The Ghost Exterminator (17 page)

“Evidence provided by a ghost!”

Jo straightened, glaring daggers at him. “So we’re back to that again, are we? I wondered when you’d revert back to form. Ghosts don’t exist, is that it? I’m just some bat-shit crazy lady who should be committed, right?”

“Damn it, Jo, I didn’t say—”

“There’s a simple way to prove which one of us is right. We go over to the house, right now, and search the kitchen. There’s a talisman hidden in there, Wyatt. I’m sure of it.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Jo’s expression darkened ominously at his choice of words, but he forged on. “It’s three-thirty in the morning!”

“No time like the present.” She bit out the words.

“Some of us have responsibilities, Jo. I have a ribbon cutting in the morning. I can’t be up all night looking for something that
isn’t there
.”

She snorted. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Wyatt, but if we’re tearing apart the kitchen tonight, I don’t think that ribbon is quite ready to be cut.”

“At my other new inn,” he snapped. “Orchard Hollow. I’m flying down there tomorrow morning for the official opening.”

Jo laughed sharply. “I’d love to see what Angelica does in front of a few hundred people with some ceremonial scissors in her hands.”

Wyatt flinched at the reminder of what a mess his life was. The worst part was, he couldn’t even pretend not to believe her anymore. Ghosts existed. He was haunted and he needed Jo around to run herd on his personal ghost population. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, exhausted by the whole experience.

“Look, Jo, Moonbeam will be at the ribbon-cutting tomorrow. We can talk to her there.
Talk
, Jo. I still don’t think she’s behind this.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen in public with me?” she snapped acidly. “At some big ceremonial opening, there are sure to be cameras. You wouldn’t want people to think you associate with crazy people.”

He sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re fashion-challenged, temperamental, and you talk to ghosts on a regular basis, but you aren’t nuts. I need you there with me, Jo. In front of the cameras, if necessary. But do you think you could try to refrain from telling any reporters what you do for a living? That isn’t the kind of sound bite I’d like to hear replayed on CNBC every five minutes for the next week.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Her tone held a wealth of bitterness. Wyatt’s temper snapped.

“I’m not your boss, Jo.” He stalked to her, grabbed her arm and swung her around. His mouth captured hers in a kiss before she could mouth off at him again.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he pressed her body against his. Everything about her was a contradiction—she was so soft and warm, but beneath that was a layer of icy, unyielding steel. She was powerful yet vulnerable, impetuous yet unswerving in her loyalties. She believed in the unbelievable with a pragmatism that was unnerving in its certainty. She had exploded his life from the inside out, shaking his beliefs and scattering his priorities to the wind. Nothing was as it should be in his neatly ordered world, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he hadn’t really
lived
until he met her.

Jo was breathless when she pulled back from him, her eyes glazed but still flashing defiance. He’d never be able to kiss her into submission. Jo was not the kind of girl who gave up without a fight, but for the moment, they were both too tired to argue anymore.

“The ghosts,” she reminded him, but the words sounded like an evasion. He had a feeling she could keep the ghosts from appearing if she wanted to, but she needed an excuse to step away from him.

He let her go, reluctant but accepting that it was the right thing to do. She might make him feel alive, but there couldn’t be a future for a workaholic businessman, always in the public eye, and a woman who defied convention with every breath she took.

“You want me to chain you up?”

He laughed shortly without humor. “Yeah. I’m exhausted.”

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Family that Cuts Ceremonial Ribbons Together

The latest jewel in the Haines Hideaways crown in no way resembled the haunted Victorian. It did, however, bear a strong resemblance to the house in
Gone with the Wind
. So much so, in fact, that Jo stopped a passing waiter to ask if this was where the movie had been filmed. The waiter snorted, shoved a glass of champagne into her hand and walked off, leaving her to draw the conclusion that perhaps not all sprawling plantation homes had such rich literary histories.

She would have asked Wyatt, but hisself was off schmoozing with the
hoi polloi
. Jo didn’t have the first idea who any of the people bumping elbows at this shindig were, but Wyatt knew every one of them and was ready with a cheesy smile and a cheesier one-liner about the health of their family, business, or, in one case, schnauzers.

Moonbeam had yet to put in an appearance.

Jo sipped her champagne and wandered through what had probably been the ballroom before the burning of Atlanta, trying to blend in with the upper-crust crowd. And doing a damn find job of it, if she did say so herself.

She wasn’t wearing a powder blue suit, but it was pretty damn close.

They’d stopped off at her apartment on the way to the private airstrip that morning. While Wyatt had waited in the Bentley, doubtless the picture of impatience, Jo had rummaged through her closet until she found the peach sheath dress and matching cardigan that Bethie had picked out for her. There was no helping the fact that her hair still had personality and the Girls still garnered a fair amount of attention, but other than that, she looked like the perfect dull-as-dirt yuppie.

Jo stood up on her tiptoes in her Bethie-approved pumps. She might not be able to run away if something nasty started chasing her, but she could see over the crowd a hell of a lot better than normal. Even with the advantage in height, there was still no sign of Moonbeam.

Wyatt stood chatting with a handsome, middle-aged couple on the other side of the room. Since there was no sign of a ghosty freak-out in the offing, she decided to leave him be and let him do his business thing. Just as she was about to turn away, he looked up, meeting her eyes across the room and beckoned to her with a nod of his head.

Jo didn’t know which was more depressing, that he’d caught her mooning over him like a lovesick heroine from a gothic novel or that she was so pathetically delighted that he wanted her at his side, in public. She wove through the crowd with a fake smile pasted on her face.

Wyatt reached out a hand to her when she got close, catching her hand and drawing her up beside him. He turned to the older couple. “Mom, Dad, this is Jo. She’s been helping me get the ghosts out of my body.”

Jo nearly swallowed her tongue. His parents! He’d said that they showed up for ribbon-cuttings, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they would be here. Much less that he would introduce her.

Of course, he couldn’t introduce her as a normal person. No, he had to tell them she was the crazy ghost girl. Jo shot him a glare, but his mother interrupted her ire with a coo of delight.

“Oh, Wyatt, how wonderful!” She stepped forward and clasped Jo’s hands between hers. “My dear, I cannot tell you how long I have hoped Wyatt would meet someone who would help him get in touch with his spiritual side.”

And suddenly Wyatt’s attachment to Moonbeam, for all her eccentricities, made much more sense. Physically, the two women bore very little resemblance to one another. Wyatt’s mother had the same suburban chic style her own mother was such a fan of. But it was clear that she and the new-age Moonbeam were kindred spirits.

Jo forced her face into a polite smile, restraining the urge to kick Wyatt in the shins for springing his parents on her like this, and said, “I’ll admit I am good with spirits. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Haines. Mr. Haines.”

Wyatt clearly got his doubting nature from his father. The elder Mr. Haines looked at her as if she had just escaped from the nuthouse, which didn’t seem fair considering his wife’s fanciful nature. He remained stoic until the petite Mrs. Haines landed an elbow in his gut forcefully enough to knock him back a step. “Nice to meet you,” he grunted. Clearly Wyatt had not inherited his schmoozing ability from this parent.

“We were just about to go do the speeches and the ceremonial stuff,” Wyatt said to her, his fingers still entwined with hers in spite of the cameramen strolling through the reception snapping candid photos. “My mom’s going to do the actual cutting this time, but I need to say a few words. If you stand over there, you should be able to see everything.”

“Cool.”

He squeezed her hand and started to move toward the podium, but Jo tightened her fingers around his. “Hey, Wyatt? Is this where
Gone with the Wind
was shot?”

He laughed. “No. But just to be safe, stay off the stairs.”

The man had seen
Gone with the Wind
. His mother had clearly done her job well. Except for the fact that she had missed the necessary Whoopi Goldberg aspect of his social education.

Wyatt and his parents picked their way toward the platform, where a bright red ribbon had been hung between the banisters on the wide staircase. Wyatt moved behind the podium and the room immediately fell silent. The man had presence, no doubt about it.

He launched into a practiced speech about the benefits a Haines Hideaway brought to the community then segued into the individual benefits that would be bestowed on their lucky customers, waxing poetic on the value of a unique resort getaway.

Wyatt was completely in his element. She watched him work the crowd, perform for the cameras, and overall be the perfect face for his company. Her stomach tightened nervously.

He needed her now, but what would happen after they’d solved his ghost problem? He would go back to his world of private jets and boardrooms and she would go back to being the eccentric Goth ghost exterminator. There wasn’t any point of intersection in their lives.

For some reason, that thought made Jo’s throat close off. She couldn’t let herself think too hard about why. Instead, she pushed her way through the crowd, making a beeline for the exit. She needed space, an escape from the curious eyes that had followed her ever since she had arrived on the arm of one of America’s most eligible.

The closer she got to the exit, the fewer people crowded around her. Jo walked faster and faster until she was nearly running in her high heels when she burst through the side door into an empty hallway. She stumbled to a stop, leaning against the wall and panting as if she’d just run a marathon.

On the wall opposite her hung a large gilt-edged mirror. Jo stared at the stranger reflected there, her heart tightening in her chest. Who was that woman in the coordinated peach outfit? It wasn’t Jo Banks, that much she knew.

How had she gotten here, dressed up like Conformist Barbie, smiling for the cameras? Why did she like him so much, even when he was being an arrogant prick? How had he carved such a huge chunk out of her heart in such a short amount of time?

So what if he was smart and witty, loyal and hardworking, determined and far more open-minded than even he knew he could be? That didn’t mean she loved him.

Jo dropped her head back against the wall, fighting back a wellspring of unwelcome emotion.

She couldn’t be the woman in the powder-blue suit for Wyatt and he would never want the Goth girl, but why should that make her feel as if her heart were shattering like a glass ornament?

She just wanted to be accepted for who she was. The last thing she needed was a lifetime of pretense. Or worse, ridicule. And that was supposing he would even want her. The way he had kissed her last night and held her hand today might be confusing her heart, but her mind was in fine working order. Wyatt was all wrong for her. She
knew
that. So why was she still so confused?

With a little luck, his ghost problem would be solved soon and she would be out of his life. She’d only known him a matter of days. She should be able to forget him just as quickly. He would certainly forget her.

A shuffling sound at the opposite end of the hallway, accompanied by the wafting scent of lavender, pulled Jo out of her musings. She looked up in time to see a brightly colored scarf disappearing from view.

“Moonbeam!” Jo shoved herself away from the wall and shoved her worries to the back of her mind. She took off down the hall, giving chase as well as she could in toe-pinching color-coordinated heels.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Road to Hell is Well Paved

Jo clattered into what appeared to be an unused pantry just in time to see Moonbeam stashing a small, heart-shaped pendant on the top shelf.

“Ah-ha! Caught red-handed!”

Her triumph was ruined somewhat when one of her heels caught in a groove in the floor. Jo’s ankle rolled and she stumbled as Moonbeam gave a startled yip, the chair she’d perched on to reach the highest shelf tipping precariously.

Jo caught herself and instinctively reached out to steady Moonbeam. She belatedly realized she might have more luck intimidating her subject if she weren’t so visibly concerned about her wellbeing—or such a hopeless klutz in heels—but by then Moonbeam was already clambering down off the chair in a flutter of scarves.

“Jo! My stars, you startled me!” She waved one bangled wrist toward the ballroom. “What are you doing so far from the party?”

Jo blocked the door, slapping what she hoped was a suitably menacing expression on her face. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Me?” Moonbeam gave a twittering laugh, apparently unfazed by Jo’s attempt at menace. “I was just doing my own little ribbon-cutting ritual. I like to put a little good luck charm in each of the inns. Wyatt would never admit it, but I just know that the positive energy from my charms is what makes our guests feel so welcome.”

“You can drop the act, lady. I know all about your talismans.”

“Talismans?” Moonbeam asked, in a disturbingly convincing impersonation of innocence.

Jo’s annoyance with the new-age secretary ratcheted up another few degrees. Was it possible this whole mess—the ghosts in the house, the ghosts in Wyatt, the entire situation that had led Jo to fall for the worst possible man in the world for her—was all due to misguided good intentions? Could Moonbeam have been trying to
help
?

Jo narrowed her eyes, looking for some twinge of guilt in Moonbeam’s wide-open face. She wanted someone to blame. She needed someone to scream at.

“Where did you get that charm?” she demanded.

Moonbeam stared at her intently. “Are your chakras blocked, dear? You seem awfully tense today.”

“The charm, Moonbeam.”

The secretary pursed her lips, put out by the interrogation, but before Jo could resort to torture, she spoke. “I always get my charms at Prometheus Unbound. They have the best selection in town.”

Jo grimaced. Of course. That stupid, unethical warlock. And he was away making merry over Samhain so she couldn’t even walk into his shop and plant her fist in his face for what he’d done to her life. “And the charm you put in the kitchen at the Victorian? Did you get that one from Prometheus?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Moonbeam’s pout over being raked over the coals melted into a delighted smile. “How did you guess I’d already placed a charm at the Victorian? Could you sense the positive energy? There were some Episodes of unpleasantness during the renovations, so I brought the charm I had selected for the Victorian over early. Good luck to counter the bad.”

“The Episodes started
before
you left the talisman?” Jo paced in a tight circle in the pantry. “I suppose if Angelica and Teddy were responsible for the first Episodes, then that might make sense. It could still be the talisman drawing the others and fighting me,” she muttered to herself.

“What was that, dear?”

Jo waved away the question, coming out of her musings and turning back to her subject. “Moonbeam, I need you to tell me
exactly
what Prometheus said the effects of the charm you placed at the Victorian would be.”

“I remember exactly.” She beamed. “I selected that charm with particular care. It will draw the spirit of innocence and youthful joy into the house.”

“That’s all?”

“Isn’t that enough? I thought Wyatt could particularly use some youthful joy, the old stick in the mud.”

“Yes, I’m sure that would do him good,” Jo agreed unenthusiastically.

That was it then. Moonbeam had booby-trapped Wyatt’s inn with the purest intentions. Jo’s disappointment knew no bounds. She’d wanted so badly for there to be an ass that deserved a ghost exterminator kicking.

“Moonbeam, where exactly in the kitchen did you pu—”

Her words were cut off by the pantry door slamming against the wall as it was thrown open. Wyatt stood in the doorway, looking dapper in his designer suit and wearing a frown that could qualify as a major seismic event.

“Damn it, Jo! I thought I could trust you not to corner her while I was giving my speech. How many times do I have to tell you that Moonbeam isn’t at fault here?”

“Actually, she—”

“When I said that you could talk to her today, I didn’t think you would interpret that as locking her in a storeroom as soon as I turned my back.”

“I don’t think that door has a lock,” Jo pointed out, but Wyatt wasn’t done ranting.

“How difficult is it—”

Jo was through being taken to task for something she had done right. She shouted over his tirade, silencing him with the venom in her voice. “Mr. Haines, if you would just shut up for a minute, you might learn something.”

His jaw dropped. Clearly Wyatt was not accustomed to anyone telling him to shut it. Jo’s mood lightened considerably in the face of his gaping shock.

“Moonbeam was just about to tell me where exactly in the kitchen she put the
good-luck charm
.”

Wyatt’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. His upper body tipped back until his shoulders connected with the wall. He groaned. “A good-luck charm,” Then he swore viciously.

Her sentiments exactly.

“Wyatt!” Moonbeam gasped. “Language!”

Jo and Wyatt turned as one toward Moonbeam.

“Moonbeam,” Jo said as calmly as she could manage, clinging to patience. “Why don’t you tell us exactly where you hid the charm, how you activated it, any instructions you might have received about
de
activating it, and anything else you think might be helpful?”

The secretary’s face was suddenly wreathed in confusion. “Why would you want to deactivate it?”

“It isn’t a good luck charm,” Wyatt explained gently.

Moonbeam’s face drained of color as realization dawned. “But I don’t…what could it…how…” Her eyes widened as she took in the ramifications of that simple declaration. “The other charms!” She quickly scrambled up onto the chair and grabbed the heart-shaped pendant off the top shelf. “Are they all cursed? What have I done?”

“There haven’t been any Episodes at the other inns to indicate there’s anything wrong with the other pendants,” Jo hurried to reassure her. “But to be on the safe side, we’ll have one of Karmic Consultants’ witches check each of them out. Later. Right now we need to focus on the one hidden at the Victorian. Where is it, Moonbeam?”

“In the floor.”

“
In
the floor?” Jo asked as Wyatt groaned and banged his head back against the wall.

“Well, under the floor,” Moonbeam clarified. “Beneath the center tile.”

“We retiled the kitchen,” Wyatt grumbled. “It was one of the only renovations we were actually able to complete.”

Jo looked askance at Moonbeam. “You couldn’t just put it in a drawer?”

“Things were being torn up and taken out all the time,” she protested. “I didn’t want the charm to be lost. That’s why I usually wait until the renovations are complete.”

“And the activation? Did you say any words? Hold it a certain way? Light a candle?”

“No candles, but I was supposed to say a phrase three times. The instructions said the charm would be more powerful, bring more luck, if I said the words.”

“Why three times?” Wyatt wanted to know.

“Numbers have power. Repetition is a common way of activating spells,” Jo told him, her attention never wavering from Moonbeam. “Do you remember the words?”

“
Fortuna regna-
something?”

“Latin?” Surprise filled Jo’s tone. “Are you sure?” Most witches preferred forms of Gaelic to the language of the Church that had suppressed and oppressed magic workers for centuries. But then Jo ran the words through her rusty knowledge of Latin. “
Luck rules.
” She grimaced. “That sounds like Prometheus. I don’t suppose there were deactivation instructions.”

“No,” Moonbeam said. “Sorry.

Jo looked at Wyatt, where he was still propped up by the wall. “You all right, champ? You’re awfully quiet over there.”

Before Wyatt could reply, Moonbeam was at his side, words tripping over one another as they leapt out of her mouth.

“Mr. Haines, I’m so sorry, sir. I only meant the best. You know I would never do anything to hurt Haines Hideaways. I love this company. I love my job. Please don’t fire me.”

Jo’s breath caught in her throat. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Wyatt, who had so staunchly defended Moonbeam last night, might turn around and fire her. But this was Wyatt “It’s not personal, it’s business” Haines. She studied his face closely, looking for clues about which way he would decide, caring more than she should about this symptom of his humanity. Or lack thereof.

Jo found herself silently urging him to forgive, silently begging him to be the man she knew he could be. She was lightheaded from holding her breath when he finally spoke.

“I’ll expect a detailed report, including the location and description of all the other charms you have placed in the various Haines Hideaways on my desk when I arrive tomorrow morning. Jo and I have a plane to catch, but why don’t you stay and enjoy the opening? Tomorrow is early enough for you to start looking into finding us a reputable contractor we haven’t already managed to run off for the Victorian.” When Moonbeam realized what he was saying, relief suffused her face. Wyatt gave her a small smile. “It would be a real nightmare trying to get the Elm Street Inn up and running without you.”

He turned to Jo and took her hand, tugging her after him. She was bubbling over with disproportionate quantities of giddy pleasure. He was a good man, a forgiving,
human
man. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

They were slipping out the side door where a car was waiting to take them to the nearby airstrip before Jo put a sentence together.

“I hope you weren’t attached to the kitchen floor.”

Wyatt snorted. “I’ll rip the tiles up with my fingernails if I have to.”

“I think a crowbar will suffice.”

She stumbled on the steps, the ankle she’d turned in the pantry wobbling, but he caught her easily. His arm wrapped around her waist and he lifted her nearly off her feet. Held pressed against his side, Jo was tempted to swoon for the first time in her life. Luckily, Wyatt was oblivious to her girlish flutterings. He propped her back on her own two feet and continued down the steps, releasing her waist, but keeping his hold on her hand.

“I love having a plan,” she said, because she had to say something. If she didn’t, he might think that him pulling a Prince Charming on the steps actually
meant
something. Or worse, she might think it herself. “Nothing like a good plan,” she continued brightly. “Especially when the plan involves demolition.”

“You’re in a good mood,” he said suspiciously, holding the limo door for her.

“You didn’t fire Moonbeam,” she gushed, squeezing his hand before climbing in.

“Do you have any idea how long it would take to train her replacement?” he said gruffly.

“You’re just a big softie.”

“I’m practical. I’m already accustomed to Moonbeam. The office’s productivity would suffer if we upset the rhythm.”

“You’d have to buy all new furniture if your new secretary had angle-conducive chi,” she teased.

“She’s a wonderful executive assistant,” he insisted stubbornly, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s good for you,” Jo declared. “You need someone you’re a little afraid of running herd on your soul.”

“I’m not going to try to decipher what you just said.”

“It’s a good thing,” she assured him. Then Jo realized she’d just used Queen Martha’s famous catchphrase.

She frowned darkly. Four fricking days and he’d turned her into Martha Stewart, color-coordinated outfits and ankle-wrenching heels included. Just like that, her good mood evaporated.