Dead People In Love (Haunted Hearts)

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 carpet 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?”