Love Overboard Part 11

Eileen Platz took a deep breath. "We were in bed. I was reading, and Frank was doing his crossword puzzle. And I started hearing creaking sounds, and then this rhythmic thumping and moaning..."

Ivan bit his lip and stared at his bare toes.

"I told Frank it was Tess, but he said it was the wind, just like last night. So, I said he should get up and look, but would he do that? Nooooo."

"It didn't sound like a ghost to me," Mr. Platz said.

"Well, after a while it stopped, and I just lay there, waiting. Then it started again! And Frank still wouldn't go look out the window."

Stephanie felt the blush burning her ears. She cleared her throat and belted her robe a little tighter.

"After the moaning stopped this last time, there was a definite knocking at the window- pane. And a voice called 'Eileeeeen, Eileeeeen.' I think it was Tess. I can't be sure, of course, because it didn't introduce itself, but it was calling me!"

Stephanie looked at Mr. Platz. "Did you hear it, too?"

"Yeah. I almost made a mess in my pajamas. I tell you, I'm never going back in that room."

"Chickenheart wouldn't get out of bed," Eileen Platz said, throwing a vicious look at her husband, "so I got up and opened the shade. And there it was! Right in front of the window, looking right in at us as bold as could be!"

"Actually, it wasn't looking at us, Eileen. Its eyes were closed."

"That's true," she agreed, "but it could see through its eyelids. I could tell."

Stephanie already knew the answer to the next question, but she asked anyway. "What did this ghost look like?"

"It was an old man!"

"Was he wearing a gray suit?"

"No," Mrs. Platz said. "He had a raincoat on. One of those poncho things with a hood. It was raining, you know."

"Like wow," Melody said, "you really are cosmic. You must have drawn a brand-new ghost into the house."

Melody was weird, but she wasn't stupid. And Stephanie knew a patronizing tone when she heard it. Mrs. Platz, on the other hand, had obviously been settling her nerves with a large quant.i.ty of sherry and was willing to believe anything.

"So what happened to Mr. Ghost?" Stephanie asked. "Did he say anything else? Did he kick in your window?"

"No. He just was out there with his nose pressed against the gla.s.s, then he vanished. I accidentally screamed, and he went whooosh, straight up in the air."

Stephanie gave Mr. Platz what she hoped was a rea.s.suring smile. "I can understand your reluctance to go back in the master bedroom. We'll get you settled into a room on the other side of the house, and I'm sure you won't be bothered by any more ghosts." She directed Melody to put fresh linens on the bed in room five and asked Lucy to bring Mr. and Mrs. Platz some hot cocoa and cookies from the kitchen. She motioned to Ivan to step out into the hall. "Have you checked the widow's walk and the cupola?" she asked him.

"Yes, but I'm going to check it again. We're obviously missing something," he said grimly. "This guy can't just disappear into thin air." He slid his feet into a pair of docksiders he'd retrieved from Stephanie's room. "Oh yeah, and while I'm busy checking out the house, why don't you try moving the bed away from the wall."

Stephanie shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot heating on the stove. It had stopped raining, and the world looked fresh-scrubbed and s.h.i.+ny bright. It was going to be a glorious blue-sky day. She took a seat at the small kitchen table and helped herself to one of the bran m.u.f.fins cooling on a wire rack.

Lucy pushed aside a small mound of fresh-chopped green pepper on the cutting board and turned to look at Stephanie. "Am I wrong, or did I see Ivan Rasmussen sauntering half-dressed from your room last night?"

Stephanie bit into the hot m.u.f.fin and chewed. "We've become... friends."

Lucy brought her cousin a tub of b.u.t.ter and a knife and took a chair across from her. "Friends? Stephanie Elizabeth Lowe, I can tell from that goofy look on your face that you guys are a lot more than friends. I thought you were saving yourself for marriage? What about your virginity?"

"Gone," Stephanie said smugly.

Lucy groaned. "Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie. I warned you about him. He's a confirmed bachelor."

"I'm not so sure about that. I think he's just not ready for marriage." She b.u.t.tered her m.u.f.fin. "I'm not ready for marriage either."

"Why not?"

Stephanie laughed. "I don't know. Lots of reasons. I was seventeen for ten years. I have some growing up to do."

"Looks to me as if you're catching up fast."

Melody swung through the kitchen door and stood at the table, studying the m.u.f.fins.

"You can eat one," Lucy said. "They're certified pig-free."

Melody took a m.u.f.fin and sniffed it. "Hmmm." She nibbled a small piece. "So," she said to Stephanie, "are you sleeping with Rasmussen, or what?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Melody, why don't you try being blunt?"

They stopped talking when Ivan pushed the kitchen door open. They looked at him for a second, then all three women blushed and turned their undivided attention to the m.u.f.fins.

Ivan stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his jeans pockets. "Am I interrupting something?"

Melody pushed a strawlike strand of orange hair away from her face. "Lucy and I were just wondering if you and Stephanie are sleeping together now."

Ivan went to the stove and filled a mug with hot coffee. If anyone else had asked that question, he would have explained about tact and privacy, but Melody was hopeless, so he sipped his coffee, looked at Stephanie, and grinned. "The ball's in your court. You want to serve?"

"Not me," Stephanie said. "I wouldn't touch it."

Later that afternoon Ivan came up from the harbor and stopped short at the sidewalk in front of Haben. A large woman wrapped in a red-and-blue shawl was sitting on a folding chair on the widow's walk. She waved at him and smiled, and Ivan forced himself to smile back.

Stephanie met him at the door. "Did you see Mrs. Kowalsky?" Yes, by the look on his face, she could tell he had. "It turns out Mrs. Platz made national news, and we're swamped with room reservations. Ghost groupies. I moved Lucy in with Melody on the third floor."

She discovered that her palms were damp, and she silently cursed herself. She'd had sweaty palms too many times in her life. This time her life wasn't on the line-only her dignity. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"And I'd like to move you in with me. If that's okay with you. I'd adjust your rent," she added, faltering under his scrutiny.

He looked around and hated what he saw. Wall-to-wall people hoping to find a ghost, waiting for their turn on the widow's walk. Poor Tess.

Stephanie sighed. "I don't like it either," she admitted. "But I need the money."

"You need money this bad?"

"Ivan, I've invested every cent I own in this house. This is my sole source of income. Next September when you move your furniture out, I'll need to be able to buy furniture of my own."

"Why didn't you think of that before you bought the house?"

"I did. I had money set aside for a down payment on furniture, and I had to sink it into repairs on this relic."

Ivan didn't give a d.a.m.n about the furniture or her mismanaging, but he was infuriated that she'd a.s.sume he'd be long gone by September.

"Move me anywhere you want," he said, keeping his voice tightly controlled.

He strode into the kitchen and took a cold beer from the refrigerator. He didn't want to say something in anger that he'd regret later. She was looking out for herself, and he couldn't blame her for that, but didn't she know how he felt about her? How could she possibly think he'd be gone in September?

Lucy stopped stirring a pot of chowder, fished in the junk drawer for a bottle opener, and handed it to Ivan. "That's imported lager. You need an opener. Although at second glance, you look mad enough to open that with your teeth."

He tipped the bottle back and took a long swallow. "Your cousin is driving me nuts."

Lucy made a sympathetic murmur, but she felt the laughter bubbling inside her. She'd always suspected when he finally fell in love it was going to be a real headfirst crash. Ivan didn't do things halfway. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about. I sold Haben. She bought it, and she's turned it into a loony bin."

Lucy sighed. "Yeah. This hasn't worked out exactly as I'd expected. I think this ghost stuff has gotten out of hand."

"I think my feelings for Stephanie have gotten out of hand." He finished off his beer and looked in the chowder pot. "Smells good." A smile creased his face. "The first day out Stephanie made the worst chowder."

"I heard. She said you were great."

"She said that?"

"Um-hmm. She said you even ate some of it."

Ivan laughed. "I was hungry. Really hungry." Mostly hungry for Stephanie, he remembered. There was something about her, right from the start, that was so d.a.m.n attractive. He liked the way she'd rolled down the hill and landed on her back with a good healthy expletive on her lips. She wasn't fragile. For some inexplicable reason that made him feel all the more protective of her.

The sound of loud laughter and breaking gla.s.s carried into the kitchen. "I'm hating this more all the time," Lucy said.

Melody stomped in with a dustpan filled with gla.s.s shards. "These people have to go. They are boring boring."

"I think we have to look at priorities here," Lucy said to Melody. "Know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Melody said, "we have to get rid of these disgusting people. And then we have to get Ivan and Stephanie out of that little room. The bed squeaks. You can hear it all through the house. I hardly slept a wink last night."

Ivan got another beer. He wasn't a prude, but he wasn't an exhibitionist either. Going public with his s.e.x life wasn't high on his list of antic.i.p.ated accomplishments. He felt himself blus.h.i.+ng for the first time in his life and rested the cold bottle on his forehead.

Stephanie pushed through the kitchen door, went straight to the sink, and soaked a dish towel. She plopped the towel over her head, not caring that the water was running off and dripping onto the floor.

"I'm getting a migraine. I've never had a migraine in my life, but I'm getting one now." She whipped the towel away and stood up straighter. "There. That feels better," she said, turning to Lucy.

"All these people want dinner. That means we have to have two seatings. Ivan can preside over the first seating while Melody and I serve. Then I'll take charge of the second seating while you and Melody serve." Stephanie looked at everyone in the kitchen. "How does that sound?"

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "You think these people need a master of ceremonies?"

"No. I think they need keepers. Animal trainers. You think Sears sells cattle prods?"

Stephanie leaned against the counter. There has to be a better way of getting furniture money, she thought. Controlling this crowd of ghost chasers made police work seem tame. And Ivan was mad at her. She couldn't blame him. She'd stripped Haben of its dignity.

She took a basket of toasted bread rounds and slid them into the microwave for ten seconds. When the house quieted down later, she'd have a chance to think. Right now all she wanted to do was get everyone fed as efficiently as possible. She removed the bread and grabbed a crock of b.u.t.ter from the refrigerator. "Melody, everyone starts out with a cup of chowder."

Melody took the can of spray starch from the pantry shelf and freshened up her hair. Then she gave Lucy a thumbs-up and took a tray of chowder cups out to the dining room.

"You want some chowder?" she asked the man on Ivan's left. Without waiting for a reply, she slammed a cup down in front of him. "Watch out for the fish eyes. I read someplace that fish eyes are poisonous. They make your tongue swell up so big it doesn't fit in your mouth, and it turns black, then you choke to death. You ever see anyone choke to death?"

The man shook his head.

"It's not pretty," Melody said. "It's slow. Real slow. Your eyes bug out of your head, your face gets purple, and your t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es swell up as big as watermelons, and when you finally die, you make a mess in your pants."

"I read that article," a woman at the other end of the table said. "It was in the May issue of Reader's Digest, wasn't it?"

The woman next to her shook her head. "I read Reader's Digest from cover to cover, and I know for a fact that there was no such article. It was in one of those health magazines they have in doctors' offices. I remember seeing it while I was waiting to get my blood pressure checked. I remember because the man in the photograph didn't have any eyes. They'd fallen clear out of his head."

Melody looked at Ivan and whispered from the side of her mouth, "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's being upstaged."

She distributed two more cups of chowder and stopped beside a fat man with a florid face. "Sometimes the poison liquid leaks out of the eyeb.a.l.l.s and contaminates the whole pot of chowder," she said. "But that only happens when you overcook the eyeb.a.l.l.s, and we were careful not to do that."

She looked at Stephanie, who was standing frozen with a basket of bread in her hand. "Lucy didn't overcook the chowder again, did she?"

Stephanie only stared at her in astonishment. During the past couple of weeks she'd thought of Melody as a rebellious teenager, but she suddenly had a flash of insight, seeing her as an entirely different person. She suspected Melody wasn't flaky at all. And she had serious doubts about her being a teenager. Melody was a performer; Stephanie was sure of it. And she had a wicked sense of humor.

Stephanie bit back a smile and wondered how she could have missed something that was now so obvious. She felt as if she were looking in that rearview mirror again, seeing an outlandish parody of herself as a cop being a teenager. She couldn't even begin to guess what Melody was up to. Instinct told her it wasn't anything bad. Self-preservation kept her from believing it one hundred percent.

"I'm sure the chowder's fine," Stephanie said. She leaned over Ivan's shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "Better not eat it, just in case. I'd hate to see you try to fit a pair of watermelons in those tight jeans."

"I understand you're the young lady who talks to Tess," one of the women said to Melody.

"Yup."

"What sort of things does she say to you?"

Melody shrugged. "We talk about Eminem a lot. She's heavy into Eminem."

The woman looked confused. "You talk about M & Ms?"

"No. The rapper Eminem. Jeez." Melody began collecting soup cups. "Mr. Jackson, you didn't eat a drop of your chowder. How are you going to grow up big and strong that way? Oh, Mr. Billings, you didn't eat yours either."

"I'm saving myself for the main course," Mr. Billings said. "What are we having tonight?"

Melody's mouth curved ever so slightly. "Ham."