Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (44 page)

Elizabeth mulled on that little piece of information. So Gabe wasn't planning to sell the cidery after all?

Her mother took off her scarf, folded it neatly, and put it on the top shelf. "I'm too tired to make dinner. Maybe we can order out? I know you like Chinese."

Elizabeth's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that breakfast had been coffee and a leftover chocolate-chip-and-candy-corn cookie. But Chinese food? That was a rare treat in the Hunt household.
 

"That sounds good." She headed to the kitchen for the takeout menu. "Can we get spring rolls?"
 

Her mom smiled. "Of course. Along with extra fortune cookies."
 

Extra fortune cookies? This was a woman who never got extra anything. Something was definitely up. She looked at the pile of scarves on the shelf, took out two, refolded them, and put them back in.
 

Elizabeth stared at her in puzzlement. "Mom? Are you okay?"

Her mom nodded. "Oh yes. I'm fine." A small smile crossed her face. "Better than even, in fact." She took a deep breath and straightened her skirt.
 

"Great." Elizabeth wanted to dig deeper, but she bit her lip instead. Her mom wasn't one for confidences. Once she said she was fine, that was the end of the conversation.
 

She entered the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took out the takeout menus. She noted with distaste that Dog-Fu Chinese Restaurant had printed out a new menu. The old one had a stylized Chinese guardian lion. The new one featured a ghost silhouette surrounded by Chinese calligraphy. Elizabeth fought the urge to crumble the menu. Was nothing sacred?
 

"Should I order the pepper steak?" she called out. It was her father's favorite. A thought struck her, and she checked the menu. Sure enough, it wasn't called pepper steak anymore. It was now Pu Songling Beef. Who the hell was Pu Songling? She turned to the back of the menu, which informed that Pu Songling was China's Edgar Allan Poe.
 

"No, sweetie. Your father stayed behind."

Thoughts of pepper steak and Chinese folk tales fled and she felt a wave of anger rush through her. "Did he say why?" she asked. It was a stupid question. She knew why. Her dad had given his wife a flimsy excuse and stayed behind with the corporate floozy. The man couldn't even take a few days off his compulsive womanizing. This was the last straw. She was going to max out her credit cards, go down to the Cayman Islands, and have it out with her father. She was done with polite pretenses. She would not allow him to abuse her mother any more.

"I told him to stay," her mom said, looking firmly into Elizabeth's eyes.
 

"What?"

"I don't want him to come back." A heavy sigh. "I know this will come as a shock to you, Elizabeth, but your father has..." a long pause, "a girlfriend."

Just the one?
Elizabeth kept her mouth shut though. No sense making this harder for her mom.

"So he's not coming back." She shook her head. "I was an idiot. I should have done this a long time ago. I thought burying it would help. I thought it would keep you kids safe." She paused. "It didn't." She closed the closet door and put on a fake smile. "So how about some Chinese food?"
 

And that was that.

That was drama in the Hunt household, a couple of short, tight sentences, a non-existent apology, and a conciliatory bribe.
 

Elizabeth steeled herself. Her mom was already coping with a really big change in her life, so this probably wasn't the right time to unveil the revamped room. She really couldn't avoid it, though. Her mom would notice at some point, so she might as well get it over with.

"Sure." She took a deep breath. "But first, I want to show you something."
 

"Of course, sweetie." Her mom turned away from the coat closet and the pile of perfectly folded scarves. "And what's this I hear about you taking Gabe to the Rosemoor? Did he like it?"

"Not really, Mom," Elizabeth said, not willing to elaborate. Two could play the tight-lipped, repressed, we-don't-need-to-talk-about-it game. "Come this way."

"Actually, the Rosemoor isn't a bad choice," her mom mused as Elizabeth led her up the stairs. "It's in pretty good shape."
 

She kept on chatting about remodeling options and building permits and they walked toward Cole's room.

"Here's what I wanted to show you," Elizabeth interrupted. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Here it was, the moment of truth.

Her mom frowned and looked inside. Elizabeth waited impatiently as she paused at the doorway, seemingly for an eternity.
 

Mary Hunt stepped into the room and looked around. She was very quiet as she examined the botanical prints hanging on the wall. Elizabeth fidgeted, waiting for a verdict.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. "What do you think?"

She raised a hand and slowly, meticulously straightened the framed print. Her hand was shaky, though, and the print fell back into its original, slightly crooked, position. She tried again, finally getting it right.
 

"It's lovely," she said, looking at the print. "I love it."
 

Elizabeth felt a wave of relief wash over her—no, not a wave, more like the Niagara Falls of relief, crashing heavily on the rocks.
 

Her mom walked over and touched her shoulder. "Oh sweetie, don't cry."

She brushed the tears away hastily. This moment wasn't about her.

"It's perfect, honey. Absolutely perfect." She stepped back, admiring the room. "I'm so sorry you felt you had to do this by yourself. And I can't believe you got it done in two days. Did you have help?"

"Gabe came over," she admitted with great reluctance.

"I thought so." Her mom nodded. "He wouldn't let you do this alone." She looked at the walls closely. "Plus you're not very good at painting, and these walls have no streaks."
 

Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Her mom couldn't help it. She just couldn't. "He brought in Liam's crew," she explained.

"He would. He likes doing things right." She looked at Elizabeth. "So, is your father going to get a call? I know the Franco boys, and they are very old-fashioned."
 

"Mom!" She squealed. "It's not...we're not..."
 

Her mom frowned. "Oh, dear. Did you two fight?" Elizabeth stared at her. "You
did
fight. About what? You weren't together long enough to have anything to argue about." Her eyes landed on Elizabeth's paint-stained clothes. "Did you fight about Cole?" A slight shake of the head. "No, you wouldn't. You haven't dealt with that yet. You'd fight about something else. Something stupid." Her mom looked at her sharply. "You always pick something stupid to fight about."

She felt the tears start again. Why was she crying so much? Her mom should be the one breaking down, not her. She was the strong one. She was always the strong one.

But she didn't feel strong anymore. She felt tired and broken, like the weird glass they used in movie sets. The kind that shattered but stayed in place, the fractures looking like a frozen cobweb. The glass was still standing up, but if you touched it, it would break into a million pieces.

She felt her mom wrap her arms around her shoulders. The embrace felt awkward—which was only to be expected, as her mom wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type—but comforting. She let the tears flow unchecked.
 

Long minutes passed. There was much hugging and indiscriminate sobbing, but the tears finally stopped.

"Feel better?" her mom asked as she dried Elizabeth's face with an embroidered handkerchief.
 

She nodded.
 

"Good. You haven't cried enough. I've been a bit worried about that." Her mom looked around the room again. "This was good. It's time to let go. We can't let go without tears, though. I'm glad you finally got there, sweetheart. It's like lancing a boil. It all has to come out so we can begin to heal."
 

"I didn't want him to bring in Liam," Elizabeth sniffled. "It was okay until he brought in Liam."

"Ah, you wanted to paint the room yourself."

"Yes." Surely she understood that much.

But her mom's eyes widened in alarm. "You can't paint, sweetie. You never could. You didn't drop another ladder on him, did you?"

She stifled a sigh. "It wasn't a ladder. It was a cardboard spaceship ramp. And it wasn't my fault. He ran under it."

"He was trying to keep it from falling on
you
. Anyway, it's not really about the room, is it?"

"Of course it's about the room." The pointed comment had hit its mark though. She was starting to wonder if she'd misjudged Gabe.
 

Her mom shook her head. "You know, Cole died right before your father's big banking conference in Zurich." Elizabeth knew about the banking conference. She also knew about Greta, the German beauty-queen-turned-journalist who'd helped organize the event. "He didn't have time to deal with the paperwork. And, of course, we had the Army folks, and that reporter came by. I was too grief-stricken to do anything, and you were still in Los Angeles." She glanced around the room, as if remembering how it used to look. "Gabe did it all. He was devastated, but he insisted on helping anyway. He handled all the legal documents too." She blinked the tears away. "There was a lot of stuff to do, and he took care of it. Although he was somewhat rude to that reporter." The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her face. "Then you came home and he disappeared. You stayed, though. I'm so happy you stayed, sweetheart. But sweetie." She looked into her daughter's eyes. "You have to understand one thing. Gabe isn't like your father."

Elizabeth let that sink in.

He wasn't. He really wasn't. Then again, she already knew that, didn't she? The way Gabe took on the logistics of Cole's death sounded very much like the way he'd commandeered the room painting.

And the way he'd taken over the town.

Which meant she had a lot to think about.

"I love the pictures. They used to be in the basement, right? They look much better here." Her mom peered at the images. "But aren't we missing one?" She looked around, finally opening the desk drawer. "Here it is." She put the graduation picture next to a photograph taken at Elizabeth's graduation. "That's where it belongs. Your weird hair, and Cole's eccentric college haircut."
 

She stood back and admired the desk.

"Perfect." She turned around briskly. "Ready for Chinese?"

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY

E
LIZABETH
WAS
halfway through an egg roll when the doorbell rang.
 

"I'll get that," she mumbled absently, thinking about her agent's latest text. A California film company wanted her to audition for their latest project, which was an intriguing prospect. True, it was only a reality show, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and, after a long hiatus, she was definitely a beggar.

She opened the door and greeted Patricia. Her friend was wearing a pink-and-orange scarf dotted with little ghost silhouettes, and she was carrying a basket. She smiled hesitantly. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming where?"

Patricia's smile wavered, but she took a deep breath and seemed to muster up her courage. "To the new, revamped, better-than-ever Banshee Creek Ghost Tour."

"Already?" Elizabeth voice rose in dismay. "Gabe doesn't waste any time, does he?"
 

"It's a bit of an impromptu event," the baker explained. "PRoVE organized it over the Internet. It's kind of like a flash mob. A big surprise, so to speak."

"I bet they hit send as soon as Gabe got his approval." She couldn't quite hide the bitterness in her voice.
 

Patricia winced. "Probably. I think they're filming the event. There's a van with cameras and lots of people in dark suits."

"He must have had it all planned." Typical Gabe Franco.

"Anyway, the whole town is lining up along Main Street." She pushed the basket toward Elizabeth. "And I brought this as a peace offering. I hope you'll come join us."

The basket was filled with candy corn treats. There were rice crispy squares, cookies, and caramel popcorn balls with yellow-and-orange candy chunks. They were carefully wrapped in cellophane with curly ribbons and ghost stickers.

It was a pretty tempting bribe, but she wasn't open to bribery, especially not from the paranormies.

"C'mon, be reasonable. We really need your help."

"Help?" She couldn't hide her surprise. "Help with what?"

"You'll see. I'll explain everything as soon as you say yes."
 

"You're kidding, right?" She tried to moderate her scorn. After all, they were still friends. But her efforts were less than successful. "Why should I help you guys out?"

Patricia grimaced. "Because you care about the town? Because you still have friends here?" She sighed. "Because you get to say 'I told you so'?"
 

The pleading voice was difficult to resist. Not to mention the freshly baked treats. And she sounded distraught. Maybe all was not joy and harmony in PRoVEland? Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Throw in a pan of brownies—the chocolate kind, not the paranormal kind—and you have a deal."

She nodded, looking relieved, and Elizabeth took the basket to the kitchen and told her mom to save her the leftover Chinese food. Then she grabbed her coat and scarf and headed out the door with Patricia.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Patricia shook her head woefully. "You'll see," she replied, her voice dripping with bitterness. "They're not even trying to be discreet."

The streets were busy. Groups of people, big and small, some led by lantern-carrying guides, strolled carelessly, joking and taking pictures. The crowds grew thicker as they neared Main Street. She had to hand it to the PRoVE. Their publicity stunts were effective.