Waiting For You (9 page)

“Would you do that for me?”

“Of course.”
She leaned against him and batted her eyes. “You know I’d do
anything
for you.”

Good grief.
And to think I used to date women like her.
Back then he didn’t care if his girlfriend had a brain. Thank heavens he wasn’t the same man today.

He looked into her eyes and forced a smile. “So, you said we’re having dinner here? Have you ordered already, because I’m
starving.
”

She gave him her
evil eye
and moved off the sofa. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go out.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Great idea.”
No more cuddling tonight.

They didn’t talk much on the way to the restaurant, but once they were seated, he took her hand from across the table and squeezed. “This is nice, don’t you think?”

She arched a brow. “What’s nice?”

“Two old friends getting together.”

She pouted. “Why can’t we be more than friends, Nicky? I’m currently single, and I know you are too.”

He rubbed his thumb across her knuckle. “I want to get my practice running and make a good name for myself. I can’t do that with a woman on my arm. A woman almost ruined me, remember? I won’t let it happen again.”

“I guess we can remain friends.” She frowned.
“Although, it won’t be as much fun.”

He chuckled. “But think of it this way. I will always be here if you need someone to talk to. If you meet a new guy and you want his background checked, I’m your man.”

A grin stretched across her face. “Why do you make it sound exciting when I know it’s not?”

“Because to me, it is exciting.
I need friends right now, Vanessa, not a girlfriend.”

After the waiter took their orders, Vanessa’s attention moved around the room until she found someone to wave at. At least she’d gotten the point he was trying to make tonight.

“So tell me, Vanessa, has your family always been in the jewelry business?”

She sipped her wine and watched him. When she set the glass down, she nodded. “Yes, I think they have. Why do you ask?”

“Did you know that in 1912 the building belonged to Edward Carlisle and he used it for his newspaper business? He was a very wealthy man back then.”

“No, I didn’t know that. I wonder why he sold it to my great-grandmother.”

“According to the articles I’ve read on the Internet, when Edward Carlisle died, his money fell into the wrong hands. Not too long after that, Cassandra Brown bought the building.”

Nick had decided not to tell her about the brother, Alexander Carlisle, since that man’s life was still a mystery.

“That’s very interesting,” Vanessa said. “I’ve always wondered how my great-grandmother came to own a jewelry company. I mean, back then women weren’t business owners, and if they were, they weren’t taken seriously.”

“True. She was very young, too. At least she didn’t look very old in the picture.”

“Do you know if she was married to my great-grandfather then?”

Nick shrugged. “The article talked about Cassandra Brown, not Cassandra Westland. So I doubt she was married. Unless…” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Was she married to a Brown before she met your great-grandfather?”

“I don’t know. In all the stories I’ve heard, nothing was mentioned about a previous husband.”

“That makes the story even more amazing, doesn’t it?” Nick said.
“Mainly because she was single.”

“Yes, it does.”

Dinner passed quickly, and when Vanessa didn’t try to hit on him, he thanked his lucky stars. While she rambled on about nothing, he kept going over in his mind everything they’d discussed about Cassandra Brown. Things didn’t add up. She was a young girl, not even twenty yet, too young to buy a building in that day and age. And she was single, to boot. Unless her parents were filthy rich, where had she gotten the money to open a jewelry store?

Nick drove Vanessa home. When he walked her to the door, he hugged her. It surprised him when she didn’t try to steal a kiss.

He couldn’t wait to get back to Abby, so when he got in the car he punched the gas pedal harder than he should have. When he got to the building, he hurried up the stairs to his office and opened the door. “Abby?”

He turned on the light and waited for a few minutes, but his ghost friend didn’t show up. She’d mentioned staying in the attic, and although he didn’t know where that was, he was determined to find it.

He took the elevator to the top floor. The smaller hallway was dark, but he found the light and turned it on. He looked for an out-of-the-way door, different from the office doors, and finally found it at the end of the hallway by the window. He tested the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.

Grumbling, he tried again, this time slamming his shoulder into it as he pushed. The door opened and he fell through, stumbling inside. The musty air tickled his nose and he sneezed. From inside a woman gasped, and something clattered to the hard floor.

He grinned. “Abby, it’s me, Nick.”

When she emerged from behind a stack of boxes, he wanted to rush to her, pick her up, and swing her around. He felt like an infatuated schoolboy, and he decided maybe it was a good thing she was a ghost.

Then he noticed the trembling frown on her lips and the tears in her eyes. He hurried to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I found something.”

“What?”

“Another newspaper article.”
She sniffed and wiped her swollen eyes. “The news is devastating. I still cannot believe it.”

His chest clenched. “Show me the article.”

Chapter 7

With a shaky hand, Abigail wiped her wet cheeks. Emotion clogged her throat, and her heart felt like it would break. “While you were with Vanessa, I thought about how I could help you, so I looked through every newspaper I could find that had been kept here since I died, to see if there was anything about my father’s death or even anything about Uncle Alexander.” She sniffed. “This is what I found.” She pointed to the newspaper on the floor.

Nick picked up the paper, then stood and held it closer to the single-bulb light.
“‘Mistress demands money,’” he read aloud.

He looked at her and she motioned toward the paper. “Keep reading.”

“‘After the death of millionaire Edward Carlisle and his daughter, Abigail, Miss Lillian Burnett came forward with startling information. According to Miss Burnett, she and Edward Carlisle had been intimate for the past ten years. Although they never married, Miss Burnett says they had discussed it in great detail. Miss Burnett feels she is entitled to some of Edward Carlisle’s millions, which have now been passed to his younger brother, Alexander Carlisle.’”

Hearing the words in Nick’s voice made Abigail’s chest tighten even more. His deep tone always stirred her, but now the words penetrated her mind, confirming the truth she had wanted to deny since reading the article.

“Is this true?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It can’t be true! My father was a very proper man, and he wouldn’t have done something so low, so scandalous. He was a good person and had a respectable name. He would not have done this, I assure you.” Abigail wiped a tear from her cheek. “Besides that, when would he have had time for this woman when he couldn’t spend enough time with his own daughter?”

She held back a sob. What if this were true? If her father had a mistress, it would have taken away time he could have spent with his own daughter. He never seemed to be able to find time for her, and now she wondered if this Lillian Burnett was the reason. Abigail had fought for his attention for so many years, knowing the only way she’d get it was to take an interest in the newspaper. She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

“Maybe this woman, Lillian Burnett, was lying,” Nick said.

Abigail wiped the tears from her face.
“Possibly.”

He sat on the floor and motioned for her to join him. When she did, he tried to put his arm around her shoulders but then gave up and rested his palm on the floor behind her as he leaned toward her. She wanted so much to cuddle against his chest, to feel the warmth that came from a living person.

“It’s surprising what greedy people will do or say in order to get money,” Nick said. “I’m sure this lady was investigated thoroughly and her story was checked out. In fact, I’d bet money she was just a schemer, and that your father wasn’t the first person she tried getting money from.”

“Do you really think so?” Abigail’s hopes lifted a bit.

“Yes. People do this all the time in today’s world. I’m guessing this Lillian Burnett figured it out back in the early 1900s.”

“I pray you are right about this.” She sighed.

Nick’s gaze moved slowly over her hair, eyes, and cheeks before coming to rest on her mouth. Soon his eyebrows drew together as his gaze shifted all the way down to her hands.

“Abby, you’d mentioned how you looked through those old newspapers.” He paused as deeper lines creased his forehead. “How can you move objects? You know, like the chair in my office when Mr. Moore was there.”

Slowly, a small smile tugged on her lips. “I have had many years to practice. But one day I was upset over something. I can’t quite remember what, but I think it was the person who had torn down the walls to my father’s office. Anyway, it made me so upset that I wanted to hit something—mainly that man. I knew nothing would come from it, except maybe it might appease my temper. So I swung. Of course I didn’t hit him, but the movement knocked over a container of nails. I wasn’t certain if I had really done that, so I tried again. That time, I knocked over the stool.” Shrugging, she released a light laugh. “After that, I tried to see what else I could move. At first, I noticed that I had to become mad at something, but then it wasn’t just being mad that pushed it. I had to concentrate and
feel
the emotion inside of me.” Once again, sadness filled her, making her heart heavy. “After a while, I only continued to move things around so that I could feel somewhat alive. I don’t really know how everything works, but I do whatever I can that
does
work.”

He nodded. “That makes sense.”

Sighing heavily, Abigail leaned into him and tried to rest her head on his shoulder. When warmth touched her cheek she jumped back and gasped.

“What’s wrong, Abby?”

“You are warm.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I usually am. Why?”

“I can feel it.”

“You can feel me?”

She shook her head.
“Only your warmth.”

He smiled and motioned his head for her to come closer. “Then by all means, lean against me and share my heat.”

Once again, she scooted closer. His chest rose and fell faster than before, and she realized hers was doing the same.

“I wish I could hold you,” he whispered.

Her heart skipped a beat.
“Me, too.”
She swallowed nervously. “What do you feel when I’m this close?”

“You feel like a cool mist.”

She shifted away from him and met his gaze. “Then I should not get so close.”

“No.” He motioned for her to come back to his shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me. It feels rather nice.”

She smiled. “That is pleasing to hear.” She moved back to his shoulder, wishing she could feel something more solid. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes. “How was your evening with Vanessa?”

“Very enlightening.”

“It was?”

“Yes. Cassandra Brown is her great-grandmother.”

Abigail snapped to an upright position and looked at him. “Are you jesting?”

“Nope.”
He grinned. “Even more surprising is that the old woman is still alive.”

“Impossible!”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Nick shook his head.

“Cassandra would have to be over one hundred.”

“One hundred and eighteen, to be exact.”

Abigail gasped. “And she is still alive? How could anyone be alive at that age?”

“I couldn’t tell you that, but Vanessa is arranging for me to meet her.”

He raised his hand and brushed his fingers by her chin. Once again, warmth touched her soul, and she wanted to sigh with happiness.

“I wish you could go with me,” he said.

“Not nearly as much as I do.”

“We need to find a way for you to leave the building.”

She tilted her head.
“How?
I have been here since I died.”

“Have you tried?”

“Several times, but there is an invisible force that tugs me back.”

“Well, I’m still determined to find a way.”

Smiling, she laid her head back on his shoulder. “Nick Marshal, you’re a very kind-hearted man. Why aren’t there more men like you?”

His body shook with a soft laugh. “That’s a sweet compliment, and very flattering. But truly, there should be more women like you in the world.”

“What?
Ghosts haunting buildings looking for men with the initials N.M.?”
She giggled at her own joke.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I think you have a kind and giving heart, too, and there aren’t a lot of women I’ve met who I can say that about.”

Abigail smiled and cuddled closer, but her hat got in the way. It sat crookedly on her head, making her uncomfortable.
Strange, since it had never done that before.
She sat up and took out the pins holding it to her hair then tossed the bothersome accessory to the ground beside her.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Nick said.

“What? Remove my hat?”

“Yes.”

“I can. I only wear it when I’m in your presence.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the proper thing.”

He grinned. “We’re not in the 1900s any longer, sweetie. There’s no propriety here.”

She laughed. “All right then. I’ll not wear it anymore.”

“What about your gloves?”

Her heart hammered as she slipped off her gloves and placed them with her hat.

“And what about your hair?” he asked.

She touched the tight bun she’d always worn it in. “What about it?”

“Women don’t wear their hair like that unless they’re eighty years old, and then that’s not accurate either, since some keep their hair short. Anyway, since I’m the only one who can see you, why don’t you take your beautiful, brown hair out of that coil and let it fall over your shoulders?”

Her heart beat a crazy rhythm against her chest. Dare she? She’d never done anything so brazen before.

He swept his fingers along her jaw. “Please?
For me?”

Oh, dear!
How could she turn him down after hearing his sweet voice and staring into those dreamy eyes of his? But she must, for she was a proper young woman. Then again, why did it matter? She was dead. And to be completely accurate, she was a very proper
old
woman
. She was older than Cassandra Brown.

She reached behind her head and found the pins in her bun. With all of her heart she wanted Nick to know she’d do anything for him. But she had only known him a week. How could she feel this way for a man she hardly knew? Yet her heart told her differently. He was her soul mate! Her grandmother even knew it and had told her about Nick. How could Abigail deny destiny?

One by one the pins fell to the floor, and her long tresses tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Since she didn’t have a brush, she threaded her fingers through her locks to smooth them. He lifted his hand to touch her hair, but then stopped and frowned.

“You have beautiful hair,” he said as he lowered his hand to the floor.

“Thank you. No one has seen it down except for my father, my grandmother, and my maid.”

Nick sat straighter. “You had a maid?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How well did you know your maid? Would she have gained anything by your death? Should we put her on our suspect list?”

Abigail shook her head. “I cannot see why she would have anything to gain from my death. She wouldn’t have inherited anything. With both my father and me dead, she’d have to find other employment.”

Nick sighed. “Well, that idea is shot.”

“Thank you again for trying to help.” As she continued to comb her fingers through her hair, she thought about the woman who had always been her maid. Lily.
Kind, sweet, and wonderful Lily.
Almost like a mother.

“I wonder what happened to her,” Abigail whispered mostly to herself.

“Who?
Your maid?”

“Yes, Lily. I think she would not have easily found other employment at her age.”

Nick’s brows creased. “How old was she?”

“I don’t know for certain, but probably around my father’s age.
Maybe a little younger.”

Nick groaned, his eyes widening.

“What’s wrong?” Abigail asked.

“You said your maid’s name was Lily?”

“Yes.”

“Was that her nickname? Could it have been short for her real name?”

“I cannot remember. Why?”

“Because Lily is a nickname for Lillian.”

As soon as the words registered in Abigail’s head, her body chilled as if she’d just been dunked in ice-cold water. Could her father have been carrying on with her maid? Impossible! Then again, now that she thought about it, the year before her father died, she had walked in on him and Lily talking, and they had jumped apart like scared rabbits. Abigail recalled wondering why they were so nervous around each other.

“Oh, good heavens.
I do believe you’re correct.” She placed her hands over her face to hide the threatening deluge of fresh tears. How could her father have done such an awful thing? And why would he carry on with her maid, of all people?

“No, Abby.
I don’t have to be right. I was just thinking out loud.”

Closing her eyes, she shook her head while trailing her hands down her face. Her fingertips came to rest just below her lower lip. “Now that I think back, I do remember them being together entirely too much, since she was my maid, not his. Foolishly, I dismissed the idea of them having an affair. They always had an excuse for being in the same room so close together, alone.” She groaned. “How naive I was.”

“Abby, please don’t do this to yourself.”

Warmth touched her shoulders, and she knew his hands were on her. Then something touched her forehead. This too was warm, but a bit of moisture followed. She looked at him to see what he was doing, and his face was so near. Had he kissed her?