Ghost Walk Page 8

  She froze, her gaze jumping back to his. “Seventy years? Wait, what do you mean seventy years?”

  “Well, you’re --what-- thirty?”

  “Thirty-two, but…”

  Jamie cut her off. “Still very young for your century.” He assured her. “Now, I donea understand all of the medical advances of this time period, but I’ve seen that they work wonders. A hundred-and-two will be a perfectly average age, when you’re an old woman. I’ve no doubt that you’ll live to see it.”

  “Even if I do, you’re certainly not going to be there. You have to go, Jamie.”

  That was the first time in nearly a quarter of a millennium that someone had addressed him by name. The sound of it melted Jamie’s insides and hardened his resolve. For whatever reason, this girl had been given to him. Handed into his care. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he knew she was a gift from Heaven itself. Without Grace, he was nothing at all. Just a lost voice, screaming into a void.

  Prickly or not, he would never, ever leave her.

  “Oh no, lass.” Jamie shook his head. “As long as I’m stuck in this plane, I’m going to be right by your side. And since I sure seem to be stuck here until my name is cleared… and you won’t help me clear my name,” he shrugged helplessly, “it looks as though we’d best be getting used to each other’s company.”

  He reached over to give her knee a pat and that strange electrical charge zapped through him again. Ghosts didn’t need to breathe, but Jamie still released a shuddering breath. He hadn’t been imagining it before. He could feel her. Jamie’s hand couldn’t make contact with her skin, but he could feel her.

  And she felt better than anything he could imagine.

  So many times, over the decades and centuries, he’d tried to recall what it was like to be alive. To be able to touch someone. To have them know he was there. To feel them. As hard as he’d tried to cling to the memories, the reality of it was overwhelming. Feeling Grace Rivera was simply… magic.

  Maybe she really was part fay.

  Grace felt him, too. She jerked back, looking frantic. “No! I mean it, no way are you staying here. I have a nice, normal life to live and it can’t be infested with spirits.” She waved a hand around. “I don’t care how sexy your accent is, you’re leaving.”

  Jamie decided to focus on the positive aspects of that rant. “I like your accent, too, lass. Southern ladies always have the nicest drawls.”

  She appeared ready to strangle him. Too bad the lynch-mob had beaten her to it.

  “I don’t have a…” She stopped and took a deep breath. “No. This isn’t going to work. I see what you’re doing, but, no matter what you threaten or try, I’m not helping you solve those murders.” She staggered to her feet, hampered by her bulky bathrobe and the unaccustomed quantities of wine she’d consumed. “I just can’t, okay? I’m sorry. I wish you luck, but I’m afraid our association is over. I am going to go in my room and close the door. Come morning, you will be gone and I’ll pretend this was all a dream.”

  “No, I donea think so.” Jamie stacked his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “I’m content to stay right here in my new home.” He looked around with sigh. “Granted, it’s not the furniture I would’ve chosen, but we’re both making compromises in this relationship, so I’ll endure.”

  Emotion put color into her face and made her even lovelier. “We don’t have a relationship and this isn’t your home! I’m the one who pays rent and I want you gone!”

  “You say that now, but I’m a grand fellow to have about. Very witty and full of useful advice.”

  “I don’t want your advice!”

  “Open your mind, lass! I can help you select your next beau, so you donea end up with another rotter like Robert.” Lie. He had no intention of letting any other man near her. “I can follow along on your job each day, so you get all your historical facts straight.” Another lie. Grace needed to find other employment, because being a tour guide was clearly crushing her spirit. “Oh and I’ve got a tremendous singing voice.” Damnable lie of there ever was one, but pirates weren’t known for their scrupulous honesty. “Why, in a few decades, you’ll wonder how you ever got along without me.”

  Her perfect lips pressed together in frustration. It was a crying shame what she did to that lush mouth. Never letting it smile and forever compressing it into disagreeable lines. “You can’t just move into my apartment. I won’t allow it.”

  “How do you plan to stop me?”

  Brown eyes narrowed, desperately trying to think of a way to physically boot a ghost out the door. There wasn’t one, of course. There was nothing harder to get rid of than a specter intent on staying put.

  Jamie waited for her to see it was hopeless.

  “I’ll give it three days.” She finally said in a tight voice. “For three days, I will try my very best to identify your eighteenth-century madman. But, on the 4th of July, you leave. Got it? When I show you that it’s impossible to locate a suspect who’s been dead for two hundred years, you accept it and vanish out of my life. Agreed?”

  Jamie nearly scoffed at that. He was a ghost with a mission and he’d see fulfilled no matter how long it took. Three days or three decades, it meant nothing to him. And, either way, he certainly didn’t plan to leave Grace’s side. So long as he was trapped on Earth, he would be within five feet of this girl.

  No way in hell would he go back to the solitude without her.

  “Agreed.” Another lie, but she really should know better than to trust his word on the matter. After all, only gentleman had to honor their deals and, dead or alive, Captain James MacCleef Riordan was certainly no gentleman.

  Chapter Five

  June 22, 1789- I saw Agatha Northhandler punch a man for stealing twine from her shop today. I think it was quite common. Women need not resort to violence. We can get our own way by using subtler means. The only time a true lady should be around blood is when she’s thanking the Good Lord not to be pregnant.

  From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

  “This is a total waste of time.” Grace had been repeating that all morning, but a certain jackass ghost wasn’t listening. “I’m telling you it won’t work.”

  In an effort to not look like a crazy person when she talked to him in public, Grace wore a Bluetooth earpiece. Hopefully, it would seem like she was really pissed off at someone on the other end of the phone line… rather than being really pissed off at someone invisible to everyone else in the room. So far it seemed to be working, which made her feel kinda smug. Like she was accomplishing something.

  Wait… was she actually proud of succeeding at craziness? This was seriously getting out of hand.

  Jamie shrugged, looking gorgeous and inflexible. Did ghosts sleep? He certainly seemed well-rested, which just irritated her more. “I have nothing but time, so it matters not how much of it we waste. It’s one of the perks of being dead.”

  “One of the perks of being alive is sleeping in on Saturdays. Or at least it should be.” She slanted him a glare. “Yet here I am.”

  “It’s Friday, lass.”

  “Oh shut up.”

  The two of them stood with a group of twenty tourists in the grand parlor of the Wentworth mansion. It had been meticulously restored to its Colonial era glory, complete with shiny antique furniture, plenty of status-symbol silver on display, and vivid floral-patterned wallpaper. It really was one of the nicest homes in Harrisonburg.

  Jamie was quick to point out every inch of fabric and piece flatware that the restoration got wrong, of course. The man was impossible to please. …And really, really handsome. It was amazing how handsome he was. Even more amazing to her than his ghost-ness.

  That didn’t mean he was her Partner, though

  “Just in case you need to know for our investigation, the room looked nothing like this when the Wentworths were alive.” Jamie informed her, not shutting up. He never shut up. “The mantle was different, the furniture was different, and the walls w
eren’t this god-awful powder blue.” He snorted. “And Lucinda would be shrieking her head off if she knew they’d chosen that portrait to hang here for all eternity. She never did like it. Said Eugenia’s glower ruined the whole canvas.”

  Grace glanced at the painting of the Wentworth daughters. Lucinda had a point. Her sister was glowering. Probably because poor, plain, pinch-lipped Eugenia was being completely upstaged completely by the beautiful debutant sitting next to her.

  Lucinda had blonde hair and an aristocratic nose, her curvy figure cinched into a décolletage revealing period gown. In the modern world, she no doubt would have been president of her sorority, dedicated to keeping the Eugenias and Graces on campus away from all the football players. There was a knowing gleam in Lucinda’s blue eyes that told you she was secretly a bitch to all the other girls in town. A smug glint of malice, like she had a dirty little secret she wasn’t telling.

  That secret was probably what Jamie looked like naked.

  Just the idea of that pissed Grace off.

  …Not that she would ever seriously consider dating a pirate, of course. Grace was only interested in serious relationships and James Riordan was not a serious relationship kinda ghost. Hell, he could star in a PSA about why smart girls should stay far away from anti-husband material men. Plus, he was dead. A woman would have to be nuts to get mixed up with him, no matter how gorgeous he was.

  And he was really, really gorgeous.

  Grace glanced up at him, trying not to notice all the star-spangled angles of his American Hero profile. She wasn’t sure about Lucinda’s picture, but that portrait of Jamie in the history book did him not justice, at all. It missed the golden sheen to his hair and the perfect tan of his skin. Weren’t ghosts supposed to be more see-through?

  It would be a lot easier to deal with him if he wasn’t so darn visible.

  Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her sundress, indicating that Robert had sent her yet another text. Grace rolled her eyes. How was he not getting the hint? It was over. She was actually relieved to be free of him, so the last thing she needed was the jackass stalking her, now. She had so many more important things to focus on than his whining.

  “What was that?” Jamie asked.

  “Nothing.” No way was she telling him about the twenty-eight unanswered messages on her phone. Jamie would seriously not appreciate Robert begging for another chance. His hatred of her ex was as clear as the Liberty Bell.

  He didn’t look convinced by her quick denial. “I think your portable telephone is chiming?” It came out sounding like a question. Technology seemed to confuse Jamie. No doubt because the closest his time period had come to a global communications network was “one if by land, two if by sea.”

  Grace ignored his confusion and went back to his earlier complaint. “And of course the house has changed.” She told him, wanting to keep the conversation away from Robert. The morning was stressful enough without Jamie’s complaints about her lack of spirit and long rants full of Gaelic cursing. “It’s been two hundred years. That’s what I’ve been trying to get through to you. It’s crazy to think we’re going to find any evidence of Lucinda’s disappearance.”

  “Nonsense. I have great faith in you.” He insisted with the stubborn mindset of someone who had no clue what forensic work really entailed. “TV shows always begin their investigation at the scene of the crime. We must do the same. Now, you promised me three days of investigation, so search for clues, woman.” He waved a hand around, like all she needed to do was whip out a Sherlock Holmes-sized magnifying glass and shout, “Elementary, my dear Watson!”

  Grace shook her head in frustration. A couple of reruns of Criminal Minds and suddenly everyone thought they could do her job. No. Her ex-job. “Fine. Whatever. But, I’m only doing this to humor you, because we’re not going to find anything.”

  “You’ve a very negative attitude, Grace. I prefer to live in hope.”

  “You’re not living, at all.” Grace muttered, but she grudgingly refocused on their goal.

  Lucinda Wentworth’s former home was owned by the Harrisonburg Historical Society, which gave tours every day at nine, twelve, and two. Since it was the only one of the murder victims’ houses opened to the public, it seemed like the best place to start. It was simple enough for Grace to join the group of morning tourists eager to see a Colonial era mansion. A lot of people worked for the town, so no one recognized her as an employee or asked why she was buying a ticket to a historic home on her (forced) day off.

  Actually two tickets.

  Grace had accidently bought one for Jamie, too, before it occurred to her that he wouldn’t need it. It seemed to simultaneously amuse and charm him, which was embarrassing. It was just hard to remember that he was a ghost. Not just because it was frigging impossible that he was a ghost, but because Jamie seemed incredibly alive.

  He was clever, and charming, and curious about everything. As a conversationalist, he was way better than Grace had ever been and he’d been dead for two-hundred plus years. When she wasn’t fascinated by some anecdote he was telling, it kinda pissed her off. She was a social disaster these days, but Jamie could no doubt host his own talk show: Undead and Awesome.

  “Bloody listen to this nonsense.” Jamie shook his head in dismay as the tour guide droned on about the furnishings. “This town must strive to hire the worst storytellers in Virginia.”

  Grace slanted him a glare.

  Jamie didn’t seem to notice. “We need to begin our investigation now, because I donea know how much longer I can endure this madness. The man has been talking for ten minutes about floor cloths. And those aren’t the Wentworths’ floor clothes. They look nothing like them! It’s like I’m in hell, only it’s boring.”

  Grace felt the need to defend the poor guide from Harrisonburg’s biggest tour critic. “We’re visiting a historical house. What do you want him to talk about? The Super Bowl?”

  Jamie wasn’t appeased by that logic. “And --Jesus, Mary and Joseph-- why are floor cloths even on this tour? Why would anyone waste a glorious summer morning looking at some old piece of canvas we used as a rug? Have you all so much time to spare that you can just squander it?” He sighed, like he was the only one in the room with any common sense. “Life is wasted on the mortals of this era.”

  Grace wasn’t in the mood for a “my century is better than your century” debate. Not without even her customary four hours of sleep to bolster her. Grace never slept well. The dreams were too overwhelming. Last night, though, she’d just stayed awake, staring at her ceiling, panicked and full of doubt.

  Not over the fact that she’d made a deal with a frigging ghost.

  No, she was handling that part with surprising ease, all things considered. Jamie might befuddle her, but she wasn’t frightened or freaked out by his presence. Rivera DNA meant she accepted the supernatural far too easily. In fact, it was kind of almost a little bit …nice having someone around. Even if he was a jackass.

  What terrified her was going back to work as a forensic tech, even if it was just for a few days. The job had nearly broken her last time. She didn’t want to give it another chance. But, unless she wanted to listen to Jamie whine for the rest of her life, she didn’t really have much of a choice. Grace had promised him three days and she kept her promises.

  Also, she hated to admit it but a tiny part of her believed him when he said he was innocent. Maybe she always had. That picture of him had been drawing her in since she was fifteen, after all. Something in his face convincing her that he hadn’t really killed those girls. Clearing his name was the right thing to do, for Jamie and the victims.

  But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

  “We need to ditch the rest of the tour and get upstairs.” She lowered her voice, hoping none of the tourists overheard her. Luckily, they now seemed enthralled with the original floorboards. “We have to look in Lucinda’s bedroom. That’s where she disappeared, so we need to start there.” She paused meaningfully.
“I’m guessing you know where that is.”

  “You’ve a prurient mind, Mistress Rivera. I like that in a lass.” Jamie glanced towards the stairs, which were through an archway behind them. “They’ve a velvet rope erected in front of the steps. You’ll need to get around it. Then I can lead you to her room.”

  “Sneak around it, you mean.” Grace could already feel her blood pressure rising at the idea. “I’m probably going to be arrested and thrown in jail for this. I hope you know that.”

  “Oh, it’s not merely prison for an offense so grave as leaving a tour. T’would be the stocks for sure.” He smiled widely at the glower she flashed his way. “Oh, donea be so cantankerous. Just walk up the stairs as if you’ve every right to do it and all will be fine.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “No one will stop you if you seem confident. They’ll be too afraid of looking a fool if they question you. Always act as if you know exactly what you’re doing and you can get away with anything. T’is the secret of life.”

  “Yeah, that probably works great for attractive, pirate-y scoundrels, but --I guarantee-- it won’t work for a normal person like me.”

  His face brightened. “You think me attractive?”

  “Oh shut up.” Grace eased towards the door, hoping to slip out of the room unnoticed. Instantly, it felt as if everybody was staring her, even though she could see they were all focused on the guide. Grace’s grip tightened on her bag, her body barely moving.

  “Good Christ, woman. You’re stiff as a board and your eyes are darting about like you’re expecting the devil himself to be after ya. Relax. You could not be looking more suspicious if you were trying.”

  “You’re really not helping.” She couldn’t do this. The longer she stood there, the more she realized it was impossible. She would be caught. She’d go to jail. She’d lose her job. She’d be thrown out of her apartment and have to live on the streets. She’d…

  “Grace.” Jamie’s voice broke through her escalating panic and she automatically looked his way. He caught hold of her eyes and didn’t let go. “It will be alright.” He said quietly. “I promise you, I’ll keep you safe.”