The Other Side - J. D. Robb [145]
“Have you seen these ghosts?” Now he looked like he wished he hadn’t asked her to help. Jimmy looked expectant.
“Sure.” Stepping between them, she gave a play-along look to the father that the son couldn’t see. She reached for a vase for the daisies. “I sat them down yesterday afternoon. I told them Jimmy was concerned about them and that they had to find someplace else to go because the house was coming down. Would you like some coffee? The power’s off, so I brought a thermos today.” Her laugh was nervous. “After they cremate me all they’ll find in my urn are tiny pieces of bone and a few pounds of ground Colombian dark roast.”
Ryan chuckled, his qualms put to rest. But Jimmy wasn’t buying any of it.
“If they coulda gone to heaven whenever they wanted, why’d they stay here?”
“Good question.” She’d have to remember not to underestimate his intelligence—his brain worked just fine despite its small container. “Maybe they needed to find something or do something or . . . or maybe they were just having fun.” She nodded. “That’s my bet. I think they were just having fun together.”
“They can do that in heaven.” He looked around, and he was clearly thinking—a notion that alarmed every nerve ending in M.J.’s body. “I think they’re lookin’ for something.” His gaze came around to meet hers, and she felt suddenly pinned to the wall with his directness and honesty. “What are they lookin’ for?”
“I don’t know.” She felt she had no choice but to answer truthfully; she felt mesmerized by his bright, believing eyes. In that moment he could have asked her anything, and she would have told him nothing but the truth. Thankfully, his father chose that instant to move toward her thermos of coffee, and the spell was broken. “But . . . but I’m sure that whatever it was, they’ve found it and left. They’re gone. You can check the whole house if you like. You won’t find them.”
The boy’s whole body twitched with eagerness. He jerked a small flashlight from his back pocket and looked to his father for permission. Ryan smiled at his son and jerked his head at the doorway. “Just don’t break anything, okay?”
“Okay,” Jimmy called back from halfway down the hall.
And just as they’d planned it, the three sisters passed through the second floor into the kitchen—the last place Jimmy would look for them.
“Oh, it feels so good to have a man in the house again,” Odelia chirped happily, putting the pie she’d made earlier into her oven. “Men enjoy food so much more than women do.”
“That’s not true.” Adeline sat at the table observing Ryan and her daughter. “I love food.”
Imogene, too, sat at the table to wait out Jimmy’s inspection of the house. She held her hands in her lap and considered Ryan. “He’s very good with the boy, a good father.”
“Here.” Ryan handed her one of the two mugs she’d dusted off for the visit. She wasn’t sure coffee was what her jangled nerves needed just then but . . . what the heck. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “This could take a while. Care to sit?”
They made a cozy gathering—the two ghosts, Ryan, and her—seated around the kitchen table; Odelia on a stool cutting apples at the sink.
Ryan shook his head and grinned. “Crazy kid has me thinking I can smell apple pie now. It’s amazing how your mind can play tricks on you.”
Raising her brows, she nodded and glanced at Odelia, who couldn’t stop making pies, even for a brief while, it seemed. “I smell my mother’s perfume sometimes.”
“You must miss her.”
“Surprisingly, I do, though we never did get along very well.”
“That’s not true.” Adeline looked hurt. “We used to get along. Once. I remember that we did.”
“Too much alike?” Ryan asked.
“Not enough alike. I was never good enough for her. I never met her high standards.”
“That’s just plain not true, Maribelle.” Her mother stood and began pacing the room. “I adored you. Your father and I both did. You made our life complete.”
Ryan shivered.