Earl muttered, “Works a whole lot better than getting a priest to throw holy water around and order Satan out. Shit like that.”
It made sense, Rowe supposed. That is, if you accepted ghosts actually existed. And since she now did, despite her attempts to rationalize her experience in the ballroom, she asked, “What do you think Juliet’s ghost wants?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Dwayne said. “The original report in the Camden Herald says she had a fall. Her father found her body the next morning after a maid noticed she wasn’t in her bed.”
“And your theory is that she walked out into the snow deliberately?”
“Maybe. It’s, like, a suspicion. See, we visited her grave when we were photographing orbs at the Evergreen cemetery with the MPRA, and—”
“Man, what a waste of time,” Earl remarked, rewinding audio tapes. “It was all about the tourists. Big fat surprise.”
“Her grave?” Rowe prompted the para-nerds back on track.
“We took a photo of the headstone. You gotta see this.” Dwayne reached for the steel briefcase, only to freeze, his eyes glued to the front window.
A dark shape loomed through the condensation. A pale face stared from beneath a hood.
“Oh, Christ,” Rowe said.
Dwayne made an odd wheezing sound. “It’s her.”
“Man, that’s a Class Four apparition.” Earl frantically unzipped a bag and pulled out a camera. “Wicked awesome!”
The apparition tapped on the glass and called, “Rowe?”
Earl lowered the camera. “Fuck. She knows your name.”
“We’re going to be famous,” Dwayne croaked.
Grumbling to herself, Rowe opened the window. This was all she needed—the entire world knowing she’d called in the crazies to help her deal with a ghost problem.
Cara pushed back the hood of her coat and peered in at them. “Am I interrupting something?” Flicking a glance in Dwayne’s direction, she asked, “Is your friend okay? Looks like he saw a ghost.”
*
“Don’t tell me—paranormal investigators?” Cara asked as Dwayne’s car departed.
“How did you guess?” Rowe opened the baby gate on her stairs so the dogs could humiliate her by leaping all over the visitor.
“Let me see.” Cara fended off the slobbering pair. “Bumper stickers that say
Ghot
Ghosts
? The telltale Friends of Casper insignia on the back window…”
“Seems like I bought a haunted house. The guys wanted to take a look around.”
“Actually, you bought
the
haunted house,” Cara said as the dogs lost interest in her crotch and bolted out into the meadow. “Wait till summer. You won’t be able to walk out your door without finding a family from Wisconsin camped on your stoop waiting for the tour guide.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Cara gave her an incredulous look. “Are you saying you didn’t know? Everyone thinks you bought it for the publicity.”
“The horror writer poses on the doorstep of her haunted cottage?” Rowe rolled her eyes and launched into a glib media patter. “Author Rowe Devlin knows what she’s talking about when she writes a ghost story—”
“The sacrifices we make for art,” Cara mocked gently.
“Seems like I was the last person to find out about this place and its…inhabitants. I know what I’m going to call this year—you know, when I write my memoirs—
The Year of My Perpetual Humiliation
.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me. It is.”
“I can’t wait to hear the sordid details.” Cara tucked a hand in Rowe’s arm and said in a coaxing voice, “I was sent to fetch you for lunch. Phoebe’s cooking crab cakes.”
“Your sister is a temptress. I love crab cakes.”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted her remoulade sauce.”
“It’s a conspiracy. I have to stop coming over to your place. I can feel the fat cells piling on as soon as I walk in the door.” Rowe pulled at a small roll around her middle.
To her astonishment, Cara’s hand joined hers, sliding across her midriff. “I’ve felt worse.”
“I was buff once upon a time.”
“Not that long ago.” The hand lingered. “You still have muscle tone.”
A small shock of awareness jarred Rowe’s spine. Cara’s hand fell, and they stared at one another. Rowe wanted to look away, but something in Cara’s gaze prevented her. She drew a sharp breath, and a seductive, spicy perfume invaded her nostrils.
Don’t
, she thought.
She must have said it out loud, because Cara’s pupils dilated and she murmured, “Why not?”
In the same split second, they reached for one another, and Cara’s mouth parted softly. A chill of desire blossomed across Rowe’s chest, stifling her ability to draw breath. She slid her hands to the base of Cara’s spine and kissed her.
Their bodies fit like they were meant for union. Cara was a little shorter and built more slightly. She moved against Rowe as if they were already naked. Starved of touch, Rowe’s body clamored for the hot, firm press of flesh, the wallowing pleasure of all-over caresses, the building urgency before release. She wanted to feel a woman naked in her arms, to smell and taste her arousal, to hear her small cries of pleasure. It had been too long. Did she care if her potential sex partner was until recently a virtual stranger?
She lifted a hand to Cara’s face, caressing the fragile jaw, tilting her head as the kiss grew deeper. With her free hand she pulled Cara’s coat from her shoulders. She felt Cara’s fingers at her waist, tugging her shirt from her jeans. The kiss slowed to one of passionate intensity, and a strange calm descended on Rowe. How could the sharing of a single breath so enthrall? Mesmerized, she left Cara’s mouth for her throat, kissing and delicately biting. All the while, she could feel Cara’s hands moving over skin untouched for more than a year, leaving trails of prickling nerves. A ringing sound invaded the moment. She tried to ignore it, but its persistence was intolerable.
They drew back from each other, breathing hard.
Cara stared down at her coat as if she wasn’t sure how it ended up on the floor. Shakily, she said, “It’s probably Phoebe.”
Rowe went into the parlor and picked up the phone.
“Hey, Rowe,” Phoebe said happily. “Are you coming?”
Almost, Rowe thought, then said, “Absolutely. Can’t wait.” And like a coward, “Your sister’s here. Want to talk to her?”
Standing in the doorway, pulling on her coat, Cara shook her head. Rowe handed the phone to her anyway.
“Hey, sweetie,” Cara said with cool aplomb. “Sorry we’re running late. Rowe had to get rid of some visitors and take the dogs out. But we’re on our way.” Face flushed, she passed the handpiece back to Rowe and they avoided looking at one another.
Rowe ended the call, tucked her shirt back into her pants, and ran a hand over her hair. “Well, this is awkward,” she said.
Cara touched her arm. “It doesn’t have to be. Nothing happened. We don’t have to read a whole lot into it.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Rowe moved out into the vestibule and took her peacoat from a hook. All she could think was that she had just avoided falling off a cliff and she might not be so lucky the second time. She buttoned the coat and held the front door for Cara.
They strolled across the meadow, mist wreathing their faces.
“We’re neighbors. So…bad idea.” Cara might have been talking to herself.
Rowe agreed. “Yeah, way too complicated.”
Cara stopped suddenly. Snowflakes clung to her straight dark eyebrows and her top lip. Rowe refrained from licking them off. “Just so you know, the kiss was excellent. I would have liked to have sex with you.”
“Me, too.” Rowe cursed the phone for ringing during that hormonal interlude, reminding them that they were adults with common sense. She tried not to think about Cara naked in her bed. Why torture herself?
Cara produced a dazzling smile, which Rowe took to mean that they could now pretend it had never happened. She smiled back like it hadn’t. They started walking again, but Cara was not quite ready to let it go.
“It was my fault,” she said as they reached the tree belt.
Rowe inhaled the smell of damp balsam and dead leaves. “It takes two.”
Cara glanced sideways at her. “I find you very attractive, Rowe.”
“Let’s face it, neither of us has a whole lot of competition in this neck of the woods.”
Cara laughed at the backhanded compliment. “Phew. All that and charm, too. Hold me back.”
Rowe grinned. “You know where I live. Just mentioning that in case you can’t contain yourself.”
A clump of snow fell wetly from a branch, covering them in heavy slush.
“Think that was a sign?” Cara muttered as they brushed each other off with gloved hands.
“Uh-huh. The Maine version of ‘Raindrops Keep Falling on Our Heads.’”
“God, you’re as cynical as I am.”
“Kindred spirits,” Rowe said with dry sarcasm. “We must be meant for one another.”
Cara swatted her arm. “Stop.”
“Okay. Nothing happened.”
“Agreed. No games. No fantasies.”
“You got it,” Rowe promised.
No tempting the Fates. No asking for trouble.
She allowed Cara to move ahead of her as they approached the back door. Phoebe was waiting on the step, her face flushed from kitchen activities. She wiped her hands on a starchy calico apron and dropped a light kiss of welcome onto Rowe’s cheek.
“I hope you brought an appetite,” she said.
Rowe kissed her firmly in return and staved off a shameless fantasy of sleeping with both twins. “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER SIX
“I think I could fall in love with her.” Phoebe adjusted her wobbly seat tray and removed the celery stick from her Bloody Mary. “She’s different. I really like her and I haven’t slept with her. That’s a good sign. When I’m around her I feel so…happy. Almost silly. Do you know what I mean?”
Cara stuck the emergency instructions in the pocket of the seat in front and got busy with the headphones. She could never stand to listen to the crap audio on airplanes. But neither did she want to have a conversation about Rowe Devlin. Somehow she’d gotten through the past twenty-four hours without Phoebe guessing what had happened between her and their neighbor, and she wanted to keep it that way. It could have been worse, she reminded herself. They could have had sex.
She glanced at her sister and faked a smile. “We’ll see what happens.”
Two months, she calculated. Phoebe would find the idea of having a fling with Rowe interesting for approximately two months. Then she would discover the truth.
Rowe is not perfect.
But what if she didn’t sit the two months out? Cara frowned. What would Rowe do if Phoebe came on to her the way Cara had? Would she bend the rules about being good neighbors? Would Phoebe prove to be more than she could resist? A small flare of jealousy ignited in her gut. She wanted to laugh it off, but she couldn’t. The idea of Phoebe and Rowe together made her stomach churn. Unnerved, she finished her vodka like it was water.
“Are you okay?” Phoebe asked. “You’re so quiet today.”
“Sorry, sweetie. I’ve got stuff on my mind. Bloodwork weren’t happy with their video. ManAngel thinks his hair looks green.”
“That’s his worst problem? Didn’t their drummer kill himself halfway through filming?”
“Their manager hired Deepak Chopra to counsel them. After that, they got a new drummer who turned out to be better, so they were like, ‘Hey, man, it was karma.’”
“Maybe you should work with country singers.”
“Exchange suicidal cokeheads for wife-beating alcoholics? I don’t think so.”
“Are all musicians messed up?”
“Probably not. But somehow, I manage to avoid the sane ones. Just lucky, I guess.”
“It’s difficult for you, coming with me this week, isn’t it?” Phoebe asked.
“I want to come, but yes. It means juggling priorities.”
Phoebe chewed on that for a beat, then said, “I’ve been thinking. It’s time I stopped leaning on you so much.”
“Okay.” Cara knew what was coming. Phoebe had these flights of fancy every so often. Her usual rebellious spells involved lifestyle changes that lasted a few months.
“I earn enough money to get my own apartment. Maybe I should look for something in Portland.”
Cara held back a sigh. The last time Phoebe had her own place she’d allowed some big-eyed anorexic to stay there temporarily. Months had passed and her houseguest ran up huge phone bills, stole jewelry, and eventually moved her junkie girlfriend in. One day Phoebe phoned Cara after finding a huge stash of ecstasy inside a sofa pillow cover she’d removed for cleaning. Picturing the lowlife roommates busted for dealing and Phoebe dragged into jail with them, Cara had moved her out that evening.
“You don’t think I can manage.” Phoebe looked hurt.
Cara chose her words carefully. “I think you manage very well when you set realistic goals for yourself.”
“This thing Vernell wants me to do.” Phoebe stared at her, full of determination. “I’m going to do it by myself. Then you can go back to L.A. and not worry about me.”