Dead People (16 page)

“It’s okay. Yes, Mr. Rivers hired me to convince his ghost to leave.” She smiled faintly. An anemic way of saying Luke wanted her to kick Isabel’s spectral heinie out of his house and into the ever-after.

Kurt’s wintry blue eyes warmed with admiration. “It must be exciting, talking to ghosts.”

“Exciting isn’t the right word. It’s...different.” She kept her reply vague. She agreed with Joe that live people weren’t to be trusted.

Kurt leaned toward her, and a wave of charm assaulted her. “I have to admit I find this subject fascinating. May I observe a session?”

She straightened her backbone. Did she look like a source of free entertainment? “Observe?” She gave him the look of haughty politeness she normally reserved for her stepmother.

He backed up a step. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

 
“No offense taken.”

“Then you’ll let me watch?”

She restrained a laugh. He didn’t give up. She felt herself liking him despite his fountain of smarm. “I don’t do exhibitions. And I doubt you’d see anything. The ghost doesn’t come out on command.”

“If not an encounter with the ghost, perhaps a tour?” He slapped his hand over his heart. “On my honor, I’d go once and never pester you again.”

“It’s not my house or my ghost. I’ll need Mr. Rivers’ permission.”

He smiled, oozing charisma. “I’m not busy tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? For a moment she stopped breathing. Tomorrow she’d have to see Luke again. Perhaps it would go smoother with a good looking man at her side, someone gazing at her with respect and even a bit of awe.

She should call Luke first and ask... A shudder went through her. No. Sometimes it was better to just to do it. To be bold.

“Sure, why not.” She spoke swiftly. For once she wasn’t tiptoeing in—she was diving in. No, dive-bombing. Because she didn’t doubt there’d be fireworks. “I’ll meet you about three tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll be here.” His eyes glowed. “Thank you, beautiful lady. You’re making my dreams come true.”

He stepped toward her. She stepped back. He looked like he was going to hug her and the thought revolted her. She’d hugged one live man today already, and that hadn’t turned out so well.

“Until tomorrow,” she said, and hurried toward her motel room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Joe asked as she stuck the key in the keyhole. “The guy’s a wolf. He doesn’t snore at night, he howls.”

She glanced sideways but saw only a red-leafed bush. “Howls won’t hurt me, and I’ll watch out for his teeth.” She turned the key and pushed open the door. “And he can watch out for mine.”

Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her. The next second, Joe walked through the door, her perfect exit line wasted.

“I doubt guitar man will give him permission.” Joe’s expression was smug. “Luke’s got privacy written all over his face.”

She tossed her purse on the small table with the phone and cheap lamp. “That’s funny. I read rude and boorish.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot like you.”

She raised an eyebrow, the tightness in her muscles easing a fraction. “I wish you weren’t...you know, dead. You’re the only one who gets me.”

“You’re the only one who gets me too.” He lounged on the bed. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel like a spook. I feel
alive
. With other ghosts it’s like talking to zombies.”

She took the chair by the table. “I’ve got to admit, you’re different from the others.”

He winked. “The girls all say that to me.” Then his expression turned somber.

After hanging out with him for two years, she knew what that look meant. “Another friend dead?”

“Any day now.” He shrugged. “My old partner. He was sick the night I bought it, otherwise it might’ve been him. You should’ve seen him at my funeral, crying like a girl.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. I hope he feels better soon.”

“They all die.”
 

She ached to hug him, but it would feel like she was hugging a popsicle. Not exactly cozy. “Their bodies die. You know the essential part of them lives.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t mind me. Any luck with Isabel?”

“Thanks for bringing that up.” She stuck out her tongue.

He laughed. He knew her buttons to push—and she knew his. Too bad the one man she had a relationship with weighed one-hundred thirty-seven pounds less than she did.

“I’m serious,” he said. “How’s it going?”

Groaning, Cassie sank into the armless chair by the table. “This is the worst case I’ve had.”

“That’s what you said about the convent. That you’d never work in a house of God again.”

“This time I’m working in the house of Satan.”

“At least they’re not ashamed of you here.”

She turned her head away so he couldn’t see the hurt in her face. She didn’t want him to know Luke didn’t want her.

Joe might be relieved. Or he might be angry on her account. He might think it was her prerogative to be the dumper instead of the dumpee.

“And I doubt Luke will let Kurt tour the house,” Joe said, satisfaction in his tone.

“That’s his privilege. But if Luke hassles me about it, I’m out of here. Let him get rid of his own damn ghost.”

“That’s the attitude,” Joe said.

Yeah, it was. She just hoped that tomorrow she’d feel this brave and positive and, most of all, pissed off.

Chapter Twenty-two

The knock on Luke’s door stopped him in mid strum, jerking him out of his song.

“I hate to bother you when you’re making music.” Tricia’s voice on the other side of the door held a discordant note.

Erin.
Luke set down his guitar, bounded to the door and yanked it open.

Her fist coming down for another knock, Tricia stumbled into the studio. He grabbed her arms, stopping her inches before she smashed against him. She looked at him, her wide eyes almost level with his, her lips parted as if for a kiss.

“What’s wrong?” He released her and stepped back. Once upon a time he would have let her fall against him, he would have put his arms around her, he would have taken what she offered without a second thought.

He wasn’t that man anymore.

“Nothing. Well, I don’t think it’s serious.” She handed him the white phone from the kitchen. Her voice lowered. “It’s a woman. She insists on speaking to you. Says it’s important.”

The smooth plastic shell was warm from her clutch. “Did she give a name?”

She lurched back and he guessed she heard the menace in his voice. Fuck, he was killing the messenger, just like the average idiot. And he’d always prided himself on being an above-average idiot.

“Joy. She said her name is Joy.” Words tumbled out of Tricia’s mouth, her speech so fast she could’ve been a New Yorker if not for the flattened vowels. “I told her you were busy with your songs, but she said you could write them anytime.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take it.” What did his mother want now?

Tricia’s puckered brow smoothed and she beamed before leaving. He held the door open and waited for her to start down the steps before lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Joy.” He strode to the window facing the lake and gazed at the blue waters, barely rippling today. Peaceful, calming, a bandage on the storm roiling within him ever since Cassie had left the house.

“I hope you tell that girl to let me through whenever I call.” Joy’s normally cheery voice held a tart note. In the background, he heard Judy Garland singing “...off to see the Wizard.”

“You should’ve told her you were my mother.”

An exclamation of disgust passed through the phone, and Luke grimaced. The word “mother” was synonymous with “old” to the only parent he’d ever known.

“How’s your new gig?” he asked, letting her off the hook.

“Everyone agrees it’s going to be a hit.” Her lilt returned. “The big wigs at Lifetime are crazy about the show. The producer loves the way I do Jolene’s face when she morphs into a vampire.”

He perched on his stool and picked up his guitar, strumming it.
“Vampires bite and ghosts howl. You gotta bite back and you gotta stand tall.”

“Very funny. Not. Luke, I’ve got something important to tell you.”

He stopped strumming. “Go on.”

A dead silence made him sit straight. His mother could outtalk a talk show host. Hesitation meant trouble.

“What the hell is it?”

“Vanessa called a little after two this morning. She was crying and hysterical, it about broke my heart. She said she missed Erin so much it was killing her. She just wanted to talk to her, to hear her sweet voice.”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Tell me you didn’t give her my phone number.”

“Baby, I was half asleep. I didn’t mean to. She sounded so needy. I knew I shouldn’t tell her, but I couldn’t say no. She’s a mother! A bad one, but still a mother. I know how she feels. God knows I’d never win the Greatest Mom Oscar”

“Compared to Vanessa, you’re the gold standard of mothers.”

“Really?” Her tone changed, the notes higher. “Truly?”

“Really, truly.” He couldn’t stay mad at his mother any more than he could kick a kitten. She wasn’t bad, just...childlike. “Don’t worry about giving her my number. I’ll just change it.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Yeah, she shouldn’t have.

“You’ll give me the new number right away?”

He frowned, but saw no way out. Although she dressed and acted like a teenager, Joy was two years away from sixty, her parents dead for a decade, no sisters or brothers. She’d even kicked out the boy toy who’d been freeloading on her—and in extension, on Luke—for the last two years. If something good happened, her multitude of friends would rally around before she could say “Party time!” If it went the other direction, they’d scurry away like rats fleeing a flood.

The only rat left would be...him.

“But don’t give my number to Vanessa again,” he said. “I don’t want her upsetting Erin.”

“Won’t you reconsider, honey? I read in
Variety
last week that she finished rehab.”

“A lot of junkies finish rehab. One hour later, they’re higher than the Eiffel Tower.”

“Phooey on you. You need a heart more than the Tin Man ever did.”

“I’m in the Heartland now. Maybe I’ll find a spare lying around.” He strummed his guitar. “
Anyone got a spare heart? My baby left me and mine fell apart.”

He groaned inwardly. Bad, that was bad.

“Can’t you be serious?” she asked.

“If you wanted to talk about hearts, you should’ve had a daughter.” Or been around more often when he was growing up, instead of fawning over her latest boyfriend.

“Oh, phooey. You’ve always been closed up tighter than a prison cell. Even when you were a kid I never knew what you were thinking. Hey, I gotta go. Call me with the number, okay? And, honey, thanks for not being mad. I love you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He clicked off. His mother’s middle name should’ve been
Melodrama
. Emotions had one place for him—in his songs.

He started strumming again, his body attuned to the rhythm.
Dum dum dum, dum dum dum, dum, dum, DUM.
“My heart’s lost,” he sang, “I don’t want it found. The mushy thing was taking me down.”

A laugh reverberated through the room. He glanced around, but didn’t see anyone. “Isabel?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, but he knew it was the ghost. Another woman.

They were haunting him.

He strummed again. “Ghost, ghost, go away. Don’t come back ‘till my dying day.”

Then he put the guitar down to call the phone provider. Any minute, Erin should be home soon. Then he’d have to deal with her. He mouth turned down.

She was going to hate him even more than she already did.

***

Standing in the kitchen, Erin looked at Luke as if he was a monster intent on ruining her life. “I hate you.”

He’d figured he’d be the bad parent out of this. “I’m doing it for your own good.” He grimaced. He must’ve learned that line from a bad sitcom. It wasn’t anything his mother ever said to him.

Tears welled up in her blue eyes, reminding Luke of the lake in his back yard. “You can’t take away my computer. If I don’t answer my mom, she’ll think something happened to me.”

“Your mother is out of control. I was going to let you keep your computer, but after she called Grandma Joy, I can’t trust her.”

From her tearful glare, she wasn’t buying the song he was singing. He knew it was useless, but he had to keep talking, he had to keep trying.

She was his kid, and maybe something he said would get through her stubborn head.

“She’s bringing you down, telling you you’re responsible for her mistakes. Believe me, when it comes to messing up her life, your mother doesn’t need any help. She does fine all by herself.”

“She’ll hurt herself!”

Women like Vanessa didn’t hurt themselves, Luke thought, they hurt their friends. They hurt their husbands. They hurt their lovers.