In the Midnight Hour (12 page)

“You have clothes,” she blurted.

He glanced down and adjusted his shirt. “
They are a damned sight uncomfortable
—
one hundred and fifty years without them tends to spoil a man
.”

“Why are you wearing clothes?”

“
I could take them off—
”

“No, I mean, clothes are good.” Liar. “Just surprising. I didn’t know ghosts could actually wear clothes. I mean,” she swallowed. She was babbling, she knew, but one tended to resort to mindless chatter when confronted with something from out of this world. From another world. The
spirit
world. “Where would a ghost get clothes? I mean, do you guys have malls or something?”

“
The clothes, like everything else, are a form of energy
.”

“Well, um, you’ve got really great taste in energy.”

“Merci.” He winked and bent down. Strong, tanned fingers closed around the dropped ice cream carton. Chocolate oozed from inside.

She watched him scoop up the splattered dessert, his fingers working meticulously, and she realized in an instant that he’d cleaned up the apartment the night before. Despite the fact that she’d given him hell.

Real
.

Relief snagged through her and the words were out before she could stop them. “Thank you.” Thank you? He flashed her a grin as he cleaned the mess and she shook her head. First she complimented his energy and now she pledged her undying gratitude. She was definitely headed for a breakdown sometime soon. “What am I saying? It’s your fault I’m in this mess in the first place. You should be thanking me, buster.”

“
And why, pray tell?
”

“For not calling in an exorcist and having you exorcised right out of my bed.”

“
My bed
.” He handed her the oozing mess.

“I bought it.”

“
Possession
,” he drawled, his husky voice emphasizing the word, “
is nine-tenths of the law
.”

“I don’t think this is what our lawmakers had in mind.” She dropped the ruined dessert into the sink.

“
Ah, but it fits
.” He chuckled and indicated a dollop of ice cream on her hand. “What is this?”

“Chocolate Brownie Delight.” She licked the chocolate from her skin as he watched, his eyes an even deeper shade of electric blue.

“
I should have known from the wondrous smell
.”

“You can smell?”

“
Everything
.” He inhaled, his chest heaving, his head falling back as a contented smile crossed his face. “
Strawberries
,” he finally murmured. “
Ripe strawberries
with the faintest hint of cream
.”

“I had strawberry shortcake for dessert, but that was hours ago-”

“
Heightened
,” he said. “
As are all my senses. I can see, smell, hear, touch, taste
….” He shook his head, as if pushing away the sudden thoughts that darkened his eyes. “
Which brings me to the matter of your schooling.
” Before he could go on, a knock sounded on the door.

“Ronnie, dear!” came Mr. Weatherby’s frantic voice. “Pringles has had a setback and is sick again. I really need you!”

“Pringles,” she groaned. “Oh, no.”

A grin spread across Valentine Tremaine’s handsome face. “
Duty calls
.”

“Ronnie? Are you there?”

“No,” she blurted, her head whipping in the direction of the door. “I mean …” She glanced behind her in time to see Val’s image shimmer and fade.

Shimmer and fade?

She blinked and he was gone.
Gone
. “Wait!”

“I’m not going anywhere, not with a sick cat on my hands,” Mr. Weatherby assured her. “Open up, dear.”

Thirty seconds later, after two dead bolts and a chain lock, Ronnie held Pringles in her arms and watched her neighbor disappear down the hallway, headed for an all-night pharmacy.

“You’ve ruined my life, you know that, Pringles?”

“
And how is that
?” Val’s deep voice startled Ronnie and she jumped. Pringles screeched.

Ronnie whirled to find Val grinning at her. “Where did you go?”

“
Nowhere
.”

“But you disappeared—” she started, but her words were cut off by another knock on the door.

“Ronnie, it’s me!” Danny called from outside. “Open up!”

“Wait!” she called out to him, then turned to Val. “This place usually isn’t this busy—” she started, but he’d already started to shimmer. A frantic blink to adjust her eyes, and he disappeared completely.

If
he’d been real in the first place, that skeptic, I-still-can’t-believe-this part of her maintained. Maybe she wasn’t heading for a breakdown. Maybe she’d already had one, and the hallucinations were just an aftereffect. Ghosts. Ghosts who wore clothes. Ghosts who disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Doesn’t anybody sleep around here?” She threw open the door and shoved Pringles into Danny’s arms. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Wanda had a headache tonight so she canceled our study session.”

“And?”

“I’ve started taking early evening naps so I’m raring to go by the time Letterman’s over. Forty-five minutes of shut-eye and ten cups of coffee and a double dose of Excite and Energize.”

“Let me guess. You’re too wired to sleep?”

He nodded. “And hungry. Mike hasn’t been to the store.” She knew that Mike, Danny’s computer genius roommate, was the designated shopper. “We’re out of everything except the green stuff that grows in the fridge, and as much as I like health food, that’s stretching it a bit. You’re fifteen minutes closer than the Stop & Shop, and you’ve got a TV.” He sat Pringles on a nearby chair and headed for the kitchenette. “Anything good in the fridge?”

No
. The word was there on the tip of her tongue. Just tell him no, toss him out, and get on with things. With Val.

“I’m really starved and Alex is hosting the collegiate championships on
Jeopardy
in about a half hour.”

She shrugged. “Doritos in the cabinet, sandwich stuff in the fridge.” Sucker, her conscience chided.

While Danny made himself a sandwich, Ronnie scoured the apartment, peeked under the bed, looked in the corners. Just to be sure. She wanted to give herself every benefit of the doubt before she declared herself absolutely insane.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh, no. I just, um, misplaced a book.” She opened a closet and peered inside.

“I’ll help you look,” Danny offered.

“No.” She closed the closet. “I’ll find it later.”

“Maybe you just imagined him,” she said to herself after she’d gone into the bathroom to change her ice cream-splattered shirt. She stared into the mirror, noted the shadows under her eyes. Tired. She was overworked. No wonder she was dreaming up such outlandish things.

“
Who is Danny?
”

The deep voice brought her whirling around to find Val standing inches behind her, so tall and good-looking, filling up her tiny bathroom.

“You
are real
.”

“
I thought we already established that
.” He frowned. “
Now who is this Danny sitting in your living room, eating from your refrigerator
?”

“He’s a friend.”

His mouth drew tight. “A
boyfriend
?”

“Just a friend. A guy pal. Someone I hang out with. A guy, but a safe guy.”

“
Safe?
”

“As in nonthreatening, as in I don’t have to worry about him putting moves on me or me putting moves on him. There’s no chemistry between us. Just friendship. Safe.” She planted her hands on her hips and did some frowning of her own. “You disappeared,” she said accusingly. “One minute I was staring at you and the next, poof! Gone.”

“
Out of sight, but not out of mind
, chérie. I
was still there, you just couldn’t see me. It wouldn’t do to have your neighbors get a look at me. Some people get quite spooked
.”

“My neighbors? You mean I’m not the only one who can see you? Anybody else could?”

“
Only those with an open mind, who believe in ghosts
.”

“Can you do that shimmering thing anytime you want?”

He nodded. “
One of the many wonders of being what
I
am
.”

Handsome and sexy and charming and … a
ghost
.

The ghost who’d propositioned her last night.

“You mentioned something about a favor—”

“Ronnie, are you all right in there?” Danny’s voice cut into her sentence, followed by a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Um, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” She turned back to Val. “What is it you want from me?”

“
I haunt my bed for a reason
.” His smile dissolved as if she’d reminded him of something he wanted to forget. “
Not all people turn into ghosts when they pass on. Some cross over to the other side, but others remain in this realm, unwilling to give up the ghost because of some question that haunts them, some truth they’ve yet to uncover, some deed unfinished. Perhaps they’re sad or guilty or just curious. The point is, they are tied to this world until they can finish their business here. Then they can cross over and be at rest
.”

“So what’s your business?”

“
I have a question. I need to know what became of a certain woman
.”

It was Ronnie’s turn to frown. “An old girlfriend?”

“
Just a woman
—”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Danny’s voice cut in. “You’ve been in there an awful long time.”

“Fine,” she growled. “Just women’s business. So what about the woman?” she asked Val.

“
She was rumored to be pregnant
.”

“Yours?”

“
Yes. No
.” He shook his head. “
I don’t know. We shared only one night together. A night I have no memory of
.”

“Why can’t you remember?”

He shook his head. “
Too much whiskey, perhaps
.”

“Doesn’t alcohol dull the libido? You don’t strike me as a man with a dull anything, especially a libido, if what’s in those letters bears any truth.”

“
They are all true, and you’re
right
I never indulged too much
,
never to the point of forgetting a sweet face, a delicious scent, until that night
—”

“You want an aspirin or something?” Danny asked.

“Uh, no,” she called out.

’“Cause I don’t mind getting you something. Wanda has the very same trouble sometimes. Headaches. Cramps. The whole time-of-the-month thing.”

“It’s not my time of the month,” she blurted.

“But you said—”

“Can’t a girl sit in her bathroom in peace?”

“Well, excuse me. A guy doesn’t act sensitive, and he’s out of luck. He acts sensitive, and he’s still out of luck. I wish you women would make up your minds.…”

“
Help me, Veronique
,” Val urged, drawing her attention as he stepped closer, “
and I will help you
.”

Help, not need.

Funny, but when he put things in that perspective, it didn’t seem as … as distasteful as it had before.

Help, as in a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Fifty-fifty.

“A woman, huh?” At his nod, she said, “I guess it can’t be that much different from tracing a family tree.” Not that she’d ever traced hers, but there were books that told how to go about the process. “When do we get started?”

“Started on what?” came Danny’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Nothing,” she called out. “I was singing.”

“You were talking.”

“My singing just sounds like talking.”

“What’s going on, Ronnie?”

“Go watch TV,” she told him.

“Not until you open up.” He pounded on the door again. “I mean it.”

“
You should go
,” Val told her. “
And so should I
.”

“No,” she blurted as he started to shimmer, then fade. “Please don’t leave—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Danny declared.

She hauled open the door to find her friend hovering on the other side. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

His gaze swept the interior of the bathroom. “Then who were you talking to?”

“No one. I told you, I was singing.” She hummed and blurted out a few bars of her favorite song. “See?”

He gave her the once-over. “I know talking when I hear it.”

“Talking, singing, both forms of communication.”

“Is something wrong with you?”