
She nodded. “It’s why I stopped believing anything I couldn’t find proof of.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe my own bitterness has warped my vision.”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes anymore, and he dug back into his breakfast as if it were the most important thing he would do all day.
When she’d finished every bite and was sipping her coffee, she leaned back in her chair. “God, I feel like patting my belly. That was delicious.”
“Glad I managed to satisfy at least one of your physical cravings.”
She smirked at him. “Oh, I don’t think you’d have had any trouble with the other.”
“No?”
She didn’t answer. Since when did she stroke this man’s ego? Not that that’s what she was doing. God, it would have been mind-blowing. But it didn’t pay to think about that. It hadn’t happened. It wasn’t going to.
“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” she said.
“About what?”
“About the ghost. I think we should contact the last couple who lived here.”
“The ones who wouldn’t talk to the author?”
She nodded. “They might be more willing to talk to me. I mean, I’m living here, after all.”
“You’re also a journalist who enjoys exposing people as frauds. They might be suspicious of you.”
“Hmm, you have a point. Okay, so you’ll have to help me talk to them. Meanwhile, we’ll do a little investigative digging into Mr. Miller. See if we can find out anything more about his wife’s death.”
“Like what?”
“Like how she killed herself, and why. And what she might want from me. Maybe you could consult the Ouija board or whatever the hell you use, see if you can get any answers from her directly.”
“Naturally. That was going to be my first move.”
She nodded, swallowed more coffee. Outside the sun was coming up, its orange-yellow rays beaming in through the kitchen windows. “I suppose I should take a shower.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I should wash up and shave, myself. You want me to stand in the bathroom while you shower?”
She thought that would be a bad idea. Very bad. She would be all too tempted to reach out and yank him into the water with her. “I think I’ll be okay now that it’s light outside. So long as I use the downstairs bathroom.”
He lifted his chin, cleared his throat. “Tell you what. I’ll go use the upstairs one. Just to see what happens.”
“You’re a better man than I am,” she told him. He was either very brave or very foolish, she wasn’t sure which. “Let’s both leave the doors open, okay?”
“Deal.”
Gathering her nerve, she cleared the table and tossed the dishes into the dishwasher, just as a delaying tactic. Then she went to her bathroom, listening to Jack’s footsteps on the stairs as he went to his.
It wasn't freezing cold. That was a good sign. The sun was beaming in through the window, higher than before. The lights were working. She opened the cabinet, taking out her body wash, bath oil, shampoo, conditioner, loofah. Then, with all those items loaded in her arms, she turned to face the tub.
And then she dropped everything on the floor and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The tub was full to the brim, water sloshing over the top onto the floor. And lying there, beneath the clear, warm water, was a woman. Her blond hair floated like a nest of yellow snakes around her head. Her mouth was slightly agape. And her eyes were wide open, focused on Kiley’s, and pleading.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sound of her scream split his mind wide open and let a slew of nightmarish images flow in, each more horrific than the one before. Even though he was running before the sound died, he couldn’t seem to get to her fast enough.
And then he did.
She was backed into the farthest corner of the downstairs bathroom, with one hand fisted near her mouth and the other one pointing, trembling, at the tub.
He looked at the bathtub, half afraid to. But there was nothing there.
“Kiley?” He moved closer to her. “What, what is it?” When he stood right in front of her, blocking her view of the tub, her glazed eyes focused on him. “It was there. Jack, it was there, in the tub, she was—”
“Wait, wait, hold up a sec.” The tempo, pitch and decibel levels of her voice had been rising steadily, and he sensed she was close to panic, so he closed his hands on her shoulders, intending to lead her out of the bathroom, into something more nearly resembling safe ground. As soon as he touched her, she fell against him, sliding her arms around his back, burying her face in his chest and holding on so tight he thought she might crack his ribs.
He buried a hand in her hair, snapped the other around her waist and tried to keep holding her that way while maneuvering them both out of the bathroom. He took her all the way through the house, and outside, to her car—she in her nightgown, and he in his jeans. He paused only long enough to snag her key ring from the hook by the door.
“What are we...?”
“Screw this. You need to get the hell out of that house. For now, just for now.”
“I haven’t even showered.”
“You can shower at my place.”
“But my clothes—”
“I’ll come back and get you some.”
“Alone?”
“Not on your life.” He put her in her car, shut the door, went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Only when they were heading down the road did he turn to face her, to ask her, “What did you see in the bathtub, Kiley?”
She sat a little straighter in the seat. “I think I know how Mrs. Miller killed herself,” she said softly.
He lifted his brows. “How?”
“Drowning. In the bathtub, I think.”
“And you think this because?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“Because I saw her. The tub was full of water. Overflowing, even, and she was there, lying there on the bottom. Her eyes were open and she was looking right at me.” The last few words came out in a whisper.
He ached for her, literally felt pangs in his belly for her pain.
She sent him a searching look. “She was there. She was really there.”
“I believe you.”
“She was young, beautiful, when she died. Long honey-blond hair. Green eyes. She could’ve been a model.”
“We’re here,” he said, pulling her car into his driveway. He lived in a modest-size log home, one story with a loft. Just big enough for him. He liked it, maybe more than ever before. No history, no ghosts. Not that he believed in the damn things, anyway. He stopped the car. The look of relief on Kiley’s face was something to see.
He led her inside, unlocking the place, holding the door. “I’d show you around, but it would be a short trip. Kitchen’s in there. Bedroom’s up in the loft. Bathroom’s through there, and there’s a den in back. And this is the living room.”
“Nice. It’s nice.”
“Go on, go take your shower. And then sack out in my bed for a while. You’re dead on your feet.”
“I should go in to work.”
“Call ’em.”
“Okay. Yeah. Okay, I can rest here.” She looked around, sighed. “It feels good here.”
“And not a ghost in sight,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks for this.”
He nodded. “I need to go to the shop, see Chris, and then I’ll head back to your place and pick you up a few things. Okay?”
“Don’t go there alone, though.”
“I won’t. But I will bring you back some cloth
es and stuff. I’ll be a couple of hours. No more. And if you need me, my cell phone number is programmed into the landline phone. Number nine.”
She nodded. “I really do owe you for all of this.”
He sent her an evil smile. “I fully intend to collect, Brigham, so don’t fret about it too much.”
Chris was already turning the Closed sign around to the Open side when Jack walked up to the door of the shop. The kid stepped aside to let him in, but before Jack could so much as say “good morning’’ the questions were pouring out.
“So? What happened last night? Did you spend the night with her? Did anything happen? I thought you hated each other. What’s going on. Jack?”
Jack held up two hands and hurried through the shop toward the section in the back that was devoted entirely to books. Then he stood there, perusing the rack.
“Jack?” Chris asked. “C’mon, aren’t you going to tell me anything?”
Sighing, Jack looked down at the kid. “It’s not good. I’ll tell you that.”
“No? Not even–?”
“No, not even. And don’t ask again. That's none of your business. Besides, it has nothing to do with whatever the hell is haunting Kiley Brigham’s house.”
Chris frowned. “I, uh—thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”
“Didn’t. Not until last night.”
Chris widened his eyes. “You saw it?”
He shook his head. “Lights flashing, drawers flying around the bedroom, doors slamming.”
“So, you were in her bedroom.”
He sent the kid a glare. “Part of the job.”
“Job?” Then Chris went pale. “You don’t mean—”
“The lady has hired me to get rid of her ghost.”
“B-but...you—”
“Believe me, I know. So now I’m in a hell of a predicament. I either admit to her that I’m a fake, or I fake my way through this, fail, and then she’ll know I’m a fake, anyway.” He lowered his head. “And she’s been burned by a fraud like me before. Hell, when she finds out the truth—” He made himself stop there, before he gave away more than he wanted to. Not that he had a clue what he’d be giving away. He was confused as hell.
Chris shrugged. “Only one way to solve this whole mess,” he said. “You’re just gonna have to get rid of her ghost for her.”
“Oh, come on, Chris.”
“It’s not like you haven’t done it before. You’ve cleared a dozen houses right in Burnt Hills alone.”
“That wasn’t real and you know it. I read a few books, went through the motions and eased the minds of some extremely nervous people with vivid imaginations.”
“You helped them. None of them had any visitations after you finished.”
“None of them had any visitations before I started.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
Jack didn’t reply.
“And what about all the readings. Jack? The advice you give these people, the way it helps them?”
“It’s not hard to give people good advice.”
“As good as yours, and all the time? Jack, did you ever stop to think that maybe the reason Kiley Brigham can’t prove you’re a fraud is because you aren’t?”
He rolled his eyes.
“You knew that client was a fake the other day. You knew Ms. Brigham was in the shop. Hell, I’ll bet you knew there was something in her house the second you walked through the door.”
“Listen, none of this matters anyway. We’ve got work to do. I need to find the last people who lived in that house and see if they’re willing to talk to us, and I need to figure out how the hell to get rid of a ghost. A real ghost.”
“The first part’s easy. Brad and Cindy Stark moved to Saratoga Springs.”
“You know how to reach them?”
Chris shrugged, pulled out his phone, tapped on its screen, and said, “Here you go,” and turned the phone around.
Jack saw the listing, couldn’t believe it was that easy as he tapped the number.
Kiley had showered, dressed in one of Jack’s clean T-shirts, and then crawled into his bed and slept like a log. She only woke when something touched her cheek, gentle as a breeze, making her eyes flutter open. Jack was crouching beside the bed, looking at her oddly.
“Oh. Hi again,” she said.
“I hated to wake you, but we have a date.”
She blinked sleepily. “A date?”
“Yeah. Here, I brought you some clothes.” He nodded toward the stack of neatly folded garments he’d placed on the nightstand.
She sat up in the bed, raking her hair with one hand. “You went back to the house?”
“Yep.”
“Alone?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Hell, no. Took Chris along.”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“What? That’s funny?”
“Just that a guy built like you are would drag scrawny little Chris along for protection.”
“I didn’t take him for protection—I took him as a witness, in case something too odd to believe happened to go down, and—” He stopped there, tilted his head a little. “A body like mine, huh?”
She pressed her lips, threw back the covers and got out of the bed, though she had to slide past him to do it. He was still sitting on the edge. “So, did anything happen?”
“What? Uh, no. Nothing. Just grabbed you some clothes—although, I kind of wish I hadn’t.”
Frowning, she swung her gaze his way. But his eyes weren’t on hers; they were sliding up and down her body instead.
He said, “You look so damn good in my T-shirt it’s a shame you have to change.”
“Oh, yeah? And what is it you’re hoping to accomplish with that line of bull?”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s not a line, Kiley. I’d have said something sooner—I just...never thought of you that way. Until l last night, at least.” He gave a little shrug, met her eyes with a teasing light appearing in his own. “Guess it took sleeping with you to open my eyes.”
“Yeah, that’ll do it every time.” She held her clothes to her chest and headed into the bathroom, muttering, “Men.” Then she closed the door behind her. She tried to put his words out of her mind as she dressed. It was only his libido talking. He didn’t like her, much less give a damn about her. This was all based on the heat that had flared up between them in her sofa bed, and that had been based on nothing more than pure idiocy, combined with bowstring-taut tension and bone-chilling fear. All that adrenaline pumping. All that unbelievable shit happening in her house. Sure, they’d reacted. Why the hell wouldn’t they?
It was a mistake, and it meant nothing. And God, she wanted to do it again—and not be interrupted this time.
The look in his eyes had been so intense just then. She’d felt an answering heat rise up under her skin everywhere his gaze had lingered. His voice had gone all soft and throaty, and it felt like a touch when he said her name.
“Knock it off, Brigham.” She said it to her reflection, and she said it firmly.
Her reflection looked back at her, wearing the tight, low-slung jeans he’d picked out, with a small T-shirt that hugged every curve. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose.
“Did you say something?” he asked from beyond the door.
“Uh—what’s this date you mentioned?” It was the only thing she could think of on short notice. Besides wondering how he would react when he saw her in the jeans, and then scolding herself for wondering. Still, her tummy tightened in anticipation.
“I found the people who lived in the house before you. Turns out Chris knew who they were. They moved out to Saratoga Springs.”
She opened the bathroom door, a hairbrush in her hand. “You called them?”
He nodded.
“And they agreed to meet us?”
“For lunch today at— Holy shit. I take it back.”
“You take what back?” But she already knew. She knew by the way his eyes were wandering down her body, even before he reached out to clasp her arm and draw her farther into the room, so he could walk around behind her.
“I take back wishing I hadn’t brought you any clothes. How come I’ve never seen you in those jeans before?”
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have noticed if you had.”
“A dead man would have noticed you in those.”
She sighed, turned to face him and looked him square in the eye. “What the hell are you doing?”