Haunted (20 page)

“In a fashion,” I said quietly, thinking of how weighted her comment was.

“She made me call him, though I still haven't the slightest clue as to why,” Cooper revealed, while prying for clarification from me.

“And?” Peyta asked, looking childishly impatient.

“He's looking into some things,” Cooper said, his expression revealing more than his audible response did. Peyta thought he was looking into what was haunting my home, Cooper and her, which was partially true. We conveniently left out the part about thinking she was coming unglued; she didn't need to know our suspicions. It would only have served to frighten her more, especially if she wasn't already aware of her own bizarre behavior. Cooper had only followed her for a few minutes when he saw her hysterical outburst. What would we see if we followed her 24/7? Part of me was so very frightened of the answer to that question.

25

“So you're going to remember to pick up the cake, right?” I badgered. Cooper groaned on the other end of the line.

“Yes. I will have it there for her big, eighteen-year-old extravaganza.”

It was Saturday, the day of Peyta's highly anticipated party. I'd tried my best to contact the friends Ronnie had mentioned, but I swore the kid slept with her phone under her pillow and bathed with it strapped to her body; I was never able to swipe it. I did manage to casually ask if she wanted to have Gregory over for a laid back dinner. She'd beamed like a lighthouse, so happy that we were setting up a time to meet him. So Greggers was coming to the almost-party too, making it just the four of us. It smacked of a horribly uncomfortable double date, but it needed to be done, and for Peyta's sake I hoped it would go well.

I'd arranged with Ronnie earlier in the week to have her call Peyta and tell her that she had to work at Better With Age, because her replacement was ill and wouldn't be able to. Being the remarkable girl she was, she never even pouted about it once. She left early in the morning and told us to expect her and Gregory around seven that evening. The ruse worked perfectly, giving me the time I needed to set up the house with decorations, get the groceries (yes, I decided to cook) and make the food. I had her present wrapped as well as Ronnie's gift to her that she'd mailed earlier, and the iPod-that-hated-me was downloaded with a fantastic array of dance music, just in case we were feeling inspired after dinner.

I was astonished when Cooper showed up two hours early to help with the food preparation, and even more so when I realized he was an amazing cook.

“Why the hell am I always ordering takeout if you can cook like this?”

“Ruby, I haven't exactly been in a state to play personal chef lately,” he said, chopping up a carrot with laser precision.

“Excellent observation, my friend,” I chuckled, thinking it had to be positive that he was willing to poke fun at his little problem. “How goes the wagon? Are you on or off these days?”

“Off,” he replied, shortly. “But getting closer and closer to 'on' every day.”

My insides warmed at the thought of having the old Cooper back on a more consistent basis. I didn't, however, want to make a huge show of it.

“If you could hurry that up a bit, it'd be really great,” I said, trying to keep the smile I wore out of my voice. “I'm tired of single-handedly keeping the restaurants in town profitable. My bank account will thank you, though I don't think the other’s will.”

I saw a tiny curl of his mouth from my periphery as we stood side by side at the counter chopping vegetables; neither of us acknowledged it. I was starting to learn when to quit while ahead.

“Remind me again about the part where I don't get to kill this Gregory kid if I don't like him,” he said to restart conversation.

“Well, shall I give you a bulleted outline clearly listing all the reasons?”

“Sure, I've got some time,” he replied as he hovered over the concoction he had going on the stove.

“Point one: you can't just go around killing people because you don't like them.” He laughed. I wasn't sure if it was out of amusement or disagreement; I decided I didn't want clarification. “Point two: Peyta likes him. We may not get it, but as long as I don't think he's up to something shady, illegal, or morally reprehensible, I'm prepared to hold my tongue.”

He shot a doubtful look my way.

“Guess there's a first time for everything.”

“Hey! I held it not even two minutes ago. Thanks for noticing, jackass.”

“Don't mention it,” he said as sarcastically possible. “Anytime.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, temporarily forgetting what point three was. “Oh…and point three: you're nearly as high on the PC shit list as me. I'm pretty sure killing Greggers would put you at the top.”

“Oooooh!” he yelled dramatically. “Looks like point three takes the win. What does she get, Johnny?”

“Can it, Bob. Just remember to keep point three well planted in your mind in case he gets under your skin,” I warned. “It's still remarkably easy to do at the moment.”

He seemed to disapprove of my tone, and grumbled as he walked away to the bathroom. I knew he wasn't genuinely angry; Cooper had a flair for the dramatic from the moment I met him. Apparently an unexplained haunting and what I'd hoped was a temporary drug problem did nothing to curb it. I was thankful it hadn't been enhanced, either.

When he emerged from the hallway, he found me dithering over the multitude of pots and pans crowding each other atop the stove and quickly shooed me away.

“It's no wonder you're so thin. You'd die without the culinary prowess of others,” he lectured. “Do you even know how to boil water?”

I stifled a chuckle remembering the last time I'd attempted using a kitchen appliance other than the microwave. It had been for that very task, and it was disastrous. It ended with a melted pot and molten metal droplets flying everywhere when I attempted to pry it from the cooktop. It was never repeated.

He seemed to get the implied “no” in my reaction and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Get out of my kitchen,” he said, flailing a wooden spoon to show me the way. “Go streamer something, or make balloon animals.”

I gave him a “good game” ass slap on my way out of the room.

“You show that food who's boss,” I told him, over my shoulder.

“Keep that up and I'll show you who's boss in a minute,” he countered.

“I know who the boss is, my friend,” I said as I rounded the corner to the living room. “And she runs this joint.”

He mumbled something indiscernible under his breath. I left his retort alone; my mood was too light to have it pooed on.

* * *

Seven p.m. came and went with no sign of Peyta and Gregory. We tried calling her mom's store and texting her cell, but got no response. Neither Cooper nor I wanted to show the panic we were feeling, but that elephant was pretty damn apparent in the room. At a quarter-past I decided I would walk down to Better With Age to see if she was running late and just hadn't bothered answering the phone after hours. I didn't even make it out of the building.

I walked out onto the landing and started to descend the stairs when I saw the tiny brunette perched on the bottom step, head in hands, crying.

“Peyta! What's wrong?” I asked as I flew down the stairs to reach her. “Why are you sitting out here alone?”

“I didn't want to come inside,” she sniffled. “I'm sorry I didn't answer your texts. I didn't mean to worry you guys, which I clearly did.”

She looked dejected, slumped over on herself, head hanging.

“Why don't you want to come in?” I asked, sitting down next to her. I placed my arm gently around her and channeled calming energy towards her. I had no idea if it would work on a normal person, but decided it couldn't hurt; most normal people didn't see ghosts.

“I was embarrassed,” she replied, softly. “Gregory isn't coming.”

“How come?”

“Something came up. He stopped by the store to tell me.”

“Huh.”

“And I know you guys don't trust him to start with so I didn't want this to make things worse. Too late for that I guess,” she said sourly.

“It just seems kinda shitty, P,” I said before the proverbial light came on in my mind. I bent way forward to put my face in hers. “Wait…have you told him we don't trust him?”

She fidgeted a moment before nodding once.

“Well no wonder he didn't want to come, Peyta!” I said, wiping the tears from her face. “Would you want to go somewhere you didn't think you were welcome? Of course you wouldn't!”

“So you think that's why?” she asked with pleading, watery eyes that searched mine for truth in my statement. “Do you think that's why he isn't coming?”

“It sure seems like a good reason,” I said with a wan smile. I pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. Her anxiety and expression lightened with the possibility of my reasoning being valid. I wasn't convinced that it was, but I hated seeing her so distraught on her big day, and wanted to cheer her up before going back to the apartment. It seemed that I had succeeded.

She sniffled one last time then wiped her face across her sleeve before leaning into me for a hug.

“Thanks, Ruby,” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. “You're the best.”

Cooper made an odd face when only Peyta and I emerged from the hallway. I glared over the top of her head at him, my expression reading “Don't you dare ask where he is. We'll talk later”. He read me loud and clear, and made a light comment about having all the lovely ladies to himself for the evening. Peyta giggled and blushed a bit before she tromped into the kitchen to start sampling the gourmet feast. I laughed as she dipped a utensil into everything Cooper had going. I'd tried it earlier and nearly lost a limb, but he let her taste whatever she wanted without a word. I smiled approval at him from the living room and he winked in return.

We didn't even bother setting the table. Instead, we all crammed into the kitchen with our forks in hand and picked our dinners right out of the cookware. Cooper had bought some champagne for the event and we popped the bottle open to celebrate; I'd run it past Ronnie earlier and she was totally accepting of the idea as long as she was limited to only one glass. Cooper found the largest cup I owned and grinned from ear to ear as he poured it full for Peyta.

“It's only one glass. That was the stipulation, right?” he asked playfully, knowing full well that he was skirting the rules.

“I think Peyta and I will be sharing that glass,” I said, intercepting it as he passed it to her. She frowned at me as I took a huge swig of the bubbly.

“We need some tunes!” I yelled, placing the half-empty glass down in front of the birthday girl. I ran into the living room to crank up the playlist that I had so expertly crafted earlier. It kicked off with a few current pop songs that I knew Peyta loved and she sang them at the top of her lungs between bites of food and chugs of her new favorite drink. The singing eventually turned into dancing as the pas de trois spilled over into the living room.

Cooper pulled another bottle out of a stash in his bedroom and we drank as we danced on the couches, chairs and tables. When Bel Biv Devoe's “Poison” came on, it was game over. Moves as old as Peyta were busted out across the room as I went into a 1990's hip-hop flashback. Cooper joined me in doing the running man around the coffee table while Peyta jumped on the couch wiggling her booty to the bass, laughing hysterically at the fools we were making of ourselves.

The noise was so raucous between the sheer volume of the music and our carrying on to it, that we never heard the door open. I heard Peyta's laughter die down slowly in the background as I continued to dance, spinning around while doing the Roger Rabbit. In mid-kick I turned to face the door and saw why Peyta's laughter had stopped. Sean stood just inside the apartment with Sophie at his side.

As Cooper turned the speakers down, silence permeating the apartment, I heard him mutter something under his breath. I choked on a nervous laugh once I realized what he'd said. Before turning my attention back to the party crashers, I tossed Cooper a glance over my shoulder, finishing the line he'd started after I made some appropriate edits.

“Never trust a big slut with no style.”

The Bitch was back.

26

I eyed her up and down. She was the height of urban-tramp chic in her montage of black: thigh-high, stiletto boots, leather mini-skirt and transparent blouse. She wore a long coat over top of it, also black, but entirely impractical as it was still too cold outside for something that lightweight. She looked like an expensive whore, and I was certain my expression read that way given the icy glare she wore in return.

“Sean, I'm not convinced it's appropriate to bring a stripper to an eighteen-year-old girl's birthday party,” I informed him, never taking my eyes off of her. A small but satisfied smile stretched slowly across my face. “Is there a reason why you brought one?”

“We need to talk,” he said simply. His expression was hard, his voice cold.

“You're such a broken record with that line. If I had a dollar for every time you said that, I could buy her the rest of her outfit,” I told him, nodding my head towards the always scantily clad Sophie.

“Cooper told me about the girl. That's what we need to talk about.”