When the Spirit Is Willing Read online

  "Aren't you going to play with me?" Jessica asked. She had brought one of the rug samples with her to put where the complicated racetrack ended in a steep downhill slope. It would stop the cars from flying off and hitting the wall, she thought.

  "I don't feel like playing," Priscilla's voice said gloomily from the Boston rocker.

  "Okay," Jessica said. The air around the rocker looked swirly, she thought. Maybe Priscilla didn't feel well.

  "We have to think up a strategy," Priscilla said.

  Kneeling on the floor, Jessica lined her cars up so they'd be ready to go. "I don't know what that is."

  "A plan. We have to think of a way to make your mother want to stay in this house. I don't want you to move away, Jessica."

  Standing, Jessica put the first car on the track—the end of which was jammed in the second drawer of her dressing table. Any higher and the cars shot off the track. Lower and they wouldn't climb the next hill. Tongue clenched between her teeth, she gave the car a push.

  It worked! For the first time the car sped over the whole track, through the loops and turns and down the last hill to a stop. It somersaulted at the end, but that wasn't too important.

  She wondered why she didn't feel like cheering. There seemed to be a lot of sadness floating around the room, and some of it had gone inside her. "I don't want to move away, either," she said.

  "The only answer I can think of is to get your mother to like Carter Kincaid. If we could get them married, there's a chance they might stay on together in this house. He loves this house, too. Why else has he driven past it for so many years?"

  "I don't want my mom to get married," Jessica said firmly.

  "You don't like Carter? He's been nice to you."

  Picking up the little green car Carter had given her, Jessica studied it and nodded reluctantly. "He's okay. But I don't want my mom to get married to him."

  Priscilla was appearing. Jessica loved to watch her do that. She wished sometimes she could make herself invisible. But Priscilla had told her it wasn't much fun once you got used to it.

  "Why not?" Priscilla asked, once she'd got herself together.

  "I don't want her to love him. She has to love me."

  "Nothing would ever stop her from loving you."

  Jessica didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

  "You like this house, don't you?" Priscilla asked. "You like me."

  "I love you."

  Priscilla was quiet for a while. When she spoke her voice sounded all choky. "I love you, poppet. That's why I want you to help me get Carter and your mother together."

  Jessica sent the little green car hurtling down the track. Her mouth was set in a tight line. The car didn't make the turn. Instead, it leaped off the track and fell to the floor with a resounding crash. Jessica did not look disappointed.

  Priscilla sighed.

  Sly was bored. He'd stayed inside Carter's apartment since the '51 Merc had first shown up in the parking lot, telling Carter he didn't feel well. Which was true in a way. He certainly didn't feel capable of solving his dilemma.

  But now the condo was spotlessly clean and organized enough to satisfy even his rigid standards. If he didn't get out of the house he was going to go stir-crazy.

  Peering between the slats of the miniblind that covered the bedroom window—he closed all the blinds the minute Carter left every morning and opened them only minutes before the boy was due home—he ascertained that the '51 Mercury wasn't lurking in the parking lot today. Moving into the kitchen, he looked down at the street at the front of the complex. Nothing. Letting out a sigh of relief, he counted backward. The car hadn't shown up since Sunday morning and this was Wednesday. Maybe it wouldn't be back.

  After calling a cab, he pulled on his jacket, then checked through the blinds again. All clear. His troubles were over.

  The doorbell rang. Laura, Priscilla and Jessica were watching the antics of Gilligan and the professor on the TV in the den.

  Carter Kincaid again, Laura was willing to bet. It was shortly after six, just about the time he usually dropped in.

  Going out to the foyer, she forced herself to slow down, take a couple of breaths. Carter hadn't shown up the past two days, not since she'd told him they shouldn't see each other. She would have expected to feel relieved. Instead she'd kept listening for the doorbell or the telephone.

  He'd said he would phone.

  The figure on the other side of the etched sidelight had his back to her, but it was clear he was not tall enough to be Carter.

  Far too disappointed for someone who was supposed to be acting sensibly, Laura pulled the door open and disclosed Simon, otherwise known as Sly, Kincaid, looking over his shoulder at her. Before she could greet him, he slipped past her into the foyer and flattened himself against the side wall.

  When she closed the door, he looked relieved. After taking off his black hat, he clasped it to his chest and gave her a courtly half bow. His smile was dazzling, his eyes very blue.

  "Mr. Kincaid," Laura said, not sure if she wanted to sound too welcoming.

  "My nephew felt I should apologize," the man said.

  His nephew was right. But why had he waited five days to do it?

  Sly inclined his head. "I'm most sincerely sorry that I distressed you."

  He wasn't apologizing for the event, Laura noticed, only for its effect on her. "That's okay," she said. "I'm sorry I overreacted."

  He looked at her hopefully. "Jessica in? I get lonesome with Carter away. I wondered if she and I could play a few hands."

  Laura laughed. "I'm sure she'd love to. She's watching Gilligan's Island at the moment, but—" She broke off, remembering that Priscilla was very much present. "Hang on a sec," she instructed Sly. "Let me just make sure she's not napping."

  "I hope not," Sly said. "I'm addicted to Gilligan's Island myself. Especially when Ginger is featured."

  Gilligan was winding down. Jessica was alone. Glancing at her mother, she grinned, put a finger to her lips, then pointed at the opposite armchair and folded her hands against her cheek. Laura supposed as long as Priscilla didn't snore, Sly would never know she was there. "You have a visitor," she told Jessica.

  Right behind her, Sly declaimed, "Marvo the magician."

  Jessica flew to greet him, yelling, "Yay!"

  Laura glanced at the armchair. There seemed to be a minor spot of turbulence in the air above it, an indication that Priscilla had awakened. "Better stay out of sight," she murmured.

  "What did you say?" Sly asked. He'd gone quite pale. Naturally, he'd thought she was talking to him. But why would he react in such a fearful way?

  "I may have to work all night," she said, improvising. "I've a lot of spackling to do, if you'll excuse me."

  He looked relieved, then sat down with Jessica and pulled out his pack of cards. "What'll it be, princess, a rousing game of go fish, followed by some magic tricks?"

  "Yay!" Jessica exclaimed again, her face alight.

  Laura smiled. She had an idea she wouldn't be missed if she did go off to do some work. But instead of going upstairs right away, she headed thoughtfully back to the foyer, opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. No black Mercury was in sight.

  Shaking her head, she closed the door and started up the stairs, then came hack down and locked the dead bolt.

  "Did you bring the other Mr. Kincaid with you?" Jessica asked as Sly shuffled the cards.

  Sly shook his head. "Carter's at a party in Olympia. Got a lot of parties lately. Popular fella. Nice fella, don't you think?"

  Jessica wrinkled her nose and didn't answer. "Why didn't you bring Max?" she asked.

  "Max went with Carter. He likes riding in the back of the Jeep." He tilted his head. "Got something against Carter, have you?"

  The little girl dipped her head, frowning. "I don't think so. I mean, he is pretty funny. If it wasn't for what Priscilla said, I'd like him, I think."

  "And what did Priscilla say?"

 
It felt rather warm in this room, though it was a fairly cool day. Maybe Laura had turned the heat on. The weather didn't seem to know what it wanted to do lately. Typical Washington summer. Not that he was complaining—he was happy to be here, where he could feel reasonably safe.

  Jessica was studying her cards. Last time he was here he'd taught her the proper way to fan them out so she could hold them more easily in her little hands. Parents nowadays didn't teach kids the really necessary skills.

  On second thought, maybe the tyke wasn't looking at the cards at all. That was a ferocious frown she had on her sweet little face. "You got a problem, little one?" he asked gently.

  She nodded without looking up. "Priscilla says Mr. Carter Kincaid and my mom should get married."

  His stomach did a back flip. It was a possibility, then. He'd been afraid it was. "You don't want that to happen, I take it?" he said as calmly as he could manage.

  Jessica shook her head.

  "Me, neither," he confided.

  She looked up at that, her eyes round. Sly felt warm air move alongside him again. Where was that heat register, anyway? "Who is Priscilla?" he asked.

  "She's my friend," Jessica said, after looking furtively beyond Sly as if to make sure no one else was in the room.

  "Well, you just tell your friend Priscilla she's talking through her hat," Sly said flatly. "If you don't want Carter to marry your mom and I don't want Carter to marry your mom, there's not much little Prissy can do about it."

  "Little Prissy?" queried an annoyed voice on his left.

  Sly jumped, dropping his cards. "What the—" He gaped at Jessica. "How did you do that? Say, that's quite a trick. Could you teach it to me?"

  "You want tricks, watch this one," the voice said.

  And then the chair next to the sofa filled up with a cloud shot through with flashes of light that grew more and more intense until they resolved themselves into a woman wearing a long, old-fashioned green dress and black buttoned boots.

  Sly put his right hand to his chest in the region where his heart had just jumped clean out of his body, then swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Who in blazes are you?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  "Little Prissy," the woman said with a smirk.

  Pulling a spotless white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, Sly mopped his suddenly sweaty brow. "I thought I had seen every illusion known to man or woman," he said faintly. "But you beat all. How did you do that?"

  The woman called Priscilla sighed. "Everybody always wants to know that. I can do it. Surely that's enough."

  "I understand," Sly said solemnly, tucking the handkerchief away. "Naturally you're not going to share a secret like that." He frowned. "Amazing, all the same. Usually I can figure 'em out—like the person who seems to float in the air, but really has a rigid metal harness arrangement strapped to his body along with some strategically placed and disguised iron bars."

  He squinted at the woman, trying to discern any sign of the mechanics she must have used. She was good—he'd give her that; he couldn't see a single wire or cord.

  The young woman was laughing. So was Jessica. "Priscilla's not a magic trick, Uncle Sly," Jessica said, positively chortling now. "She's a ghost."

  "I knew that," Sly said, sitting bolt upright, feeling the blood leave his face.

  "Of course you did," the ghost said, with a jeering note in her voice.

  "You really are a ghost?" Sly asked weakly.

  "I've been a ghost since 1892," she said with a cheery smile. "That makes me a Victorian ghost. Don't you think I look like a Victorian?"

  Her hat had ostrich feathers on it. He'd always had a weakness for ostrich feathers. And hats. Women in hats. "You've hung around here ever since you died?"

  She nodded.

  "What did you die of?"

  She gave him a cool glance. "Something fatal, obviously."

  Sly's breath was beginning to come back into his body. He thought maybe his circulation was working again, too, though his feet still felt cold.

  A Victorian ghost.

  Named Priscilla.

  Which Jessica apparently thought was the most natural thing in the world. "Your mom know about Priscilla?" he murmured to her without taking his eyes off the woman in green.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Carter?"

  Another yes. Which explained some of Carter's preoccupation in recent days. He'd thought all of it was caused by his interest in Laura Daniel.

  "This is truly astonishing," Sly said.

  "Thank you," Priscilla said, looking smug.

  "You can make yourself visible or invisible whenever you want?"

  "Absolutely." She began to fade, then reasserted herself.

  "Amazing," Sly breathed, then looked at her alertly. "Don't suppose you'd like to go into partnership for a few poker games? Or one of those mind-reading scams? A little research and…"

  "I would not."

  He'd heard that disapproving note in many women's voices. Too bad. Together they could really clean up. Not that money would be worth much to her, he supposed.

  He sighed, then chuckled. It was still pretty remarkable to become socially acquainted with a ghost, even if there wasn't any profit in it. And it was always possible he could talk her into becoming his assistant in a little well-ordered fleecing. If he went about it carefully and poured on a little charm.

  "I've seen a ghost or two in my time," he told her, leaning down to pick up the cards he'd dropped earlier. "Of course, that was during my drinking years, when I was young and stupid. Never did see one when I was sober."

  "Until now," Priscilla said with a mischievous smile.

  "Never did see one who was such a fine figure of a woman, either," Sly continued. "Let's see, you must have been what? Twenty-six, twenty-seven?"

  "Twenty-four."

  Sly made a disbelieving sound halfway between a snort and a raspberry. "Shoot, today's twenty-four-year-olds are all skinny muscular things. Always working out at gyms. Pumping iron. Doing aerobics. Jogging through town in shiny spandex. They look like they're wearing armor and act like it, too." He gazed admiringly at Priscilla. "You, now— you are a woman. A real woman. Dressed like one, too. I truly admire your hat."

  She beamed at him.

  "Uncle Sly doesn't think Mom and Mr. Kincaid should get married," Jessica said.

  Priscilla's smile vanished. "So I heard. That's why I decided to make myself known to him. To find out why he'd adopt such a ridiculous attitude."

  Sly squirmed a little on the sofa. None of your business, he wanted to say, but it probably wasn't too wise to be rude to a ghost. She might have ways of taking revenge.

  "Kincaid men don't get married," he said loftily.

  "That's ridiculous," Priscilla said. "Carter's grandfather was a Kincaid. He married. So did Carter's father."

  "Carter's father had Carter genes in him. Weakened the strain. And Carter's grandmother was a strong-minded woman. As well, her daddy left her a fortune. Money wouldn't make me reconsider my prejudice against marrying, but Carter's grandfather wasn't as strong-minded as me."

  "Mom doesn't have any money," Jessica offered. "You see, Priscilla, it wouldn't work."

  "Carter doesn't have base motives," Priscilla said. She fixed her green eyes on Sly's face. "What are your motives? Why don't you want Carter to marry Laura? She'd make him very happy. He's halfway to being in love with her already."

  "I suspected as much," Sly said gloomily.

  "That doesn't mean Mom loves Carter," Jessica said. Standing up, she put her hands on her hips, lifted her round little chin and said very loudly, "Mom can't love Carter. Mom loved my dad. And she loves me. She's not going to love anyone else, do you hear?"

  Priscilla had put her hands over her ears. "How could I not hear, Jessica?" She took her hands down. "Really, poppet, there's no need to shout. We can have a perfectly reasonable conver—"

  "Is anything wrong?" Laura asked from the doorway. "Jessica? Did
I hear you shouting?"

  "We were playing a game," Priscilla said.

  "A game?" Laura looked at Sly blankly, then her gaze suddenly sharpened. "Priscilla? I thought you weren't going to—"

  "I wanted to get acquainted with Sly," Priscilla said. "He's not going to tell anyone about me, are you, Sly?"

  Sly shook his head. "I don't want anyone locking me up and throwing away the key."

  Laura looked from one to the other. A ghost and a gambler. Wonderful role models for a five-year-old girl.

  "Didn't you promise to go next door to play with Michelle Wilmer when Gilligan was over?" Laura said to her daughter.

  "I want to play with Priscilla and Sly," Jessica said.

  Catching Laura's eye, Priscilla gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm rather tired, poppet," she said. "It's probably a good idea for you to play with Michelle while I rest."

  "O-kay," Jessica said, making sure her mother knew she wasn't happy at the prospect. "Michelle's a pain," she grumbled. "She always wants to play dress up and do dumb stuff." She sighed, looking at Priscilla. "I wish you could come with me."

  "Sorry, poppet," Priscilla said.

  "Why can't you?" Sly demanded.

  "My territory covers only this house and the land it's built on. I cannot go farther than a little way into the street and to the edges of the yard."

  Sly looked disappointed. Though why that should be Laura had no idea. "I guess you really can't go into partnership with me," she heard him say to Priscilla as she and Jessica left the room.

  Priscilla chuckled. "I told you I couldn't."

  "Unless I had a game here, of course," Sly said thoughtfully.

  Laura wasn't sure what Sly was referring to, but she didn't like the sound of it. Maybe she'd better separate Sly and Priscilla, too.

  "If you stick around, Sly, I'll make some tea as soon as I get Jessica settled next door," she called out from the hall.

  Sly appeared in the den doorway, looking pleased. "That would be nice, Laura, thank you."

  He wouldn't look nearly as pleased when she told him any "game" involving Priscilla would take place over her dead body, she decided as she and Jessica left the house by the front door.