Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (41 page)

Dread turned into rage. White-hot, volcanic rage. But she had to admit that Gabe was clever. He had outmaneuvered her. By skillfully declawing the Historical Preservation Committee, he'd avoided another disastrous town meeting.
 

"Did anyone bring up the effect on the town's other businesses?" she asked in as mild a tone as she could muster.

"Oh, yes. PRoVE agreed to take into account the needs of the mundies."

"Mundies?"
 

"Short for 'mundanes.'"
 

Elizabeth's voice was a deadly whisper. "They called us mundies?"
 

"Yep. Gabe said he found a way to make sure all the townspeople benefitted." Holly smiled apologetically. "Even the mundies."

Elizabeth fists clenched. "This is a disaster." She forced her hands to unclench as she considered the catastrophe. "Did he by any chance share his super-duper plan?"

"No." Holly's curls bounced as she shook her head. "Not exactly."
 

"So the Committee just took his word for it?" Elizabeth couldn't believe it. Had the world gone mad?

"Pretty much. He was very convincing."

"I bet."

"And everyone knows that you two are, you know..." Holly's voice trailed off and she wiggled her eyebrows in a meaningful way.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Everyone knows what?"

"That he's in love with you. That's why the Committee let him have his way. They figured he wouldn't stab you in the back."

"Oh, they did, did they?" The Committee was wrong. Dead wrong. She'd been played. Played by an expert. She'd never stood a chance.
 

Her phone rang, startling her. She looked at the name on the screen, feeling a wave of pain and betrayal overtake her. She pushed back the hurt and focused on the anger. Anger was good. Anger would get her through this.

"Hi, Gabe," she said into the phone as Holly's eyes widened in horror.
 

"I brought the pick-up truck," Gabe said. "And I'm turning into your street."

"You didn't have to bring the truck," she said with eerie calm. "You've helped me enough already." A note of sarcasm crept into her voice, but she sounded quite rational. This was some of the best acting she'd ever done. Her Hollywood coach would be proud.

Gabe noticed it. "You heard about the meeting." He sounded completely unrepentant.
 

"Oh, yes, I heard plenty about the meeting. How dare you go behind my back?"

She heard an exasperated sigh on the end of the line.

"I can explain the meeting, Elizabeth." The reasonable, pacifying tone made her want to kick him. Hard. "And I know that you're cleaning Cole's room. I don't want you to do it alone. Meet me at the front door. And don't lift anything." He hung up abruptly.

Elizabeth fought the urge to throw her phone against the wall. Who the hell did Gabe think he was? And who the hell was he to be giving orders? Don't lift anything? She was going to lift a box full of discarded military paraphernalia right onto his head.

"Maybe you should hear him out," Holly cautioned.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, Ben came back from the kitchen. His face was smeared with chocolate and he was holding a cookie in each hand. The cookie jar had been successfully raided.

"
Oben
," he ordered imperiously. "
Oben
, Aunt Lizzie."

Elizabeth took the cookies. They were wrapped in cellophane paper. She looked at the label. It featured pink-and-orange stripes in a white, ghost-like silhouette, and the logo read "Banshee Creek Bakery." A sticker informed the holder that she was cordially invited to the bakery's grand reopening.

She stifled a sigh. Her friend had gone full Benedict Arnold, hadn't she?

Holly picked up her wayward son and aimed an apprehensive glance at her friend. "Maybe Gabe really does have a plan."

"Oh, he'd better have a plan," Elizabeth said darkly. "And that plan had better involve leaving Zach's truck in the driveway and running away from this house as fast as possible."
 

The poltergeists weren't the only ones who could throw things in this town. And her acting stint as the leader of an alien invasion had required many hours of study under the best marksmanship teacher in L.A.
 

Her aim was really, really good.
 

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-S
IX

G
ABE
DROVE
his brother's truck through the town streets maneuvering with great care. The truck had been thoroughly restored, but it was still a vintage automobile. Even cautious attempts at acceleration were greeted with sudden and energetic convulsions. At last, he turned into the right street and saw Holly Hagen's minivan backing out of the Hunt driveway.
 

The minivan seemed to be the only car in the street, which meant that his big surprise wasn't here yet. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the worn leather steering wheel. Should he stay in the car? No, if he did, she'd almost certainly bolt. He parked the truck, waited for the engine to shudder itself to sleep, and got out.
 

He sighed at the sight of a pile of boxes on the porch. He'd specifically told Elizabeth to leave the lifting to him, but she had to do things her way, didn't she? He started to load the boxes on the truck and was relieved to find that they weren't that heavy. They probably contained Cole's clothes, sweatpants, jeans, superhero T-shirts, and those little vests with the weird little pockets that he often wore.
 

Elizabeth came out of the house with a big trash bag and an even bigger frown on her face. She strode purposefully, glaring at him from behind the dark plastic.

He grabbed the bag from her and scowled back at her. "I told you not to carry anything heavy."

She didn't let go. Her back straightened and her frown deepened. In spite of her anger, she looked lovely in jeans and a faded T-shirt. Maybe Salvador was right. With angry eyes and her hair hastily pulled up in a messy bun, she really did look like a warrior princess, albeit not an alien one. At least the trash bag protected his spleen.

"And I told you I would take care of this," she hissed, pulling on the bag.
 

The bag toppled to the ground, and he caught it, barely, and put it in the truck. She was right. It wasn't heavy, which was good, because he wasn't sure how much weight Zach's wheezing wreck of a truck could take.

He turned back to Elizabeth, who stood, muscles tensed, next to the truck. She seemed to be considering whether to jump in the truck, put it in reverse, and run him over.

"Is that it?" he asked, trying to distract her.

"Yes," she replied, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes. "You can drop them off and go on with your day. I'm sure you have vampires to raise, covens to congregate—" her eyes flashed with hostility, "—and friends to betray."

 
"Actually, I'm a little busy with tentacles right now."

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened.

"It's a joke, Elizabeth." He raised his hands defensively. "Just a joke."

"Your whole plan is a joke."

"But it's a joke that sells. Will you just hear me out?"

"Oh, you want me to hear you out? Then maybe you should have invited me to the meeting. But you couldn't do that, right? I would have hammered some sense into the Town Council."

Hammered was the correct word. Elizabeth wasn't subtle.
 

"You'll understand once you see the finished product." He regretted the words as soon as he said them. He hadn't meant to sound so arrogant.
 

"Understand?" Elizabeth's voice rose. "You're right, I don't understand. I don't understand why you think turning the town into a Halloween joke is good business. I don't understand why you couldn't be straight with me. And I don't understand how you got the town council to go along with it. Did you even tell them that you're selling the cidery to a Prussian conglomerate?"
 

"I'm not selling the cidery," he said between clenched teeth. "It wouldn't be good for the town and it wouldn't be good for the Germans either. They need a joint venture, not a new subsidiary. We'll do a quick test run on the product and once they see those numbers, they'll forget all about buying Haunted Orchard."

His answer did not seem to mollify her.
 
"I guess we'll see about that. But, as far as I'm concerned, you can take Cole's stuff to the dump and stay there with the rest of the garbage. Goodbye, Gabe." Her words rang out like a death sentence.

A death sentence he was going to ignore.

He headed for the porch. "Don't be ridiculous, Elizabeth. This isn't all of Cole's stuff. You're just trying to get rid of me." He stepped around her. "C'mon. Lead me to the rest of it."

She pushed him out of the way, almost making him trip on the narrow walkway. "Don't you get it, Gabe?" she ground out, walking quickly toward the house. "I don't need, or
want
, your help."

She aimed a final glare in his direction then stepped into the house, slamming the door behind her.
 

Well, that was pretty final.
 

She had a right to her anger. Cleaning her brother's room wasn't an easy task, physically or emotionally, and the news about his meeting with the Historical Preservation Committee didn't help. He'd been an asshole, no doubt, but then, he usually was where business was concerned.

He should walk away, leave Caine to finalize the PRoVE deals, and return to Manhattan, where he could bury himself in work and forget all about Elizabeth Hunt.

But he couldn't.

He walked up to the door and pulled on the handle. The Hunt residence was pretty much exactly as he remembered it. Mrs. Hunt hadn't changed a thing, including, he noted, the faulty front door latch.
 

He entered the house. The foyer and living room were as tidy as always, although the cream-colored sofa looked a fit worse for wear.
 

Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.
 

He walked on, heading for Cole's room. He passed through the dining room into a hallway covered in family pictures, including one of a smiling Elizabeth in cap and gown, hugging her brother—her high school graduation, it seemed.
 

Strange, someone had taken out all of Cole's pictures and replaced them with botanical prints. Although maybe not so strange. Elizabeth must have done it, in an effort to make her mother feel better.

He went up the stairs, heading for the bedrooms. How many times had he run up these steps, eager to share a new game or a newly released movie with his friend? He paused in front of Cole's room, bracing himself for a surge of grief, then opened the door and walked in.

The room was unrecognizable. The posters and pictures were all gone. The furniture had been removed, except for the bulky desk. But Cole's prized computer was nowhere to be seen. Boxes were piled in a corner of the room and paint cans were on the other side. Elizabeth stood in the corner, unfolding a canvas tarp.

"Is that it?" he asked.

She jumped, startled. "What are you doing here? I just kicked you out."
 

"It's not a lot of stuff," he replied, ignoring her words. "It shouldn't take more than one trip."
 

She winced, almost imperceptibly.
Great move, Gabe. Remind her that her brother didn't have time to accumulate much during his truncated life. Smooth.
 

"No, it shouldn't." She took a deep breath. "The white bags go to the Salvation Army, the black bags go to the Dumpster, and the boxes go to the library." She crossed her arms across her chest. "Have fun."
 

But she wouldn't get rid of him so easily. He had to convince her to trust him. And the big surprise that would get her to do just that hadn't arrived yet.

"Are you going to paint?" he asked her. Not the smoothest distraction technique, but it would have to do.
 

"Yes." She looked at the walls. "The room is small so I can get at least one coat of paint done before my parents come back." She paused, and her voice dropped. "Once I start to paint, my mom won't have any choice. She'll have to let me finish."

"She doesn't know you are doing this?" He lifted a box, not too heavy.

"No, she doesn't want to change a thing."

"Whatever happened to trusting your family and letting them make their own decisions?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"That's your family." Her voice was devoid of humor. "Not mine."

With that, she grabbed a box and headed down the hallway. He followed. One by one, they took all the boxes to the truck. The boxes were all neatly labeled: clothes, books, shoes. He felt a tightness around his chest as he saw Cole's possessions lined up on the truck bed, but he shook it off. He'd already mourned his friend. These were things, only things.

He went back into the house. Elizabeth had moved the desk. Stubborn girl, couldn't she wait until he got back? She was laying down a tarp on the floor. Gabe looked at the dark blue walls and at her light-colored paint samples.

"That's going to take more than one coat. Did you get primer?"

"None of your business."

He stared at her.
 

"Of course I got primer," she said impatiently. "And all I need is one coat. One coat is the point of no return."

"Are you really planning to paint today?"

She nodded, not looking at him.

"Alone?"

She cast an annoyed glance at him. "Unfortunately, my parents' house doesn't have a resident handyman ghost. So, yes, I'm painting alone."

"I don't think so."

She shook her head. "I don't need your help, Gabe. I can lift a paintbrush all by myself. Anyway, what about the truck? Cole's old underpants aren't walking themselves to the dump, you know."

Stubborn girl. Did she really think he would let her paint this room by herself? The place was an emotional minefield. Gabe took out his cell phone and started dialing. "I'll have the truck picked up. Books to the library, and everything else to The Salvation Army, right?"