Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (19 page)

Gabe shrugged. "Let's see." He turned the wheel smoothly. "Where should I start? They think I'm a heartless money-hungry troll with no morals."

That made her giggle. "Really? Now why would they think that, Mr. Let's-Stage-a-Ghost-Invasion-and-Make-Lots-Of-Moolah?"

A small smile crossed his face. "They think my life is silly and frivolous," he continued. "And that I need to straighten out my values. They refused to take any money from me for years."

"I can see that," Elizabeth admitted. "Your mom's pretty stubborn."

He sighed. "But then Zach got squashed by a semi on the Trans-Andean Highway." His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "And I didn't have any choice. I got him the best treatment I could find."

"Naturally."

"When I got to the hospital, my mom was hysterical. I'd never seen her like that."

She nodded. Isabel Franco was a calm, elegant woman who was always preternaturally calm, but even she would be upset under the circumstances. Her youngest son had almost died.

"She screamed at me." His brows knit in a frown. "Said it was all my fault."
 

She frowned. "I'm sorry, what?"

Gabe stared intently at the street, his jaw tight. "She thought Zach had been trying to compete with me. That all I cared about was money and fame, and now Zach felt the same way. And that's why he went to Chile to that big music contest."

"Riding a motorcycle over the Andes? That leads to fame and riches?"

"Well, no." He smiled ruefully. "I guess that part was just Zach."

"Your mother was just scared about him. People say weird things when they're scared."

Gabe chuckled. "That's what my dad said." He took a deep breath. "And that's why I'm here trying to reconnect."

"And that's why you're buying a house?"

"My accountant discovered a tax benefit." He shrugged. "And my mom found out about it and started pushing for me to buy the house. I figured she was trying to reconcile."

"Through a house?" she asked, puzzled. "That sounds expensive. Can't you just hug it out?"

Gabe shrugged. "I wish. She's not upset about something I've done, Elizabeth. She's upset about something I am."

She nodded. She knew exactly how that felt. After all, she'd spent most of her life dealing with her father's disapproval.

Unfortunately, her family issues couldn't be fixed with a house.

"Maybe I should put that in our brochures," she said, trying to lighten up the atmosphere. "'Real Estate brings people together.' My mom would love it."

Gabe smiled at that. It was the old Gabe smile. The one she remembered from high school. That was reassuring.

They turned into a paved driveway, a telltale sign that they were in Middleburg. Stupid driveways. Super-special, super-wealthy Middleburg never ceased to annoy her. Her father loved Middleburg, of course. Wealth, glamour, prospective clients—Jonathan Hunt loved all of it. He'd wanted to move to Middleburg for most of her childhood. In the end, he'd gotten his wish.

He just hadn't taken his family with him.

Gabe switched gears and forced the Ferrari up the driveway. The wheels labored up the steep hill. Apparently, the Ferrari didn't like Middleburg either.
 

Smart car.
 

She couldn't figure out why Gabe Franco would want to live here. Well, maybe he'd change his mind after seeing this house. After a couple of turns, the mansion came into view. Elizabeth smiled.
 

It was perfect. Perfectly awful.

But it was big, so Gabe really couldn't complain about it. The house met his requirements. It was huge, and no respectable specter would ever choose to live there.
 

The house looked like a Tuscan villa, maybe one that served as a second home for a Las Vegas hotel developer. It had the requisite golden stucco walls and red tile roof. However, Tuscan villas didn't usually have this many columns. This thing had a lot of columns, tall ones. It had a circular driveway, and four naked goddesses graced the perimeter of a large, round fountain. A rowdy satyr, surround by multicolored jets of water, played a flute merrily. Should she mention that the fountain had speakers? And that the jets could be choreographed to music? The previous owner had been particularly fond of the
intermezzo
from Mascagni's
Cavalleria Rusticana
.
 

Nah, she'd leave that for the end.

It looked like a bordello, a very large, very expensive, and very Tuscan bordello. If this monstrosity didn't convince Gabe that Banshee Creek was the neighborhood for him, nothing would.

Gabe parked the car. He turned the engine off and leaned forward to look at the house. After a long pause, he opened the car door. "I applaud your industriousness. It must have taken a lot of effort to find the one Roman temple among all the elegant Georgian houses in this area."
 

He stepped out of the car. She tried to do the same, but her high-tech seatbelt didn't budge. She cursed as she tried to unbuckle it. The thing felt like a stunt harness. Well, there was one important difference; she actually knew how to get out of a stunt harness.
 

Gabe opened the door and leaned against it, watching her struggles. He didn't seem in the mood to help. That was what happened when you criticized a man's driving. It made him ornery. He was staring at her legs, or at least, at the giant hole in her hose. Something about the way he was looking at her made her insides melt.

Unfortunately, melting wouldn't get her out of the seat belt. Elizabeth decided to give him her Alpha Centauri Princess glare. "You could help, you know." The Princess Verdala glare didn't seem to be working. How could that be? Her trademark withering glare
always
worked.

Well, it wasn't working this time.
 

"Hello?" she asked, trying to distract him. "Earth to Gabe. Your super-expensive toy car has a faulty belt."

Gabe came out of his trance. He leaned down and unsnapped the belt quickly. It took less than a second, but the feel of his warm body over her and the movement of the belt as it was pulled across her chest almost made her gasp.

The melting thing, yeah.

Gabe stepped back and held the door for her as she extricated herself from the seat. He studiously avoided looking at her. Instead, his gaze traveled over the mostly naked nymphs. One of the statues seemed to be winking invitingly. Elizabeth considered turning on the water feature. She'd heard it was spectacular.

But she was pretty sure Gabe wouldn't agree.

"Is this the Howrey Temple?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's not a temple," she said as she reached the colonnade. "It's a villa."

"I don't care if you call it Versailles. Richard Howrey was a pagan nutcase." Gabe gave an exasperated sigh. "He formed a cult in eighteen-eighty-whatever and built a Roman temple to house his orgies and animal sacrifices." He stood next to her, frowning at the house. "And you want me to buy it?"

"It's a large house in Middleburg. Just as you requested. And it's not Roman, it's Etruscan. Well, I guess now it's just plain Tuscan."
 

The correct answer was all of the above. The Howrey Temple had been remodeled into a Mediterranean Revival estate in the 1920s, and then turned into a Tuscan villa in the 1980s. Over the years, the house had been expanded and refurbished, but somehow, the satyrs and nymphs remained. Owners bought the house intending to tear out the statues and then mysteriously changed their minds. Against all odds, the gaudy décor prevailed.

When the Banshee Creek Historical Preservation Committee wanted to illustrate the horrible consequences of insufficiently comprehensive architectural guidelines, they brought up the Howrey estate. It worked like a charm.

"And the Golden Goddess Cult was absolutely harmless," she stated firmly. "They didn't perform animal sacrifices, just fertility rites and dances. Anyway, they disbanded in the early nineteenth century after that dreadful Minotaur incident. There's nothing at all supernatural about this house."
 

"I notice you didn't deny the orgies."

"The technical term is 'fertility dance.'"

Gabe shook his head. "Richard Howrey was a fraud. The only otherworldly thing about this house was the incredible quantity of drugs that were consumed here."

"It's large and it has a guesthouse. The owners are divorcing, so it's attractively priced." She babbled on, hoping Gabe wouldn't ask about the divorce. It had, by all accounts, been a particularly nasty divorce. "They gutted it and put in state-of-the-art finishes and cutting-edge wiring and technology. There's a house-wide entertainment system that was featured in Techno Freak magazine."
 

She went on, listing the house's many features. Memorizing scripts had been good practice for memorizing house listings, especially the ones with all the whistles like this one.
 

"It's certainly big," Gabe interrupted. "Particularly the columns. Those are quite large."
 

He didn't sound amused. Like Middleburg, Gabe was all about understated wealth. The house itself was okay, but the columns and nymphs were vastly over the top. And they hadn't gotten to the real deal-breaker yet.
 

That one was in the backyard.

Gabe walked around, looking at the house, the columns, and the statues. His face was expressionless. Maybe she'd gone too far this time. Maybe Gabe would fire her for real this time. Maybe he'd give up on Banshee Creek Realty and get a Middleburg agent.
 

That would kill her last chance to sell him a house in Banshee Creek.
 

The semi-robed goddess smirked at her.
You may have outsmarted yourself this time, Hunt.
Also, she'd finished her lollipop.
 

Gabe seemed to be examining a towering marble structure. It was a turret. She didn't think that was either Roman or Tuscan. Turrets were medieval weren't they? So that made the house, what? Eclectic?

Modernized Eclectic Paganism. Was that a house style?
 

What had she been thinking? Gabe would kill her. Or her mother would. Either way she'd be dead.
 

Dead.

Gabe finally turned around and walked back to her. He took one last look at the house.

"I'll take it," he said.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

E
LIZABETH
STARED
at him, her hazel eyes wide and her mouth half open.
 

Gabe hid a smile. He'd finally done the impossible. Elizabeth Hunt was at a loss for words.

And who could blame her? The house was a disaster. It was big, it was orange, it had columns, and it had naked women. It had lots and lots of columns and naked women.
 

But beggars couldn't be choosers.
 

The house wasn't small, wasn't falling apart, and wasn't haunted. That would have to be enough. He could declare victory and purchase the thing. He'd have to talk to Liam about painting it and getting rid of the columns and statues. It wouldn't be easy, but the house wasn't under the jurisdiction of the Banshee Creek Historical Preservation Committee. They could pretty much do anything, and that had to be a selling point for Liam.

If that failed, he could start a pagan cult.

Elizabeth still looked shocked. But at least she was no longer sucking on that damned lollipop. "You like it?" she stammered.
 

Well, he didn't exactly like it. "Like" was such a strong word. "Hoped to tear down" would be more accurate. "It has potential."

"Potential?" his real estate agent looked doubtful. "I thought you didn't want to remodel."
 

Her faux enthusiasm for the house had completely disappeared, which was no surprise. He was a hundred and fifty percent sure she'd expected him to take one look at the Tuscan abomination and run away in horror, pausing only to sign a purchase offer on the Dudley farmhouse. Well, he'd stuck a wrench in her plans and she wasn't handling it well. Hell, she was almost pouting.
 

But he had to admit, it was a very attractive pout. The lollipop had left her lips red and glossy. If he kissed her right now, he'd taste cherry first, and then he'd only taste Elizabeth.
 

He pushed the thought out of his head. He had to think about something other than kissing Elizabeth.
 

The house, he'd think about the house.

"It doesn't have to be a full remodel," he said. "Just a bit of demo and painting. This is perfect. Look, it even has a porch."

"You mean a
lot
of demo and painting," she corrected him. "And that's not a porch, it's a colonnade. It's a replica of a famous Roman structure."
 

He smiled. Was she trying to talk him out of the house now?
 

"Don't you think it's a bit, you know?" She bit her lip as she searched for a diplomatic way to tell him that the house was tacky.
 

"Alistair Crowley meets Caesar's Palace meets Olive Garden?"
 

The house was totally tacky, and his mom would have a conniption when she saw it.

Oh well, it was a house in Virginia, and that was what she'd asked for. She hadn't mentioned pretty.

He leaned back, admiring his new purchase. Maybe this house-hunting thing wasn't so bad after all.
 

"It wasn't a Crowley cult," Elizabeth clarified. "Lord Howrey's inspiration was Charles Leland."

Gabe smiled broadly. "You sound like your brother. He knew all the obscure historical details."

"Yes, well, he made me watch a lot of documentaries."
 

There was a worried tone to her voice. She was probably starting to suspect he was going to shift the blame for this house onto her. And of course he was going to do that. His mom wouldn't be happy about this house, and someone was going to be the fall guy.

He was nominating Elizabeth.

"It's great." He walked toward the house. "I think my porch is made of marble."