Under My Skin (2 page)

His smile was easy and friendly and though I found him attractive enough, I recognized the sudden urge to kiss him wasn’t mine.

Odd.

Elijah.

“Elijah Rivers,” he said. I heard his name overlap in my mind like a mental stutter and tried to shake it off. “The realtor sent me to double check that patch of wood flooring.”

I shook the hand offered while still balancing the book, thick with unnerving energy, in my arms. It was repulsive, but I didn’t want the book to touch this man. Something about his aura was fragile.

“Exhausting,” I muttered without thinking. This house was not what it seemed, and it was draining me already. So much that I was saying my thoughts aloud in front of stranger. This is why you do not buy houses that are ‘a steal’ on the internet sight unseen. No matter how much you want a new house.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, sorry. Sleep deprivation. Moving…it’s exhausting. I’m so glad you’re here, though, I’m Juliet Bale.” I stepped back to let him in and felt the house sort of recoil. No. Not the house. My resident spooky-spookerson Chadwick Montgomery.

“Sheila said that the floor was ‘iffy’.”

“I think it’s fine, but the moment I expressed any worry—”

“She insisted,” he finished. “Which is good. If it’s termites, you can’t get it dealt with fast enough.”

“Ugh. I hope it’s not termites.”

“I bet it’s not.” He smiled. It was a tired smile and again I sensed something fragile about him that didn’t match his outer appearance. Tall, strapping, handsome, dark sandy colored hair and big gray eyes that made me think of storm clouds in early summer. He looked so…big. And yet his energy felt thin, like old lace.

Elijah kept looking and looking. I watched him as he walked toward the dining room. His eyes darted all over but his gaze repeatedly landed on the door to the basement.

“Are you okay?” I heard him ask me, but a thick, heavy blanket of grief covered me, and I was suddenly felled by it. My knees buckled unexpectedly so that I had to grab a stack of moving boxes to catch myself.

He turned fast, dropping his tool box and grabbing my elbows to steady me. “God, are you okay?” We were close, so close I could feel his warm breath on my lips and see the bits of stubble starting to poke through his skin.

“I…are you? You keep looking…” Another wave of grief hit me, and I grabbed his biceps with my fingers. Yes, he was physically strong, but under it there was a chink in his armor. A big one.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, leading me to a dining room chair. “My fiancée was a realtor. She showed this house a few years back. She um…”

Died here…
That was why I wanted to kiss him. She’d died here, and she was still here–either by choice or…not.

“Died here. Fell down the basement steps.” He found a bottle of water on the sideboard and said, “Yours?”

I nodded, and he handed it to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know or I’d have asked—”

He waved me off. “Sheila and I are friends. She hires me often. I bet she didn’t even think. It was so long ago for most folks. For me, not so much.”

I nodded, understanding the grief now. The water tasted old but still good as I got my senses together and studied him. I still wanted to kiss him. I wondered how strong his fiancée’s spirit was.

“What was her name?”

I heard it in my head in a male voice, a female voice, then straight from Elijah’s mouth. “Lanie.”

The male voice in my head followed with,
slut…

I shook him off, Mr. Montgomery, and turned my attention back to Elijah. “The patch I’m worried about is right there, by the cabinet.”

Elijah walked over and tested it with a work boot. Was it my imagination or did a man that big not usually have a face that thin. Probably my imagination. I looked away. Maybe it was the stress and sadness of being in the place where he had lost the love of his life. Because that’s the vibe he gave off when he spoke of her, even briefly.

“I’ll have to run down to the basement to see what’s below,” he said. His eyes were darker now. The grief, I guessed.

“Oh…I’m sorry. I can truly call someone else if—”

He held up a hand and tried on a smile. It looked tired and raw but worked okay, I guess. “Please, it was a long time ago.”

He went down, and I waited, seeing the amber glow of the old caged overhead lights downstairs pop on. They cast a honeyed stain on my hardwood floor because the day was overcast. There was some thumping and another strong wash of grief. I could sense him lingering where she’d landed. Probably wondering if he could see—should he look hard enough at the concrete floor—any evidence of her death.

I coughed to remind him I was up here and soon heard his boots on the steps. Again he smiled, wiping his hands on a shop rag and shoving it in his pants pocket. “What you’re feeling is wood that was compromised but has since been reinforced.”

I took a sip of water, waited. His voice had been a bit emotional on that first go. I couldn’t imagine the basement was an easy place for him to be.

“The support below that section had termites once upon a time, but it was treated. I can see the solution they put on the wood. No indication of an active infestation. It just looks like instead of ripping out a huge chunk of floor, they treated the affected wood and then braced the wood that was a bit weakened.” He shrugged. “It’s what I’d have done, to be honest. More cost effective.”

I stood, a little woozy but otherwise fine. I put my hand out, and he took it. Emotions that were not mine went
zing!
in my heart. Under the zing and affection, I felt a burst of pity. Something was wrong with this man. I let his hand go and pushed away from his spiritual presence. I was being intrusive. It was one thing to be influenced and notice the emotions and energy of the dead, it was a whole other thing to be that way with someone living. It was the equivalent of eavesdropping or being a peeping Tom.

I had to stop. No more feeling his spiritual state.

At the front door I smacked myself in the forehead. “Damn! I’m so scattered. What do I owe you, Elijah?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Sheila’s company takes care of it. Part of your closing on the house.” He cocked his head, studying me.

“What?”

I felt her again. His fiancée. Her energy sidled up to mine, wrapped around me, invaded my heart.

“You look familiar,” he said.

Uh-oh. I was picking up some of her physical characteristics from letting her energy entwine with mine. But for some reason, I felt she needed this, and I didn’t try to stop her. So it was very much the dead Lanie who stood on my tippy toes and planted a gentle but fervent kiss on his full lips. His shock was brief, his embarrassment evident as we said our goodbyes. He spared me another glance as he got in his truck. Still blushing.

Chapter Two

I was headed out to the garden when I nearly walked face first into Carla Michael’s fist.

“You’re here! You’re her! I mean…hi!” she shouted. A short cap of dark brown hair swirled around her round face when the wind blew. For some reason, she made me think of a fairy and that made me smile.

“I am in fact her and here,” I laughed, sticking my hand out. “Juliet Bale.”

She shook like she was trying to pump water from a well. “Carla Michaels. I’m your next door neighbor and wanted to pop over and see if you were free for cocktail hour tonight.”

When she said
pop
she literally hopped in place. I almost laughed but worried she’d think me rude. Her bubbly energy was much preferred to the crushing waves of grief that had come off Elijah.

“Tonight?”

Her amber eyes went sad. “Yes, oh God. I’m so rude assuming you could manage to make it after all that you’ve been doing. You’re probably exhaust—”

I shrugged. “Sure. What time? I could do with some fun.”

She seemed to actually sparkle, and again I chewed the inside of my lip to keep my laughter at bay. “Oh, five o’clock. Instead of dinner, most folks come by and have nibbles. I put out little…” She waved her small hands around as if performing magic. “Tapas, if you will.”

I smiled. “Sounds great! What can I bring?”

“Oh nothing. Not a darn thing. Just yourself, everyone is dying to meet you. We want to pick your brain about what it’s like to live here. In a haunted house.”

“What makes you think it’s haunted?” I asked her.

“What would make
you
think it wouldn’t be?” She glanced at her watch. “My goodness! If I’m going to feed all my guests I have to get to the seafood store and pick up my shrimp. See you soon!” She tossed me a wave and hurried off, her little black capris pants swishing loudly because she walked so fast.

I shut the door on her and the early fall sunshine. The clouds had broken a bit since Elijah left and it looked to be a lovely evening. “Well…
that
was interesting.”

I thought to look through my book maybe and see what else I could see about Chadwick Montgomery, but another part of me was ready for a break from his dark and oily energy. So when Minnie called to grill me about my first night in the house, I welcomed the interruption.

“What do you mean you had dreams?”

“It’s a fairly simple statement.” I laughed. “I had dreams. There’s stuff going on in this house, Min. Why the hell did I ever buy a home without seeing it first?”

“Because you needed a fresh start, and this was your chance. For the money you had.”

I sighed, putting a row of small brightly colored glass bottles—one for the color of each chakra— on the wide windowsill. She was right. “I guess what I need to do is just deal with the negative spirit I’m experiencing if I can. Then I can claim the house as mine.”

I didn’t tell Minnie the full truth about ; she’d worry. Even with him dead, she’d fret. Mostly because Minnie was one of the few people on earth who truly understood what dealing with certain spirits could do to me.

“So spill, any handsome men? Whacky, small-town folk?” She was only a two hours away but was making a huge deal of the city versus country thing.

“Handsome man, yes. The fix-it guy the realtor sent. He’s tall and handsome and very…”

“Very what?” she squeaked, clearly enticed by my information.

“Sad,” I finished weakly.

“Oh, Juliet stop rubbing the man’s energy to see what it feels like.”

“I didn’t rub it, you perv.” I snorted. “It just oozed off him when he came in the house. His fiancée died here, it seems. On my basement steps.”

“Jeesh, you really did buy a lemon, didn’t you?” she groaned.

“I fear I did.”

“How about strange, small-town neighbors?”

So I told her about my get together next door and how I’d probably have more information for her later tonight.

“Excellent,” my sister said, sounding greedy.

“You sound like a super villain from a bad B movie.”

“Perfect!” she said and then hung up.

* * * *

“Juliet, Juliet!” Carla waved madly from her back patio door. A jumbo shrimp clutched in one hand and what looked like a margarita clutched in the other. All heads turned my way.

“Great,” I grumbled under my breath. I loved feeling so conspicuous. Not.

“Hi, there.” I waved back even though I was only a few feet away. “Thanks again for having me.”

“, get her a drink!” Carla commanded a man I could only assume to be her husband. He was tall and bulky to her short and petite but instantly snapped to. It was easy to see who was the boss around here.

Again, with Carla, I found myself biting the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

“Can I get you some shrimp? Some roasted onion dip? Some…what else do I have, Marigold?” she asked the woman standing next to her. She was tall and thin and made me think of Olive Oyl from the old Popeye cartoons only she had long red hair.

“You have eggplant parmesan bites, and you have stuffed cherry tomatoes, oh and you have that crab dip your…”

“Right, right,” Carla steamrolled her. “We have all that, Juliet. What would you like?”

“How about you just introduce me to everyone and I can pick at the food as we go?” I said, trying to calm her down. She reminded me of Minnie’s big standard poodle Ditzy. Sweet and friendly, but utterly high strung.

“Right!” Carla said. “This is Marigold, she lives across the street. In the tan house.”

“White,” Marigold corrected, shaking my hand. Carla frowned, but Marigold ignored her. “That man over there stuffing shrimp in his face is my husband, Donnie. Say hi, Donnie!” she yelled.

Donnie turned our way, smiled and waved a shrimp at me in way of greeting. I gave into the whole thing and simply laughed.

“He’s a real prize isn’t he?” Marigold said, but I could hear in her voice that it was a sincere statement meant to sound sarcastic.

Having been alone for several years now, my heart twisted a little. “I’m sure he is,” I said, and I meant it.

She went wide-eyed for a second and then grinned at me. “Actually, he is.”

“This is my husband, Jackson,” Carla butted in, clearly not eager to give up the spotlight.

“Howdy,” said, handing me a drink.

I sipped it and sighed. “My God, did you make that? That is awesome.”

He actually blushed.

Carla continued to steamroll us, and I couldn’t keep my amusement in. I followed her and said hello to the Giffords from the other side of my house, the Lees from the yellow house across the street and the Joneses from the red house.

I noticed as the introductions were made everyone stayed close to us. I was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic, swigging my drink, fearing getting looped from the crush of energy against mine. Mrs. Lee finally gave in and leaned toward me. “So what’s it like?” she breathed in secretive voice though every single person leaning in could hear.

“What’s what like?” I was confused. And hungry now. Would it be rude to ask one of the eager audience members to pass me a big ass shrimp?

“Living in that house,” Mrs. Lee said.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but the hair on the back of my neck prickled and rose. “It’s a house.”