Magic (20 page)

“I’ve heard of the earth moving, but this is ridiculous,” he said, coughing and squinting against the pain as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

“Are you all right?” Rachel asked. She sat up and tugged her sweater on over her head.

“Nothing wounded but my pride.”

Bryan’s attention was riveted on a spot behind the bench. He fumbled for his glasses and pulled them on, squinting into the darkness as his sixth sense hummed inside him.

Rachel’s suddenly startled gaze followed his. “Did you see someone?”

“No,” Bryan said evenly. It was what he hadn’t seen that was important, but he knew Rachel wouldn’t want to hear about it.

He stood up, straightening his clothes, then offered Rachel a hand. “I guess that was just a sign that it’s time for us to go back to the house.”

Rachel scooped up their wineglasses and they walked back across the yard arm in arm. Rounding the corner of the house, they stopped in their tracks at the sight that greeted them.

There was a woman sitting on a stack of suitcases on the front porch. She was a thin, birdlike creature with a wild nest of gray hair on her head. The tip of her cigarette glowed red in the dim light of the porch.

“Bryan!” She shouted his name and popped up off her perch like a jack-in-the-box. “There you are! I must have rang the bell a hundred times! A hundred times!”

“It’s broken,” Bryan mumbled, momentarily stunned. He mounted the stairs in a daze.

“My stars, it’s good to see you, sweetheart!” The woman had a voice like sandpaper, and her cigarette bobbed up and down on her lip as she spoke. She threw her arms around Bryan in an exuberant hug which he started to return, but he quickly jumped back as she burned a hole through his shirt.

He plucked the smoldering fabric away from his skin, pain putting a brittle edge to his grin. “Aunt Roberta! It’s so good to see you!” he said with genuine affection, but his brows pulled together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Roberta cackled like a crazed chicken and waved a hand at him. “Making the rounds of my nieces and nephews. I wrote you, sweetheart. I know I wrote you.”

“You did?” Bryan searched his brain for any memory of such a letter but came up blank.

Roberta’s glassy green eyes took on the same kind of absent look as she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I meant to.”

Rachel cleared her throat discreetly, drawing both their attention. Bryan looked at her as if he had never seen her before, then jumped to introduce her.

“Rachel, this is my aunt, Roberta Palmer. Aunt Roberta, this is Rachel Lindquist.”

Roberta’s eyes seemed to bore right into Rachel. “My gosh, Bryan, she’s a doll! A doll!” She grasped Rachel’s hand in a death grip. “You’re just a doll, Raquel!”

“Rachel,” Rachel mumbled, completely thrown off by this strange woman who appeared to be drowning in a Notre Dame sweatshirt five sizes too big for her. “Thank you.”

“My gosh,” Roberta whispered, shaking her head at some secret amazement.

They all stood staring at one another for a long moment. Finally Rachel roused the manners her mother had drilled into her. “Why don’t we all go inside? I’ll make us a pot of coffee. Decaf,” she added, thinking Bryan’s aunt didn’t need to get any more wired than she already was.

They trooped into the hall, and Bryan dropped his aunt’s luggage down on the marble floor at the foot of the grand staircase. The stuff weighed a ton and a half.

“How long will you be staying, Aunt Roberta?” he asked.

Roberta shrugged, her face alight with excitement as she set off after Rachel. “A month or so.”

With a wry smile Bryan dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of notes. He sorted through them until he found the one he wanted, then he located his pencil and amended the missive.

Beware of aunts
.

September 12, 1931

Great luck at Monte’s. Mrs. R. very accommodating.

September 21, 1931

Clement sisters staying with H. Langely. Real gems.

Must call again.

September 25, 1931

Langely off to San Francisco. Golden opportunity.

Thank you, C. sisters.

Bryan shifted his back against the headboard, sighed, and turned the page. So far Arthur Drake’s journal was providing him with nothing but an account of the man’s rather promiscuous love life. He couldn’t imagine what Porky and the Rat would have wanted with it, but he figured he had only a short time to find out. They would be back to claim the thing, of that he was certain.

Why did they want Drake House? What did Porchind’s relative, the late Mr. Pig, have to do with it?

Money. That word came to him strongly, but it didn’t make any sense. The condition it was in, Drake House wasn’t worth anything. The property itself might have had development possibilities, but that didn’t strike him as the reason. There was no adjacent development in the works. Anastasia already had its share of inns and hotels. There was some other reason, and it had to do with money and this little black book he held pressed to his bare chest.

It was nearly two
A.M
. They had settled Aunt Roberta in Rachel’s room for the night. Rachel lay snuggled against him, sound asleep. She looked so young when she was sleeping, so pretty, so free of worry. Desire stirred in him anew. He would have liked nothing better than to rouse her with kisses and make love to her again, but she was exhausted and he had work to do.

He turned another page in the diary.

September 27, 1931

Party with A.W. at Garner’s. My friend has a dangerous tongue. Worked to my advantage tonight. Caught Cecilia Jonstone unawares while Archie made a friend.

September 29, 1931

Pig getting too fat and sassy. Must roast soon.

October 10, 1931

Stuck pig. Ducky outfoxed the pig! My turn to get fat.

“Stuck pig,” Bryan mumbled. He ran a hand back through his disheveled hair. “Stuck pig.”

“Mmmm?” Rachel mumbled in her sleep.

She turned over and snuggled closer to him still, kicking the sheet off and using his belly for a pillow. Bryan bit his lip against the groan that rose up in his throat. Her cheek was soft and cool against his skin. Her warm breath swept across his groin as she sighed. As she settled down he forced his attention back to the book.

October 12, 1931

Can’t find A.W. anywhere. Worried he said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Rachel murmured something unintelligible in her sleep and Bryan had to choke back another groan as her lips brushed against his stomach muscles. She nuzzled against him and brought her hand up his thigh to rest it in a spot that made sweat break out on his forehead. A contented smile curved her mouth as she stroked him. Molten heat seared his veins, pooling in the pit of his belly.

His body’s reaction was inevitable, which seemed to please the sleeping Rachel. She mumbled something softly and the vibration of her lips against his skin just about sent Bryan over the edge. He tried to ease away from her, but her fingers closed around him and all he could do was close his eyes and whimper. She was giving him a five-star arousal and the little minx was sound asleep!

“Rachel,” he said, abandoning the journal on the cluttered nightstand. He stroked a shaking hand over her hair. “Rachel, sweetheart.”

Rachel lifted her eyelids just enough to peer up at him. His face was flushed. His blue eyes seemed unusually bright. His expression was pained.

“Why is the light on?” she mumbled.

“The better to see you with, my dear,” he quipped, baring his teeth.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked, concern knitting her brows.

“Wonderful,” he said sardonically. “Can’t you tell?”

The last fog of sleep drifted out of her head as she realized she was at eye level with his belly button. Her gaze snapped downward, and she gasped. Bryan was roused and ready, and her fingers looked very guilty considering where they were.

“Caught red-handed with the loaded gun, so to speak,” Bryan said. He chuckled as he took in the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. “I’ve heard of sleepwalking, but sleep seducing is a new one on me. What have you got to say for yourself, Miss Lindquist?”

Her initial embarrassment evaporated in the sensual heat that was rolling off him. Beneath her cheek his stomach muscles were like rock. He smelled deliciously male and musky. Desire rippled through her. Scooting down a little farther on the bed, she turned onto her stomach and looked up at him, her hair a wild golden mane around her head and shoulders, her eyes nearly purple with passion.

“I always finish what I start,” she whispered in a languid, smoky voice.

“An admirable trait in a young woman,” Bryan said through his teeth as she lowered her head. He groaned long and with feeling.

Somewhere below them a scream split the air.

“A man could die from this kind of frustration,” Bryan complained as he threw his long legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his jeans. “Cases have been documented. You could look it up.”

Rachel wasn’t interested. She had already thrown on a robe and was rushing down the hall toward Addie’s room in her bare feet.

“Mother? Mother, are you all right?”

“Rachel?” Addie burst out of her room, clutching her pink chiffon robe to her chest with one hand. In the other hand she clutched a rock. “Someone’s broken into the house! Call your father!”

Bryan dashed past them, threw one leg over the mahogany banister, and shot down the polished railing to the foyer. Lights flashed at the end of the hall. The alarm on his electronic sensor buzzed furiously. He ran for the study, adrenaline pumping through him.

“Aunt Roberta!”

Roberta stood in the center of the room, her green eyes wide, her hair literally standing on end. “Oh, my stars, Bryan! I am so glad you’re here! I can’t tell you. I just can’t tell you!”

Bryan flipped off the alarm, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, heaving a weary sigh. Aunt Roberta had always demonstrated an amazing talent for setting off his machines.

“I came down to fix myself a little snack,” Roberta said, pulling a bent cigarette and a lighter out of the pocket of her ratty blue robe. She paused to suck a gallon of smoke into her lungs. “This place is a maze. A maze. I’ve never seen the like, have you, Regina?” she asked Rachel, smoke billowing out of her nostrils. She patted Bryan on the arm. “I don’t know why you’d want such a big place, honey. These old houses are a beast to heat, you know. An absolute b—”

“What happened?” Bryan asked, his normally generous patience wearing thin. He could have been upstairs in the throes of bliss if it hadn’t been for his batty aunt.

“I got lost. Lost.” Roberta said, waving her cigarette at him. Ash sprinkled to the floor. “So, I’m wandering down the hall, and I decide to ask that pale, thin fellow how to get to the kitchen.” She turned to Rachel again, shaking her head. “I hope he’s not your boyfriend, Renita. He is one ugly dude. Ugly. My gosh, he’s ugly.”

Bryan perked up. “A thin man with sunken eyes and white, white skin?”

“White as a ghost. As a ghost! All dressed in white. Pale as death. I guess I startled him. Kind of a flighty guy, isn’t he? Well, I followed him in here and all hell broke loose with these crazy machines going off. Just about gave me a heart attack. A heart attack!” She shook her head and crossed herself reverently with her cigarette. “My gosh.”

“What did the man do?” Bryan asked as he rewound the film in his camera.

“Grabbed a stack of books off the shelf and ran out that way.” She waved her cigarette in the general direction of the French doors which stood open. “Strange time of the day to be going to the library, don’t you think? Very strange.”

While Bryan went to investigate, Rachel introduced her mother to their new guest. “Mother, this is Bryan’s Aunt Roberta. Roberta, my mother, Addie Lindquist.”

Addie stared at the woman, obviously confused. “Who is she? The maid? Of course I knew that, Rachel. You needn’t introduce me to the maid.”

“A little off her rocker, eh?” Roberta whispered behind her hand to Rachel, nodding knowingly. “That’s all right, Renée. I understand.”

Rachel looked from one to the other helplessly. She honestly didn’t know what to say. She felt like Alice must have in Wonderland.

“Great
hair, Adelle,” Roberta rasped, blowing out a jet stream of smoke. She reached out to fluff Addie’s pinking-shears special, taking another deep drag on her cigarette. “Did you get it done around here? My gosh, I
really
like that. I do.”

“Well, there’s no sign of him now,” Bryan said, coming back into the room. “I suggest we all go back to bed.”

The two older women wandered off together, talking beauty secrets.

Rachel stood in the doorway, hugging her robe around her, watching as Bryan stood on a chair and carefully removed the cassette from the video camera he had mounted in the corner above the door.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope for to think they might be having identical hallucinations.”

“It’s unlikely,” Bryan said. He rattled the video cassette. “Just as it’s unlikely that a ghost could pull an iron railing loose or track mud into the house or step through rotted wood. I believe we’ll have all the proof we need right here to show that Rat is our mystery man.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t understand why Rasmussen and Porchind would try to drive us out. They know I’m interested in selling the place.”

“They also know Addie doesn’t want to move,” Bryan pointed out. “In any case, they could be trying to frighten you into dropping the price, make you so desperate to leave that you’ll practically give the place to them rather than put it on the market and let someone else have a chance at it.”

He went very still, staring past Rachel, his eyes clear and intense. “Don’t let anyone else have a chance at it,” he repeated. “Yes.”

Rachel ignored his odd trance. She was getting used to such behavior, much to her surprise. “What about Addie’s whimsy? Are you finally giving up that ridiculous belief in ghosts?”

“Not at all. I haven’t figured out where Wimsey fits in yet, but I will.”

Bryan smiled brightly, happy as a clam with his evidence. One mystery was well on its way to being solved. The whole thing would come to a head soon. He could sense it.

Rachel stepped out into the hall. “I’ll see you upstairs. I’m going to go make sure Mother and Roberta aren’t giving each other crew cuts.”

“I’ll be right up,” Bryan promised.

He reset his equipment on the off chance of a return appearance by their ghoulish visitor, then poured himself a drink from the bottle that still resided in the desk drawer. He had told Rachel he would purchase the desk himself, but he needn’t have worried. For some odd reason the study had remained virtually untouched throughout the tag sale.
People
had avoided the room. He had a strong feeling he knew why.

Now he raised his glass to whatever presence might have lingered in the room and said, “I don’t know where you fit in yet, Wimsey, but I’m going to find out.” He took a drink, then turned and stared long and hard at the portrait of Arthur Drake. The man was gesturing out toward him with an infuriatingly enigmatic expression on his face. “And I’m going to find out where you fit into this too, Arthur. See if I don’t.”

The videotape showed the back of a man’s head. That was it as far as evidence went. The rest of the show was Aunt Roberta, shouting, screaming, waving her arms. She managed to block the culprit out of the picture entirely. The film in the still camera was no better—mainly photographs of Aunt Roberta getting the bejeepers scared out of her. It was a disappointment, to say the very least.

His call to Shane didn’t exactly improve Bryan’s morning.

“I didn’t turn up anything on either one of them,” Callan said. “Porchind was teaching literature at some two-bit junior college in Oregon until this summer. Rasmussen ran a used-book store. They haven’t had so much as a parking ticket between them. Sorry.”

Bryan managed a smile. Shane apologized as if it would have been infinitely preferable to have discovered the men were notorious serial killers.

“Any clue as to what brought them to Anastasia?” Bryan asked.

“None. But Faith says you should talk to Lorraine at the Allingham Museum on Seventh Avenue. Apparently, she’s lived here forever. She should be able to answer questions concerning the history of the place.”

Bryan pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, located his pencil behind his left ear, and jotted the message down.

“Faith also
says
to tell you you need a haircut.”

“Thanks,” Bryan said, scowling at his reflection in the hall mirror.

“Anytime. You know where to call if things get exciting.”