The Next Always

  “Fine, but . . . we’ll talk about things later. Murphy, you stay with me.”

  SINCE SHE WOULDN’T let the boys out of her sight, he had to wait until they went for pizza. Getting her alone, more or less, at that point came easy. All it took was a pocketful of quarters.

  “Okay, I get you don’t want to talk about it in front of them, but we could be talking about a plague of two-headed frogs and they wouldn’t cop to it now. That was something else.”

  “I don’t know what happened, or what this is. All I know is whatever it is had my little boy going upstairs, by himself, to... whatever it is.”

  “She’s not dangerous.”

  “There is no she,” Clare insisted. “And how can you be sure, if there were, she isn’t dangerous?”

  “We’re all over that place every day.”

  “Grown men.”

  “I’ve been in there countless times on my own. Just today she and I had this little negotiation about leaving the porch door open.”

  “Maybe because she wanted to push you over the rail.”

  He would’ve laughed, but clearly this wasn’t a joke to her. “Why would she?”

  “How do I know why?” Irritation bubbled in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. We’re sitting here talking about a ghost. For God’s sake, Beckett.” She grabbed the glass of soda the minute the waitress set it down.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, Heather.” Beckett sent her an easy smile. “Thanks.”

  He waited until Heather moved off again. “We’re having the conversation because you’re upset about it. Murphy wasn’t scared.”

  “He’s a child.”

  “Yeah, and I figure that’s why he actually saw her. They say, don’t they, kids are more open to stuff like this.”

  “How do I know? I don’t—didn’t—don’t—believe in stuff like this. It’s crazy.”

  Gauging her mood, he tried to lighten it. “You can be Scully and I can be Mulder. Maybe I do want to believe, but the fact is Murphy saw her. Hair like yours, he said, so she’s a blonde. Wearing a long dress. I’d say she’s from back when women wore long dresses. Eighteenth or nineteenth century.”

  “God.”

  Now he put a hand over hers, held it firm. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, to them, to you. Clare, if I thought for a second Lizzy wanted to hurt anyone, I’d find a way to—I don’t know—exorcise her. I guess it’s exorcism. Here’s the thing.” He shifted forward a little. “You’re thinking she’s all Blair Witch or Poltergeist. Because you dig on horror novels. So you think ghost equals evil.”

  “Ghosts aren’t always evil in fiction.”

  “There you go.”

  “In fiction. I’ve never dealt with one in reality. It scared me, seeing Murphy going up those stairs, smiling up at thin air.”

  “I have a theory. Quick version before the quarters run out, and the pizza gets here. She likes what we’re doing, likes that we’re fixing the building. Bringing it back to life, you could say. I think she likes having people around.”

  “Now you want to believe you not only have a ghost, but a sociable ghost.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, so many reasons.”

  “Try this, Agent Scully. The more we do over there, the more she comes out. When we first went through, I got nothing. But later, when we started taking measurements, when I started doing some sketches, I got this sense. Like being watched. Now that was spooky. As things progressed, I started smelling honeysuckle. Not every time, but more and more often. Now today, we take the tarp down, and that’s a big deal. We have this.”

  “I don’t want her screwing around with my kids.”

  “Who?” Murphy crawled into her lap.

  “Anybody.” Clare wrapped her arms around him, nuzzled his neck until he laughed. “Nobody messes with the Brewster boys.”

  And that, Beckett thought as the pie arrived, was that.

  After she took the boys home, Beckett went back over. He had the pleasure of walking over the stretch of finished floor, thinking about the permanent steps that would go in before much longer.

  And waited to see what might happen.

  Nothing.

  Maybe they hurt her feelings, he thought. Dead or alive, women could be pretty damn touchy.

  “You scared her. Her kids are number one with her, and Murphy’s the baby on top of it. So she’s a little freaked out, that’s all.”

  Still nothing.

  “I don’t know why I’m getting the silent treatment. I didn’t do anything. And you ought to cut her a break. Most people get a little freaked out. I’m used to you, and I still get jumpy sometimes.”

  And again, he thought, nothing.

  “You should give her a little time to adjust, especially since she’ll probably be around a lot while we’re working on the place, after we finish.

  “One of her friends is going to run the inn. Hope’ll be living up on three, so Clare and Avery are bound to hang around. Once we finish, and Hope’s living here, you won’t have to be alone.”

  The door to the porch in E&D opened, and Beckett realized it was a little disconcerting at night without the crew around.

  “Sure, a little fresh air’d be good.”

  He walked out, smelled the honeysuckle.

  “You’ll like her when you get to know her. She’s great. She was afraid you might hurt the boy, so—”

  He broke off when the door slammed.

  “Whoa. Temper.” He opened the door again. “I didn’t say I thought it. Look, maybe she’s a little overprotective. Her husband was killed. Damn, stupid war. He never got to meet Murphy. So, the way she sees it, she’s all they’ve got, and she needs to make sure they’re safe. Who can argue with that?”

  The door opened another inch, and he took it as a sign of apology or understanding.

  “Just give her some time. I’ve got some work to do over at my place.” He gestured across the street. “It’s going to be busy around here tomorrow when they start tiling the bathrooms. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  He walked in, shut the door, considered.

  “You’ve really got to keep the door closed.”

  He waited a moment, then, satisfied, went down, walked out, and locked up.

  Across the street he stopped and turned to look, and thought he saw, just for a moment, the shadowy form of a woman at the porch rail.

  But the door stayed closed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRAZZLED, IRRITABLE, AND DESPERATE FOR TEN MINUTES of peace, Clare dragged herself into the bookstore. For a moment, she indulged in some much-needed self-pity.

  She owned the damn place, didn’t she? She ought to be able to just take the day off, go do something fun like . . . she couldn’t think of a thing.

  Because she wasn’t in the mood for fun. She was in the mood to sit alone, blissfully alone in a quiet room, and stare at nothing for a couple hours.

  “Morning!” Laurie sat cheerfully at the computer station. Her wide, bright smile gave Clare an instant headache. “How’s everything?”

  “As you’d expect after hauling three kids to the dentist, listening to the bickering and whining all the way there and back. They were still at it when I dumped them at school. Their teachers may send out a warrant for my arrest.”

  Laurie’s smile dimmed toward a look of sympathy. “Not a great way to start the day.”

  “For any of us.” Clare dumped her purse and briefcase on the steps. Since taking the day off for a quiet room didn’t make the slate, at least she needed coffee before she got started on work.

  And really, work climbed several rungs up the ladder from three battling boys.

  “I’m going up to sulk for a while,” she said as she poured a mug. “And try not to think about the fact they have their checkups at the pediatrician next week. Maybe I’ll just run away from home.”

&n
bsp; “You work too hard.”

  “I’m not in the mood to disagree. Or remind myself that dentists and doctors insist on payment for services rendered.”

  “I hate to tell you, you’ve got three messages.”

  “Three?” That called for a shot of caramel in the coffee. “We’ve only been open a half hour.”

  “Sorry. Um, plus we’ve got some sort of leak in the stockroom bathroom. Really sorry.”

  Potential plumbing bill. No amount of caramel could ease the pain. “Oh well.”

  “Maybe you’re getting all the crap stuff out of the way at once.”

  “By the time you shovel up the crap, more materializes. It’s like the loaves and fishes. So I’d better get to it.”

  Laurie waved the yellow message pad, smiled expectantly.

  “I’ll take care of those first. I’ll be upstairs if you need me, and I sincerely hope you don’t for the next hour.” She reached for the messages, found herself in a little tug-of-war. “I actually need these to return the calls.”

  “I know, but . . .” Doing a quick chair dance, Laurie jiggled the pad between their hands, tilted her head in a downward jerk.

  “Laurie, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on with you? You’re officially cut off from caffeine until—Oh! Oh my God.” Clare released the pad to grab Laurie’s hand. The one sporting a sweet, sparkling engagement ring.

  “I’m getting married!”

  “I see that. Oh, Laurie, it’s a beautiful ring.”

  “Isn’t it? I can’t stop looking at it. I love it. I just love it. I thought you’d never see it.”

  “I was blinded by self-pity and leaky pipes. When did this happen?”

  “Tyler asked me last night. He’s been acting so weird the last week or so, I was worried he wanted to break up.”

  “Laurie, he’s crazy about you. Obviously,” she added turning Laurie’s hand to study the ring from another angle.

  “Yeah, but he’d just been so weird. Then last night he’s like so super serious and he said we needed to take a walk in the park. I didn’t know what was up.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Clare set the coffee aside to free her arms for the hug. “You had no idea?”

  “Zero. I mean, we’ve been together for two years now, and we’ve sort of poked around the edges of maybe. But I didn’t see it coming.” Her brown eyes glistened with happy tears. “Clare, he actually got down on one knee, right there in the bandstand at Shafer Park.”

  “Seriously? Aw, Laurie.”

  “I know! Who’d have thought? I love him so much, and I was going to be so mad at him for breaking up with me. And now, look!” She waved her hand around again. “We’re getting married. I almost burst waiting for you to get in so I could show you.”

  “Let me see it again.”

  Thrilled to oblige, Laurie held out her hand. “He picked it out himself.”

  “It’s just beautiful. It’s just perfect. When are you—”

  The door jangled as two customers came in. “We’ll talk more later,” Clare told her.

  It took another half hour before she could get upstairs, organize, and settle herself. Once she’d returned the calls, she remembered the leak and hurried down to check it out.

  She was crouched on the restroom floor, a bucket under the slow drip, when Avery came in.

  “I’ve sent you a zillion texts this morning.”

  “Dentist, trauma, engagement, work. And now plumbing. God, what a day, and it’s not even noon.”

  “Laurie told me about her and Tyler—with sparkly rainbows shooting out of her eyes. And it’s nearly one.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “It is, and I’ve only got a minute. Hope’s here.”

  “What? When?”

  “She got here about eleven, which you’d know if you checked your phone. A couple of the guys from the inn crew carried up the furniture she brought with her. She’s here!”

  “Does she need any help with the rest of her things?”

  “I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her yet. I’m going to try to go over, help her set up, unpack and all that after the lunch rush. Can you come over?”

  “I . . .” Already one in the afternoon. “Let me see if Mazie can watch the kids after school for a while.”

  “If she can’t, I bet Beckett would. Unless you’re still having your lovers’ spat.”

  “Lovers’ spat?”

  “That’s the word I got. You were in my place a couple nights ago, arguing.”

  “We were not arguing. For God’s sake.” Even though he was just wrong. “But I’m not asking Beckett to watch the kids after he’s worked all day.”

  “Whatever. Try to make it, even if you can’t stay long. She’s a stranger in a strange land, after all.”

  “I’ll work something out.”

  “Cool.” Avery glanced toward the drip plopping musically in the bucket. “You ought to have Beckett fix that leak.”

  Clare scowled up at Avery, whose hair edged closer to maroon now with thick gold streaks. “What is he, my man of all work?”

  “Hey, a nice benefit of sleeping with a handyman who seems to like your kids is using him when you need him. I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you at Hope’s apartment.”

  She wasn’t going to use Beckett. She’d handled everything that came along for six years without a man, handy or otherwise. Just because she’d started seeing Beckett didn’t mean she’d suddenly become incompetent.

  Annoyed, she dashed back upstairs, where she kept a basic tool kit. She just needed a wrench, just needed to tighten the pipe joint. Anybody could do that.

  “I’m going to take care of the leak,” she told Laurie when she came down again. “If anyone calls for me, just take a message. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Are you sure? I could call over. They’d send one of the men from the inn.”

  “I’m getting you your own tool kit for an engagement present.”

  “I’d rather have a sexy nightie.”

  “Tool kit.” She shook the one she carried. “Men aren’t always around, you know. Women have to know how to handle basic household repairs.”

  “If you say so.”

  “And I do.”

  Now more determined than ever, Clare marched to the restroom. She sat on the floor, opened the tool kit. She’d dealt with plumbing issues before—with squeaky doors, drawers that stuck. She’d dealt with the epitome of parental frustration. Toys labeled some assembly required. When she’d been married, she’d had to learn to do what needed doing as she’d so often been on her own. And since, she’d continued to learn.

  She could hardly afford to call a plumber every time something dripped. She’d be damned if she called her father when the gutters were clogged, or her lawn mower started sputtering—which it was—or some other minor annoyance cropped up.

  She could certainly fix a little drip without issuing a help wanted bulletin. She picked up a wrench and got to work.

  Within ten frustrating minutes the little drip became a slow but steady stream of water.

  But that was okay, that was all right. She knew where she’d gone wrong. All she had to do was—

  “Have you got a license for that?”

  Flushed and struggling not to be furious, she looked over at Beckett. “I’ve nearly got it.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  “I’ve nearly got it,” she repeated.

  He just hunkered down, took the wrench out of her hand. “Looks like you need a washer. I probably have something that’ll fit it out in the truck. I’ll need to turn the water off for a few minutes.”

  “I know how to turn the water off.”

  “Okay, why don’t you go do that while I get the washer?”

  He straightened, drew her to her feet.

  He hadn’t shaved that morning, she noted, plus his hair needed trimming. And he smelled of sawdust. Which all added up, in her mind, to smug, let me handle that for you, little lady, ma
le.

  “Did Laurie call you?”

  “No. Why?”

  Clare just shook her head and went out to turn off the water.

  So it needed a washer, she thought as she watched him quickly, competently make the repair. She’d have figured it out—and she knew where to buy a stupid washer for the stupid pipe.

  “That should do it. Let me turn the water back on and—”

  “I’ll turn it on.”

  He only lifted his brows when she swung around and walked out.

  He ran the water in the sink, checked the pipes, packed up her tools. “That’ll cost ya.” In a casual move, he tipped up her chin, kissed her. “Paid in full. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because I was fixingit myself.”

  He searched her face, deep blue eyes puzzled and patient. “Are you pissed at me or the pipe?”

  “I’m—” She made herself stop short of the fresh rant building in her throat. It was hardly Beckett’s fault. “It’s been a crappy day, that’s all. I appreciate the help.”

  “Anytime. Speaking of which, I can hang with the boys after school so you can give Hope a hand settling in.”

  “Is this place bugged?” she demanded. “Is there a town intercom running from here to the inn?”

  “Not that I know of, but I saw Avery when I went over to get a panini for lunch.”

  “And I told her I was going to call Mazie.”

  “So I have to ask again if you’re pissed at me.”

  “No, why would I be?” But she ground the words out because she was, for no good reason she could name. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re on call for repairs, child care, and whatever else might come up. I know how to work these things out. I’ve been working these things out for years.”

  “No question about that.” He spoke coolly, watching her face. “Is there any