Love Overboard

  Melody shrugged. “She hangs out on the widow’s walk.”

  “Does she materialize? Does she drip ectoplasm?”

  Melody’s face was expressionless as she ate her pancakes. “Mostly she just hangs out.”

  “Well, how do you contact her? Do you have to go into a trance? Do you need a white candle?”

  “She likes cookies,” Melody said. “She has a real sweet tooth.”

  Mrs. Platz looked confused. “How can a ghost eat cookies?”

  “I eat them,” Melody said matter-of-factly. “Then I tell her about them, and she gets turned on by that.”

  “Lord, I would love to see a ghost. My neighbor, Sophia Schroth, would die if she knew I’d talked to a ghost.” She looked at her husband. “I knew I should have gone to the window last night.”

  “Ms. Lowe said it was the wind, and that’s what it was… the wind,” Mr. Platz told her.

  “It was the wind at Ms. Lowe’s window, but it might have been Tess at ours. We were sleeping in her bedroom.”

  Mr. Platz rolled his eyes. “You need to get help, Eileen. You’re beginning to sound like your aunt Rose.” Mr. Platz leaned toward Ivan and spoke in a confidential voice. “Her aunt Rose talks to Walter Cronkite all day.”

  Mrs. Platz pinched her lips together. “I believe in ghosts. I always have, and I always will. And I can feel that there’s a ghost in this house.”

  “Hah! Some ghost,” Mr. Platz said. “Has to knock on windows to get into her own bedroom. If she’s such a hot ghost, why doesn’t she just waltz through the wall? Any self-respecting ghost can waltz through walls.”

  Mrs. Platz dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she said to Melody. “He doesn’t understand about these things. He has no psychic energy.”

  Melody poured more maple syrup on her pancakes and nodded in understanding.

  “Do you think if I went up to the widow’s walk, I would get to see her?” Mrs. Platz asked Melody. “Do you suppose you could introduce me?”

  “Sure. Hey, anybody who uses Clairol Ebony’s okay in my book.”

  Mr. Platz grunted. “You think she’ll be out in the rain? Won’t her ectoplasm get wet?”

  “I don’t know,” Melody said. “But she grooves on fog.”

  Stephanie kept her eyes averted and concentrated on her mashed potatoes. She felt hideously sorry for Eileen Platz, and at the same time was on the verge of bursting out laughing. The poor woman had maintained a marathon vigil with nothing to show for it other than a red nose and frozen feet. At one point a small crowd had even gathered to watch the two crazy women standing in the rain on the top of Haben. The local cable station had sent a minicam, and a kid from the high school paper had stopped by to get details. The astonishing part was that everyone seemed to know about Tess, and no one disputed her existence. What the people of Camden, Maine, couldn’t understand was why Eileen Platz thought it necessary to talk to old Red’s widow. Stephanie chewed a piece of fried chicken and wondered about the sanity of New Englanders.

  Melody looked as if she’d fared considerably better than Mrs. Platz. Her hair was freshly washed and starched and more brilliantly orange than ever. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to see Tess,” she said to Mrs. Platz. “She probably went to the mall.”

  Eileen Platz sat a little stiffer in her chair, and Stephanie thought she was most likely trying to decide if she’d been made a fool of. She couldn’t begin to guess why Mrs. Platz had believed Melody in the first place. Because you believe what you want to believe, she told herself. Eileen Platz wanted to believe there was a ghost on the widow’s walk. Just like all those kids in the rehab programs had wanted to believe drugs would help them cope, make them smarter, make them cool, make them sexier, give them energy. She almost wished Mrs. Platz had seen Tess. After standing in the rain for seven hours, Mrs. Platz deserved to see something.

  “Cheer up,” Mr. Platz said to his wife. “We’re staying here one more night. Maybe the ghost will come back and knock on your window some more.”

  Chapter 8

  Stephanie pulled down the shade on her brand-new window and turned to look at the man sprawled on her bed, taking in his gray wool socks, lean muscular legs encased in soft faded jeans, awesome bulge behind his zipper, unbuttoned shirt displaying a swath of hard, smooth chest and stomach. His hair needs cutting, and his beard should be bronzed, Stephanie thought. She’d never thought of a beard as being an instrument of torture, but Ivan knew how to exact a price with his. “Do you think Mrs. Platz will make contact with Tess tonight?”

  Ivan grinned. “It’s possible. Tess should be back from the mall by now.”

  “You know, this is crazy, but I’m beginning to feel as if I actually live with Tess. I think I know how Jimmy Stewart felt about Harvey.”

  He put a pillow behind his head and motioned for her to come to him. He liked being friends with Stephanie. He’d like to lie there and talk, he thought, but already the pressure was building in him, and he knew talk would be put aside for a while. It was early, barely ten o’clock, but he didn’t know how he’d lasted this long. His worst fears for the bed-and-breakfast business were coming true. It was almost impossible to get Stephanie alone.

  When they were married—and there was no doubt in his mind that they’d be married—she could run the inn during the summer months, if she wanted. In the winter, he’d like the house to be theirs. He didn’t want to share Stephanie year-round with a constant flow of guests.

  She smiled slyly and crawled onto the bed, reminding him of a predatory feline, and straddled him at the hips. It hasn’t taken her long to assert her sexuality, he thought, pleased. She wasn’t afraid to say what she liked, and she wasn’t afraid to be aggressive. Those were traits that followed her in and out of the bedroom. Strength. She had strength of character. He slid his hands under her gray Rutgers University sweatshirt and confirmed what he’d suspected. No bra.

  She’d seemed surprised when he’d strolled into her bedroom five minutes before and kicked his shoes off. She’d thought about it for a moment and lowered the shade. She hadn’t questioned his moving in, and he hadn’t asked permission. He was probably being presumptuous as hell, he thought, but it felt natural. Besides, there was the dead guy in the gray suit. Ivan didn’t care how many years of karate she’d had, he didn’t care if she had a marks-man rating, and he didn’t care how many times she’d survived being thrown into the Hudson River. He had no intention of letting her sleep alone until he found out what was going on in Haben.

  She leaned back slightly, popped the snap to his jeans, and slowly slid the zipper all the way down. His hands grasped her at the waist. “Pretty brazen,” he said, with a smile.

  “I was afraid you were going to strangle.”

  The room was lit by a small ginger jar table lamp that sat on her nightstand. It was a small room, one of the few in the house that Stephanie had filled with her own furniture. She stood at the side of the brass bed and peeled her shirt over her head, enjoying the way he watched her with affection and desire and a touch of amusement. Because there was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, she smiled, too. “You like being entertained, don’t you?”

  Ivan reached out for her, but she stepped away. She unzipped her jeans and worked them down her legs in a sensuous slow motion that caused her breasts to sway seductively. She came a little closer and stuck her thumb in the elastic waist of her bikini panties.

  “I didn’t think virgins were allowed to wear panties like that,” Ivan said.

  “I’m not a virgin anymore. I bought these panties five years ago, and I’ve been saving them for this special occasion.”

  He removed his shirt and shucked his own jeans. “They’re very pretty, but if you value them, you’d better get them off. I’ve got about thirty seconds of self-control left, and then I’m going to rip those panties to shreds.”

  Stephanie was half-asleep when she heard Eileen Platz shouting. She spr
ang out of bed and had her hand on the doorknob when she realized she was naked. She grabbed a terry-cloth robe, belted it quickly, and ran into the hall. She was almost knocked over by Mrs. Platz, rushing from the master bedroom.

  “It was there!” Mrs. Platz screamed. “It was at my window. The ghost!”

  Lucy and Melody joined them. “What’s going on?”

  Mr. Platz staggered from the bedroom. He pointed to the window, opened his mouth, and crashed to the floor.

  Stephanie bent over him. “He’s fainted. Lucy, get me a wet cloth.”

  Mr. Platz opened his eyes. “Did I faint? It was awful. It was horrible. I’m going home to Maryland right now, and I’m never coming back.” He struggled to his feet. “That Tess is the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Mrs. Platz rolled her eyes in disgust. “That wasn’t Tess, you dimwit. It was an old man!”

  Stephanie and Ivan exchanged grimaces.

  “Just exactly what happened?” Ivan asked.

  Eileen Platz took a deep breath. “We were in bed. I was reading, and Frank was doing his crossword puzzle. And I started hearing creaking sounds, and then this rhythmic thumping and moaning…”

  Ivan bit his lip and stared at his bare toes.

  “I told Frank it was Tess, but he said it was the wind, just like last night. So, I said he should get up and look, but would he do that? Nooooo.”

  “It didn’t sound like a ghost to me,” Mr. Platz said.

  “Well, after a while it stopped, and I just lay there, waiting. Then it started again! And Frank still wouldn’t go look out the window.”

  Stephanie felt the blush burning her ears. She cleared her throat and belted her robe a little tighter.

  “After the moaning stopped this last time, there was a definite knocking at the window- pane. And a voice called ‘Eileeeeen, Eileeeeen.’ I think it was Tess. I can’t be sure, of course, because it didn’t introduce itself, but it was calling me!”

  Stephanie looked at Mr. Platz. “Did you hear it, too?”

  “Yeah. I almost made a mess in my pajamas. I tell you, I’m never going back in that room.”

  “Chickenheart wouldn’t get out of bed,” Eileen Platz said, throwing a vicious look at her husband, “so I got up and opened the shade. And there it was! Right in front of the window, looking right in at us as bold as could be!”

  “Actually, it wasn’t looking at us, Eileen. Its eyes were closed.”

  “That’s true,” she agreed, “but it could see through its eyelids. I could tell.”

  Stephanie already knew the answer to the next question, but she asked anyway. “What did this ghost look like?”

  “It was an old man!”

  “Was he wearing a gray suit?”

  “No,” Mrs. Platz said. “He had a raincoat on. One of those poncho things with a hood. It was raining, you know.”

  “Like wow,” Melody said, “you really are cosmic. You must have drawn a brand-new ghost into the house.”

  Melody was weird, but she wasn’t stupid. And Stephanie knew a patronizing tone when she heard it. Mrs. Platz, on the other hand, had obviously been settling her nerves with a large quantity of sherry and was willing to believe anything.

  “So what happened to Mr. Ghost?” Stephanie asked. “Did he say anything else? Did he kick in your window?”

  “No. He just was out there with his nose pressed against the glass, then he vanished. I accidentally screamed, and he went whooosh, straight up in the air.”

  Stephanie gave Mr. Platz what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I can understand your reluctance to go back in the master bedroom. We’ll get you settled into a room on the other side of the house, and I’m sure you won’t be bothered by any more ghosts.” She directed Melody to put fresh linens on the bed in room five and asked Lucy to bring Mr. and Mrs. Platz some hot cocoa and cookies from the kitchen. She motioned to Ivan to step out into the hall. “Have you checked the widow’s walk and the cupola?” she asked him.

  “Yes, but I’m going to check it again. We’re obviously missing something,” he said grimly. “This guy can’t just disappear into thin air.” He slid his feet into a pair of docksiders he’d retrieved from Stephanie’s room. “Oh yeah, and while I’m busy checking out the house, why don’t you try moving the bed away from the wall.”

  Stephanie shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot heating on the stove. It had stopped raining, and the world looked fresh-scrubbed and shiny bright. It was going to be a glorious blue-sky day. She took a seat at the small kitchen table and helped herself to one of the bran muffins cooling on a wire rack.

  Lucy pushed aside a small mound of fresh-chopped green pepper on the cutting board and turned to look at Stephanie. “Am I wrong, or did I see Ivan Rasmussen sauntering half-dressed from your room last night?”

  Stephanie bit into the hot muffin and chewed. “We’ve become… friends.”

  Lucy brought her cousin a tub of butter and a knife and took a chair across from her. “Friends? Stephanie Elizabeth Lowe, I can tell from that goofy look on your face that you guys are a lot more than friends. I thought you were saving yourself for marriage? What about your virginity?”

  “Gone,” Stephanie said smugly.

  Lucy groaned. “Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie. I warned you about him. He’s a confirmed bachelor.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I think he’s just not ready for marriage.” She buttered her muffin. “I’m not ready for marriage either.”

  “Why not?”

  Stephanie laughed. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons. I was seventeen for ten years. I have some growing up to do.”

  “Looks to me as if you’re catching up fast.”

  Melody swung through the kitchen door and stood at the table, studying the muffins.

  “You can eat one,” Lucy said. “They’re certified pig-free.”

  Melody took a muffin and sniffed it. “Hmmm.” She nibbled a small piece. “So,” she said to Stephanie, “are you sleeping with Rasmussen, or what?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Melody, why don’t you try being blunt?”

  They stopped talking when Ivan pushed the kitchen door open. They looked at him for a second, then all three women blushed and turned their undivided attention to the muffins.

  Ivan stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his jeans pockets. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Melody pushed a strawlike strand of orange hair away from her face. “Lucy and I were just wondering if you and Stephanie are sleeping together now.”

  Ivan went to the stove and filled a mug with hot coffee. If anyone else had asked that question, he would have explained about tact and privacy, but Melody was hopeless, so he sipped his coffee, looked at Stephanie, and grinned. “The ball’s in your court. You want to serve?”

  “Not me,” Stephanie said. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

  Later that afternoon Ivan came up from the harbor and stopped short at the sidewalk in front of Haben. A large woman wrapped in a red-and-blue shawl was sitting on a folding chair on the widow’s walk. She waved at him and smiled, and Ivan forced himself to smile back.

  Stephanie met him at the door. “Did you see Mrs. Kowalsky?” Yes, by the look on his face, she could tell he had. “It turns out Mrs. Platz made national news, and we’re swamped with room reservations. Ghost groupies. I moved Lucy in with Melody on the third floor.”

  She discovered that her palms were damp, and she silently cursed herself. She’d had sweaty palms too many times in her life. This time her life wasn’t on the line—only her dignity. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “And I’d like to move you in with me. If that’s okay with you. I’d adjust your rent,” she added, faltering under his scrutiny.

  He looked around and hated what he saw. Wall-to-wall people hoping to find a ghost, waiting for their turn on the widow’s walk. Poor Tess.

  Stephanie sighed. “I don’t like it either,” she admitted. ??
?But I need the money.”

  “You need money this bad?”

  “Ivan, I’ve invested every cent I own in this house. This is my sole source of income. Next September when you move your furniture out, I’ll need to be able to buy furniture of my own.”

  “Why didn’t you think of that before you bought the house?”

  “I did. I had money set aside for a down payment on furniture, and I had to sink it into repairs on this relic.”

  Ivan didn’t give a damn about the furniture or her mismanaging, but he was infuriated that she’d assume he’d be long gone by September.

  “Move me anywhere you want,” he said, keeping his voice tightly controlled.

  He strode into the kitchen and took a cold beer from the refrigerator. He didn’t want to say something in anger that he’d regret later. She was looking out for herself, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but didn’t she know how he felt about her? How could she possibly think he’d be gone in September?

  Lucy stopped stirring a pot of chowder, fished in the junk drawer for a bottle opener, and handed it to Ivan. “That’s imported lager. You need an opener. Although at second glance, you look mad enough to open that with your teeth.”

  He tipped the bottle back and took a long swallow. “Your cousin is driving me nuts.”

  Lucy made a sympathetic murmur, but she felt the laughter bubbling inside her. She’d always suspected when he finally fell in love it was going to be a real headfirst crash. Ivan didn’t do things halfway. “Want to talk about it?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I sold Haben. She bought it, and she’s turned it into a loony bin.”

  Lucy sighed. “Yeah. This hasn’t worked out exactly as I’d expected. I think this ghost stuff has gotten out of hand.”

  “I think my feelings for Stephanie have gotten out of hand.” He finished off his beer and looked in the chowder pot. “Smells good.” A smile creased his face. “The first day out Stephanie made the worst chowder.”