Ghostly Liaison (13 page)

Brian shook his head. “I’ve never seen Bridget act anything but serious since the accident. Listen, Kate goes a little overboard where family is concerned. Can you imagine what she’ll be like as a mother?” They both laughed and then his face became stone-cold sober. “Shit. Guess I’ll have my work cut out for me, huh?”

Rob laughed. “You said it. I didn’t.”

Summer arrived early on the Saturday before Memorial Day. The clock hadn’t even struck noon and the temperature already hovered around eighty-five. Bridget pulled the long-sleeve T-shirt away from her chest as she stared out into the backyard. The covered pool stood out there, but with the temperature barely reaching the seventies for the past week, the water was probably too cold, if not dirty.

Well, what better way to spend the day than finding out? If it was dirty, then she’d just clean it. It would not only pass the time, but keep her mind busy. She turned and headed for the bedroom to change. With a fenced-in yard to hide her, she might as well get comfortable and wear something that wouldn’t give her heatstroke.

“Why don’t you walk?” Charlie asked. “Your feet work, don’t they? Of course they do. I can see you walking right now.”

Bridget shook her head. Ever since she’d gotten the address where Nick’s accident occurred, Charlie had done nothing but hound her. “Oh my God! Is this what being a ghost has done to you? You’re sounding like a spoiled teenager. I told you. I get my bike back today. You can wait a few more hours.”

“I don’t see why you won’t tell me where it is. You’re the one who said you wanted nothing more to do with this. Man, if I knew you were going to hide it, I would have been watching the monitor.”

At first, Bridget had wanted it over, but in the short time they had lived together, she was considering Charlie a friend—albeit a strange one—and friends looked out for one another. If Nick didn’t appear, it would break Charlie’s heart. “I didn’t tell you to watch the Reds game.”

“If you had cable, I wouldn’t have been jonesing for a baseball fix.” Charlie crossed her arms across her chest. “This life sucks.”

“I’m sorry. But I am not walking fourteen miles. Not for anyone.” Even riding her bike that far would test her knee.

“You said it was seven miles away.”

“Yeah, and seven miles back. Duh!”

“Hey! I never said I majored in math.”

Bridget opened her dresser and rummaged through the shirts. Long sleeves. Long sleeves. Long sleeves. She must have a short-sleeve one somewhere. Didn’t she?

“There is another way you could go,” Charlie said.

“I’m not cutting the sleeves.”

“What? No, not your shirts. Although, I do have to say, you got a lot of long-sleeve shirts there. Was there a sale?”

Bridget slammed the drawer shut. “What are you talking about?”

“Finding Nick. Why don’t you ask Rob for a ride?”

“And tell him what? That his sister’s ghost told me to go find Nick? He already thinks I’m nuts because I blabbed about seeing you.”

“Okay, so Rob’s out. How about Mr. Murdock? He likes you. You probably won’t even have to beg.”

“Stop it, Charlie. I’ll go when I get my bike. But keep it up and I’ll make you wait another day.”

That threat widened Charlie’s eyes and her mouth clamped shut. Wow. Bridget nearly flexed her muscles. Sometimes words were stronger.

“So, what are you looking for?” Charlie asked quietly.

“A short-sleeve shirt so I can go clean the pool and not get heatstroke doing it.”

“How about a bathing suit? You got one of those?”

“I do. But it’s at my parents.”

“You sure? What about the box your mom brought?”

“What box?”

“That one.” Charlie pointed to the closet. “She brought it in when you were putting away all those groceries she bought.”

Bridget swiveled. First, her mother had brought bags of food over, as if she couldn’t shop for herself, which she couldn’t, not without help, but still, she planned on calling this weekend for just that. Now her mother was boxing her stuff and bringing it over?

She knelt before the box and opened it. No wonder her mother hadn’t said anything. Packed neatly inside were the skimpy summer clothes she’d tended to wear before the accident, along with her old swimsuit.

“I guess you have something to wear after all, huh?” Charlie said.

Maybe. Bridget rummaged through the box. Not one short-sleeve shirt. All tanks and shorts. And her swimsuit? The turquoise suit with the low-cut neck looked smaller than she remembered. No way. She’d have to be the only person left on the face of the earth before she went outside wearing that.

“Why do you suppose she didn’t tell you she brought that? Wouldn’t she think you’d want them?”

“She probably hoped I’d want them.” Bridget closed the box, leaving all the clothes inside.

A gentle hand landed on her shoulder. She turned her head as Charlie solidified.

“It’s not that bad, you know.”

Horrified at what Charlie was insinuating, Bridget breathed slowly through her nose. “What do you mean?”

“Now, don’t get mad at me. I found out by accident. You were coming out of the bathroom from a shower, I presume, just as I returned from Mr. Murdock’s.”

Bridget stood, breaking the connection. “You spied on me?”

Charlie shook her head. “No, I swear. I thought the coast was clear. Honest.”

“Why didn’t you make yourself known, then? Huh?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just—”

“Became disgusted with what you saw?” Bridget finished.

“Hardly. So you have a few scars. Big whoop. At least you’re alive.”

Yeah, she was alive. But Suzie and her baby were dead because of her. How fair was that?

“What does it matter I know? Who can I tell? Huh?”

Charlie had a point. And the yard was fenced in. Having a ghost for a friend wasn’t all bad, in fact it was rather nice. Bridget opened the box once again and pulled out a blue tank and white shorts.

* * * *

Rob leaned back in his chair. He’d come to the office hoping for a distraction, but the quiet solitude on a Saturday morning wasn’t any different here than it was at home. All he had done was change the scenery.

At least he had gotten some work accomplished. Work he could have done Friday if he didn’t have his head up his ass. When had a woman ever consumed every thought in his head? He had just about resigned himself to the fact he might be a bachelor forever. And then Bridget came along.

What did it mean when he was willing to get involved with someone whose emotional scars ran deep enough a relationship was nearly impossible? So she had guilt issues and believed she saw ghosts. Everything else about her was perfect, or at least pretty damn close. He didn’t want to walk away, he wanted to help her.

So why was he sitting here mooning over her when he could be at her place visiting? She had told him to come over for that paint sample. Then once he bought the paint, he could start painting this afternoon. And it would be just like her to pitch in, too. What better way to spend some time with her—in a cramped bathroom at that. Oh yeah, the day could turn out wonderful.

Before he left, he needed to send Linda an e-mail. After having checked the canceled paint order Mac had questioned, Rob was more confused than ever. The project still required paint, but Carl had placed the order with some unknown vendor, with the same price as before. He probably had some rational explanation—he usually did—but this didn’t seem right.

Then there was the Rialto job. Carl should have scheduled the men to start work on Tuesday, but nothing had been done. Clearly, he wasn’t okay with working there again. Rob should have taken over the project.

He sent the e-mail to discuss the situations. He’d broach the subject with Carl only if needed. The man was getting defensive in his old age and Rob wasn’t in the mood to fight.

He shut down the laptop and snapped the lid closed. Barnaby lifted his head at the sound.

“Let’s go find out what color the bathroom will be, shall we?”

* * * *

Charlie hovered over the backyard. Being a ghost had many disadvantages, but flying wasn’t one of them. Too bad she couldn’t feel the breeze in her face or smell the air. She could if she touched Bridget, but then she’d be Earth-bound.

Bridget was busy pulling weeds behind the pool. As if anyone could see them. At least she’d dressed more appropriately for the weather, even if the outfit hung a little baggy on her. Wearing it wasn’t the obstacle, though. Going outside with it on was. It had taken Bridget a good fifteen minutes to finally venture off the porch and another five before she made it to the pool. She seemed oblivious now, though. The high fence probably made the difference.

Charlie could almost understand Bridget’s reluctance. Her left side was riddled with scars. White and puckery, a long jagged line ran from the top of her shoulder to just below her elbow, accompanied by smaller lines as if her skin had burst open. Her left leg looked worse, though. Something had stabbed her in the thigh and pulled away, taking a chunk of her with it. And a more surgical-like scar radiated around her knee. If she wore longer shorts, no one would notice the thigh abnormality and the rest could be attributed to a sports injury.

Thing was, Bridget never seemed to care what people thought of her or else she’d dress differently. Who went around wearing long-sleeve shirts in eighty-degree weather? Who wore hospital scrubs to dinner with a guy? So maybe the scars weren’t the concern. Maybe it was the questions the scars brought about.

Well, if her roomie was willing to locate Nick for her, maybe she could return the favor and make Bridget forget about the scars. And what better way than through harassment?

Besides, harassing was just plain fun. She used to do it to Robbie all the time.

“Why aren’t you cleaning the pool?” Charlie asked.

No answer. Either she was being ignored, or someone could see her. And why wouldn’t the whole neighborhood be outside. The sun shone brightly and big fluffy clouds dotted the sky. Sounds of lawn mowers filled the air. Charlie descended until she was out of sight, hovering above Bridget.

“Can you hear me—”

Bridget screeched and fell on her butt. “Hell’s bells! What are you doing?”

Charlie laughed. “You cuss like my grandmother.”

“What do you want?”

“Why aren’t you cleaning the pool?”

“I am. I’m starting on the outside.”

“You can’t swim on the outside, though. You should clean the water. Or maybe you don’t like getting near bugs.” Many of which were floating amongst the fallen leaves.

“I’ll clean the water when I’m good and ready.”

“But you said you were going to swim today.” Not that Bridget could. It would take a day at least to clean, but she wouldn’t know that until she read the instructions, which she hadn’t done yet. But why spoil a good hassle.

“I never said that. Besides, the water’s too cold.”

“How do you know? Were you in it?”

Bridget’s eyes bugged out of her head and she grew a little pink in the cheeks. Aha! Just the response Charlie had hoped for. Nothing like getting someone all bent out of shape for no good reason. Well, no good reason to Bridget, anyway.

A car door slammed out front. Bridget’s widened eyes got even buggier. She looked down at her outfit.

So much for getting her mind off her wardrobe.
“Hold on. I’ll go check it out.” Charlie willed herself to the driveway and was greeted by Barnaby.

So… Robbie returned, huh? Should she be a good friend and warn Bridget? Or should she be a good friend and prove to the woman her scars didn’t matter?

“Decisions, decisions.”

* * * *

Bridget stood and looked over the pool. Exposed. Nothing blocked her way to the back door. Whatever made her think she could get away with being comfortable? The sun and air might have felt refreshing against her skin, but at what cost? Right now her blood pressure would max out a sphygmomanometer.

What was taking Charlie so long? Either someone had come or hadn’t. How long did it take to figure it out? Her nerves twisted her stomach inside and out. Staying out in the open was a bad idea. If she ran fast enough, she could make it to the house and change, provided she didn’t pass out first.

Charlie arrived in a blink of an eye. “It’s Robbie. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to get rid of him. I can distract Barnaby, though.”

Something scratched at the side gate. Charlie disappeared. The dog whined.

Bridget muttered a curse under her breath. “I have to get inside. I have to—”

“Barnaby, cut it out,” Rob said. The gate squeaked open. “Bridget? Are you back here?”

Shit, shit, shit! She hunkered behind the pool. Of all the blasted luck. She waited for Barnaby to give her away, but surprisingly he didn’t appear. Charlie’s intervention must have worked. Bridget risked a peek.

“Where is she, boy?” Rob, looking downright scrumptious in a light blue T-shirt, walked over to the sliding glass door, and knocked. “Bridget?” He opened the door. “Hello! It’s Rob!”

How long could she stay in the weeds? The bugs were already sampling her for lunch. The grass in front of her rustled. Or did she imagine that? No, it happened again. Something in the grass was moving. Something long and…

“Snake!” She squealed and scrambled with such speed she tripped over the vines and fell smack-dab into a wall called Rob.

* * * *

Bridget’s scream came from behind. As Rob rushed toward her voice, she slammed into him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He grabbed her upper arms. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Snake! There’s a snake in the yard!”

“What?” Did she say snake?

She hopped from one foot to the next and bounced out of his grasp, becoming nothing more than a blur of arms and legs. The sliding door slammed shut.

Crap! Did she expect him to kill the stupid thing? If there was one thing he avoided, it was those slithery monsters. Ah, but he could save the day if he slayed the little biter. Of course, that meant actually slaying the little biter. Shit.

Barnaby ran off to the corner, doing his strange routine once again—jumping up on the fence, licking the air. The dog was seriously going crazy.