I’d rather not be alone tonight….
No. She wasn’t going to ask him to run over and hold her hand, especially when he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need him. She refused to act like a frightened child when she was really only a little bit nervous. After all, Luke Westbrook hadn’t done anything to her. Except send her blood pressure soaring to new heights, that is.
On the other hand, it seemed fairly obvious that he definitely wanted her to do something for him. And he was getting rather insistent about it.
It was only when she considered that point thoughtfully that Josie realized she had calmed down. Her pulse was normal, her knees no longer felt like jelly, and the urge to look nervously over her shoulder had faded. Good. Now she could try to figure out what Luke Westbrook expected her to do for him….
Or she would in the morning. Right now it was getting late, she was tired, and the storm was coming back. Or maybe it had never left.
Josie picked up the cat and went to bed.
“I know it was storming,” Josie said with determined detachment. “And I know things always look and seem a little weird during storms. But I also know what I saw. And this time he looked as real as you do.”
“But in the front parlor this time?” Marc asked.
“Yeah. He seemed to be looking for something. Then he saw me—and came toward me. I turned on the light just before he reached me, and he was gone.”
“You still believe he wants something of you?”
“Definitely. In fact, I think he’s getting impatient that I haven’t already done whatever it is he wants me to do.”
“From all I’ve heard and read,” Marc said somewhat dryly, “that certainly sounds like Luke. He was well-known for his impatience.”
They were on the porch, both of them half sitting on the sturdy railing and sipping coffee. It was midmorning, the temperature had risen to something approaching mild, and the sun was trying hard to push through gray clouds. Returning from his morning walk—slightly delayed by the weather—Marc had seen Josie on the porch and had come over.
“You weren’t nervous after that?” he asked.
“Oddly enough, no. I thought I might be, but…I don’t know. Even though last night was a little creepy, I’m not afraid of him.” She tried to lighten her tone. “Of course, what I told you before stands—if he starts rattling chains, I’m out of here.”
“I can’t say I’d blame you.”
Josie smiled suddenly. “Your friend didn’t happen to tell you how to exorcise ghosts, did he?”
It took Marc a moment to remember that he’d mentioned Tucker’s brief fascination with the paranormal. “No, I gather that wasn’t his aim. He wanted to meet one—in the flesh, so to speak.”
Dryly, Josie said, “Then you might want to invite him out here one night. As far as I can tell, the show starts just after ten.”
Marc frowned and spoke slowly. “Just after ten every night? You didn’t tell me—”
“Well, I haven’t seen him every night. Although it
did
occur to me that maybe we just weren’t in the same room when he decided to appear. But both times I have seen him, it was a little after ten o’clock. Why? Is that significant?”
He hesitated, then said, “According to the police report, Luke died between ten and midnight.”
“Oh.” A useful syllable, Josie thought vaguely. Indicating a variety of possible responses. Acknowledgment. Comprehension. Oh, I see. Oh, I understand. And it filled the silence nicely when one just didn’t know
what
to say.
Then she did know what to say. “Wait a minute, now. He died fifty years ago, and you know what the police report says? What is it, family folklore?”
Marc shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I…found a biography of Luke among some of the books in the cottage, and I’ve been reading up on his life. And death. It was written by somebody who’d known him and published a little more than a year after he
No. She wasn’t going to ask him to run over and hold her hand, especially when he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need him. She refused to act like a frightened child when she was really only a little bit nervous. After all, Luke Westbrook hadn’t done anything to her. Except send her blood pressure soaring to new heights, that is.
On the other hand, it seemed fairly obvious that he definitely wanted her to do something for him. And he was getting rather insistent about it.
It was only when she considered that point thoughtfully that Josie realized she had calmed down. Her pulse was normal, her knees no longer felt like jelly, and the urge to look nervously over her shoulder had faded. Good. Now she could try to figure out what Luke Westbrook expected her to do for him….
Or she would in the morning. Right now it was getting late, she was tired, and the storm was coming back. Or maybe it had never left.
Josie picked up the cat and went to bed.
“I know it was storming,” Josie said with determined detachment. “And I know things always look and seem a little weird during storms. But I also know what I saw. And this time he looked as real as you do.”
“But in the front parlor this time?” Marc asked.
“Yeah. He seemed to be looking for something. Then he saw me—and came toward me. I turned on the light just before he reached me, and he was gone.”
“You still believe he wants something of you?”
“Definitely. In fact, I think he’s getting impatient that I haven’t already done whatever it is he wants me to do.”
“From all I’ve heard and read,” Marc said somewhat dryly, “that certainly sounds like Luke. He was well-known for his impatience.”
They were on the porch, both of them half sitting on the sturdy railing and sipping coffee. It was midmorning, the temperature had risen to something approaching mild, and the sun was trying hard to push through gray clouds. Returning from his morning walk—slightly delayed by the weather—Marc had seen Josie on the porch and had come over.
“You weren’t nervous after that?” he asked.
“Oddly enough, no. I thought I might be, but…I don’t know. Even though last night was a little creepy, I’m not afraid of him.” She tried to lighten her tone. “Of course, what I told you before stands—if he starts rattling chains, I’m out of here.”
“I can’t say I’d blame you.”
Josie smiled suddenly. “Your friend didn’t happen to tell you how to exorcise ghosts, did he?”
It took Marc a moment to remember that he’d mentioned Tucker’s brief fascination with the paranormal. “No, I gather that wasn’t his aim. He wanted to meet one—in the flesh, so to speak.”
Dryly, Josie said, “Then you might want to invite him out here one night. As far as I can tell, the show starts just after ten.”
Marc frowned and spoke slowly. “Just after ten every night? You didn’t tell me—”
“Well, I haven’t seen him every night. Although it
did
occur to me that maybe we just weren’t in the same room when he decided to appear. But both times I have seen him, it was a little after ten o’clock. Why? Is that significant?”
He hesitated, then said, “According to the police report, Luke died between ten and midnight.”
“Oh.” A useful syllable, Josie thought vaguely. Indicating a variety of possible responses. Acknowledgment. Comprehension. Oh, I see. Oh, I understand. And it filled the silence nicely when one just didn’t know
what
to say.
Then she did know what to say. “Wait a minute, now. He died fifty years ago, and you know what the police report says? What is it, family folklore?”
Marc shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I…found a biography of Luke among some of the books in the cottage, and I’ve been reading up on his life. And death. It was written by somebody who’d known him and published a little more than a year after he
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