Dead People In Love (Haunted Hearts) Read online

  Dead People In Love

  (a Haunted Hearts short story)

  Edie Ramer

  Copyright 2012 by Edie Ramer

  All rights reserved

  Excerpts from Stardust Miracle and Cattitude

  Copyright © 2012, 2010 by Edie Ramer

  Cover Design by Dale Mayer

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the authors.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including the Internet, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Chapter 1

  Cassie stared down the guy who was supposed to be her Happy Ever After and wanted to give him a good kick in the ass.

  Sitting on a stool, holding his guitar as if it were a part of him, Luke Rivers stared back at her. Not giving anything away.

  Neither was she.

  “I’m going. You don’t have to come with me.” Standing in the middle of his tower studio in their pre-Victorian home, she took a quick glance around at his recording equipment, his guitars, the window with a view to the lake. The floor they’d made love on.

  “Stay and brood about Erin’s visit with her mom.” She turned back to him. “I have a gig.”

  He scowled. “Talking to a ghost.”

  “That’s what I did before we married.” She looked up at the ceiling, as if their house ghost would appear any second. But, no, Isabel was probably gleefully eavesdropping on them, as if they were arguing just for her entertainment. “It’s what I do now. And it’s what I’m going to do, whether you come with me or not.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she headed out of his studio.

  “Where are you going now?” he called after her.

  “To pack.” She stomped down the stairway to their bedroom on the second floor, not looking back.

  “You think I’ll come after you?”

  She still didn’t look back but she smiled. Yes, she did.

  They weren’t on their honeymoon anymore. Not after seven months of living together. Five months of marriage. But they were still at the jumping-into-bed stage. Or the couch. Or the bathtub. Or the shower. Or the pier outside...until mosquitoes drove them indoors.

  Sex wasn’t the best part about being married to Luke. Being loved and loving was. But Luke was as good at it as writing hit songs. So was she, as good at it as talking to ghosts. She’d like to say “taking them to heaven,” but she couldn’t get their own ghost to leave. Isabel said she was having too much fun watching them. A sad commentary on Isabel’s former life.

  Cassie reached the landing when footsteps thundered down the steps behind her. She sauntered down the hall and could feel his gaze on her butt. Her butt was hard to miss, and lucky for her Luke didn’t want to miss it.

  “I’ll go with you.” His voice was growly, like a bear that woke up in a bad mood. “I can look up some old friends in Chicago while you’re doing your ghost therapy thing.”

  She whipped around and glared at his scowling face...then she smirked. “I knew you’d cave.”

  His eyebrows lifted. And he did something that would surprise most of the people who knew him casually. He grinned. A grin that said it was great to be alive.

  He took a giant step toward her.

  She turned and ran. “Catch me if you can.”

  If he didn’t catch her, she’d swing around and catch him instead.

  She laughed from deep within her belly. Ghosts, sex and when they were in Chicago she wouldn’t have to cook one meal. Life was good.

  Then she remembered Rose Bellington’s wobbly voice, telling her that she had to get rid of her condo ghost or her grandson was going to say she had dementia and put her in a nursing home.

  A reminder that it wasn’t the dead people who did the worst things. It was the live ones.

  Her laughter died. She knew all about being treated badly by the people who were supposed to love her. Making her feel that she was a freak. Unlovable and untouchable.

  Two hundred years ago, she would’ve been the crazy relative locked in the attic.

  Strong arms curled around her. “Got’cha! What happened? That was too easy.”

  She twisted around and reached for his neck. “Hold me, Luke. Just hold me.”

  His expression changed, his eyes gentling. Hugging her tightly, he rocked her. “Anytime, babe. Anytime at all.”

  Her breasts flattened against his chest and her head smooshed against his shoulder. She breathed in his familiar scent and let it strengthen her, using it to stop tears from falling. Her self-pity changing to anger.

  Raising her head, she gazed into his blue eyes that looked back at her with a mix of love and desire and caring. “What do you think about a man who’s trying to force his grandmother into a nursing home?”

  “Huh?”

  Chapter 2

  Rose Bellington’s cherubic face wreathed in smile lines and the glow in her pale blue eyes caused Cassie to step back to avoid a hug. Rose looked like a sweet old lady and marriage had mellowed Cassie—but it hadn’t melted the prickly barrier that protected her heart. Giving free access to anyone with a smile was one way to get it shattered into tiny pieces that people could grind under their heels.

  Rose’s head tilted, her face getting a you-poor-thing pucker.

  As if being careful with your heart was something bad.

  “I hope you like tea.” Rose ushered her in. She wore black slacks and a loose short-sleeved top the same pale coral color as her hair. Faded red mixing with the gray formed a nimbus about her face, making her look like an elderly angel. Not a skinny one. She had a dumpling face and figure. Like Mrs. Santa, she didn’t appear to be afraid of a few cookies.

  Cassie agreed she did like tea and in a couple moments was sitting on the edge of a gold chair with a hard cushion that made her glad she came with her own padding.

  “Tell me about your ghost,” she said, taking a steaming cup of tea from Rose.

  Rose sighed and perched on the matching sofa across from her. “I guess I’ll have to.”

  “You don’t have to.” Cassie lifted her cup halfway to her mouth. “But don’t expect me to return the advance.”

  “If only it was that easy.” Rose leaned forward, her hands on her lap. “I suppose you wouldn’t lie for me.”

  “I could but I don’t know you.” Cassie sipped the fragrant jasmine tea while Rose looked hopefully at her. “I don’t know your story.”

  Rose’s lower lip trembled. “They’re saying I’m demented but I’m not. I don’t want to leave my home and go into a nursing home. No one should have the right to force me.”

  Cassie set her tea cup on the table to her left. “It sounds as if you don’t need a ghost therapist. You need a lawyer.” Forget the advance after all. She could afford to return it. She hadn’t married Luke for his money, but it was a nice perk. One benefit to marrying a former rock star turned successful songwriter.

  “I gave Donny power of attorney over my money.” Rose’s shoulders slumped and her wrinkles drooped. “My medical power of attorney, too. After Lavinia on the first floor broke her hip, her son had a horrible time getting the doctors to listen to him. He ended up hiring a lawyer and taking them to court.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I thought I was being smart. I didn’t think Donny would do this to me.”

  Cassie shifted on the hard cushion and gazed at the impressionism paintings on the wall. She’d seen similar in art museums. Then she took in the rich furnishings, the Aubusson carp
et that covered most of the mellow wood floor, and the view of Lake Michigan across the street from the North Lake Drive condo building.

  Nothing flashy. The woodwork that she guessed once glowed was now dull. The carpet and the furniture looked worn in spots. Despite this—or perhaps because of it—everything discreetly murmured “Money.”

  When money was in the mix, anything could happen. Wives could turn against husbands. Brothers against sisters. Grandkids against grandmothers.

  The doorbell rang, a strong bong that demanded, “Listen to me!”

  “Oh dear.” Rose got up. “That must be him. I’ll be right back.”

  Cassie noticed the hitch in her step. Arthritis, she guessed. As soon as Rose headed down the hall, Cassie glanced around the room.

  “Are you there?” she asked softly. “Or is Rose imagining you?”

  The air reverberated in the far corner. As started to stand, footsteps came from the hall. Three pairs, along with the deep tones of a man’s voice and the lighter tones of a woman’s. Not Rose’s. Younger and faster, with a tinkling laugh. The kind that the pretty, flirty girls used.

  The reverberations stopped, the air stilled. As if an invisible person held its breath.

  Silently groaning, Cassie plopped back onto the chair. Apparently she was going to have to talk to live people with an agenda. She’d much rather talk to the dead—though they usually had an agenda, too.

  A man followed Rose in, towering above her. Curly red-blond hair topped a good looking guy-next-door face. About six foot two, he wore jeans while a short-sleeved shirt covered a set of shoulders that a linebacker would envy.

  Nice. Very nice. Cassie’s gaze shifted to the slender woman who quickly stepped next to him. The move saying “This man is mine.” She stood only a few inches shorter than the hunky redhead, her golden-brown hair brushing her shoulders. She wore tan slacks, a cream top and a socialite smile, her makeup tastefully muted. If she were a painting, Cassie thought, she’d be called “A Study in Browns and Creams.”

  “You must be the ghost whisperer,” the woman said, her voice gracious.

  Cassie stood and forced a smile. She wasn’t feeling gracious. Just bitchy.

  Rose introduced her to her grandson Donovan and his fiancée Olivia.

  “It’s so nice to meet you.” Olivia reached for Cassie’s hand.

  Cassie never felt comfortable shaking hands, but it was expected so she put out her hand. Making eye contact, Olivia held on for an extra couple of seconds. As if she really wanted to make a connection. Smiling as if she meant it.

  Cassie didn’t return the smile. The last woman who seemed that happy to meet Cassie had ended up attempting to kill her.

  Olivia finally released her and bestowed her smile on Rose. “I hope you don’t mind us joining you.”

  Rose glared at her grandson. “I’ll get more tea.”

  “I’ll get the tea,” Donovan said.

  “You’ve helped enough. I can carry in the refreshments without any help from you.”

  “Grandma.” He brought up his hands in a pleading gesture. “Don’t be that way.”

  Her voice rose to a querulous edge. “I’m still capable of carrying a pot of tea.”

  She tottered off, though from her stiff back Cassie was certain that she wished she were young enough to stomp like a rebellious teen.

  Cassie often had the same feeling.

  “Oh, honey.” Olivia curved her hand over Donovan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry she’s taking it this way.”

  He stared at the wall the way men did when they didn’t want to show emotion. “We’ve gotta do what’s best for her, even if she hates it.”

  “I know.” Olivia’s voice dripped with caring and she tugged at him, making him look at her. “It was the same thing with my granny. She was so childlike at the end.”

  Cassie felt as if she were watching a play put on for her benefit. If so, they’d picked the wrong audience.

  Donovan hugged Olivia briefly before turning his attention to Cassie. “Did you see the ghost?”

  “I’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  “If there isn’t a ghost, we understand,” Olivia said in a voice like butter. “Donovan visits Rose often and he hasn’t once seen a ghost.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s senile.” Donovan half turned to his fiancée. “She told me about the ghost when I was young and she was as sharp as my crosscut saw. After my grandfather died, she supported herself and my father with her own stock picks.”

  “Honey, didn’t you tell me you thought she was joking about the ghost? But now...” She shook her head. “The things she’s saying about your grandfather and the ghost...”

  Cassie blinked but kept her mouth shut. Finally this was getting interesting. Donovan glanced at her, and she tried to make her expression blank. As if she weren’t committing every word they said to memory.

  He took his arm from Olivia’s shoulder. “She’ll have to know.”

  “Then let your grandmother tell her,” Olivia said.

  “You know she won’t. She’ll pretend she never said it.”

  “Never said what?” Rose’s entry into the living room was steady, though she carried a tray with a teapot, two cups and a plate of cookies.

  Donovan hurried over to her and took the tray. “Grandma, you didn’t need to bring all of this.”

  “You didn’t answer me.” She frowned. “I never said what?”

  His features contracted into a painful toothache look.

  “That your ghost is confused and you don’t like to talk about him,” Olivia said.

  Donovan sent her a look of gratitude.

  “What they’re trying not to say,” Rose said, her voice acerbic, “is that my husband killed my ghost.”

  Cassie shifted her gaze to the disruptive air in the corner. The outline of a man nodded and smiled at Rose.

  “Grandma,” Donovan said, “it’s crazy to think that Grandpa could’ve killed a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost.” Rose’s face scrunched and she slowly sat on the couch. “Not a ghost,” she repeated in a murmur.

  “A man!” a voice shouted from the ceiling. Cassie glanced up and saw the outline of a man but none of the others looked up. He peered down at Cassie, becoming more opaque by the second. Color flushed his heavily lined face and high forehead.

  “Tell them,” he demanded. “Tell them I was a man when he killed me.”

  This was becoming stranger and stranger. Cassie turned to the others. “The ghost was alive when Rose’s husband killed him.”

  Olivia’s eyebrows contracted. “And how do you know that? You said you were only here for a moment.”

  “The ghost just told me,” Cassie said, resigned to their disbelief. If she’d said “God just told me.” Or “Jesus,” Olivia would be nodding.

  Jesus and God were much more socially acceptable than dead people.

  “The ghost is talking to you, too?” Olivia’s gaze darted around but she shook her head. “I don’t hear or see anything.” She looked at Donovan. “Do you?”

  He shook his head, peering around the room.

  “Talking to ghosts is what I do,” Cassie said. She could see they didn’t believe her, but she was used to nonbelievers and no longer cared. The only thing she cared about was getting paid.

  The ghost floated downward. “Tell Olivia I saw her looking for the manufacturer mark at the bottom of Rose’s Wedgewood vase last week. If it had been smaller, I don’t doubt that she would’ve slipped the vase into her purse and walked out with it. Tell her.”

  “The ghost says you took an interest in Rose’s Wedgewood vase last week,” she said.

  Olivia started, her breath sucking in, her eyes widening.

  The next instant her skin was smooth, her eyes normal and she smiled slightly.

  “I’m an interior decorator. I’m interested in beautiful items. I like to touch them.” She rested her hand on Donovan’s arm. When she spoke, her voice lowered to a steely
caress. “And own what I can afford.”

  “And what she can’t afford, she steals,” the ghost said. “Tell them.”

  Cassie didn’t glance up at him. She didn’t let live men boss her around. She sure as hell wouldn’t take orders from a dead one.

  “Tell them she has a gun in her purse,” the ghost said.

  “The ghost says you have a gun in your purse,” Cassie said, unable to pass that up.

  Olivia gave Donovan a startled glance. He shook his head, giving her an I-didn’t-say-anything gaze before turning to Cassie.

  “She has to go into some bad parts of town for her job sometimes. The gun is her protection.”

  “My father insisted,” Olivia said, her voice acerbic, her chin up. “Does the ghost have a problem with that?”

  Rose’s mouth opened, a spark in her eyes. “His name is Herb,” Rose said, “and he—”

  A knock on the hall door interrupted Rose. “Rose,” a young female voice called, “are you busy?”

  Rose’s face lit up. “That’s my neighbor. Just a second. I’ll get that.”

  While they waited for her return, no one spoke, not even the ghost. As if time were suspended. Donovan frowned at the entranceway to the hall. Olivia watched it with her body on alert in a way that reminded Cassie of a cat expecting an enemy.

  A moment later, a woman followed Rose into the room. Black hair, velvet brown eyes, rosebud lips. She was thinner and taller than Cassie, but shorter and with more curves than Olivia. About the same age, Cassie thought. Late twenties, though she had nothing else in common. Wearing a bright red top, purple slacks and no makeup. Her face was wider than Olivia’s and she didn’t have a classic beauty. More like Gypsy Woman met Thrift Girl.

  Her glance flickered to Cassie then Olivia and onto Donovan. Landing and staying there. Her lips parting.

  He stared back at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open as if he was seeing something extraordinary.

  Love at first sight, Cassie thought with a mental groan. I might have to poke my eyes out.