When the Spirit Is Willing Read online

  According to Molly, a rather unfortunate melee had ensued, during which Miss Parmentier had involuntarily surrendered several strands of blond hair and "Prissilla" had acquired a shiner.

  "The bracelet was presented to Miss Lily as a token of my admiration for a fine performance," Mr. Burbage had insisted.

  "A likely tale," Laura murmured. Every once in a while, she showed a definite sexist bent. Which he would point out to her when he knew her better.

  The Burbages had supplied "Molly's Meanderings" with many tidbits in the weeks and months that followed. They had apparently attempted to outdo each other in acquiring personal friends and traveling companions. The italics were Molly's. Within another year Molly had dropped the euphemisms and referred openly to "Prissilla's frequent and compromising liaisons." Randall's escapades, however, were counted as "naughty, but certainly normal."

  "The double standard was alive and well in 1890," Laura muttered.

  Carter decided it was probably wisest not to comment.

  When they reached the end of the year, Laura sat back and rubbed her eyes. Carter did likewise; the narrow columns of very small print had affected his eyes, too.

  "That's it for me for today," Laura said. "Maybe we can try it again another time."

  As far as Carter was concerned, any excuse to see Laura again was okay with him. "I wonder what happened to her," he murmured.

  "She said she was twenty-four when she died," Laura said. "Perhaps she died in childbirth. Women frequently did in those times. The baby might have died with her."

  "Not in those clothes," he pointed out.

  Her gray eyes regarded him questioningly. He allowed himself the distraction of gazing into their clear depths for a minute or two before explaining himself. "Priscilla told us rather quaintly that she assembles herself as she was 'when she was herself,' " he said. "I took that to mean she was wearing those same clothes when she died. She'd hardly be wearing a corset and bustle during childbirth."

  Laura bit her lower lip as she thought that over. She really did have a rather tempting mouth. He dwelled for a moment on a fantasy in which she leaned toward him and he succumbed to temptation, kissing her and trailing his fingers over her wonderful peach-bloom skin.

  "I could look up old Randall in the museum library," he suggested after clearing his throat a time or two. "Evidently he wasn't tied to Priscilla for very long, but there might be something there about both of them."

  "Tied to her?" Laura's gray eyes were frosty enough to stop his soaring hormones in midflight. "Is that your opinion of marriage? The man is tied to the woman? You haven't been married, have you? Didn't Priscilla say you were a carefree bachelor?"

  Her tone made the last two words sound like an expletive. Stung, he defended himself. "I am indeed. I always have been. And I intend to stay that way. In my opinion getting married is insanity. I have a job I love, friends, freedom and a terrific dog for company. I have no desire to make changes."

  To his surprise, she laughed. "I guess I can't blame you for that." She glanced at her wristwatch as Carter returned the newspapers to their appointed shelf. "That was fun," she said, getting to her feet. "It's like a TV miniseries, isn't it? We'll just have to wait for the next episode. Unless we ask Priscilla."

  "I get the impression Priscilla doesn't want to say much about her marriage," Carter said. "I don't think we should tell her or anyone else what we've been up to until we see where it goes."

  Laura shook her head. "I can't believe we're keeping a secret from a ghost."

  Carter rather liked the idea that he and Laura were sharing a secret. At the very least, it was a step forward on the road to intimacy. He might be antimarriage, but he had nothing against amorous adventures.

  He took her home and went in with her to pick up Sly. But it was evident as soon as they entered the house that something was wrong. The house felt empty, as though it had been deserted for some time. Looking alarmed, Laura rushed from room to room on the ground floor, calling her daughter's name. No one answered.

  "I knew I shouldn't leave her with a stranger," Laura called back over her shoulder as she raced up the stairs.

  Alarmed himself, Carter hurried into the kitchen and looked around for a note. Finding nothing, he returned to the hall, then yelled, "Priscilla," at the top of his voice.

  That brought Laura running back down. Her face was as white as bleached flour. "Jessica's not in her room. Simon's nowhere around, either. My God, if anything's happened to my baby, I'll…"

  Carter took hold of her shoulders. "Nothing's happened to her," he said firmly, though his blood was running cold. "I told you, my uncle's wonderful with children."

  "Then maybe Jess had an accident. Maybe he had to take her to the hospital. Maybe he left a message."

  She started to pull away, but Carter held her back, shaking his head. "No message. I checked." Tipping back his head, he shouted "Priscilla" again.

  "What's all the noise about?" Priscilla demanded.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They both jumped. A column of mist had appeared beside them. Swirling with light and color, it materialized into the short but well-rounded form that was becoming familiar.

  "Where's my daughter? Where's Jessica?" Laura shouted, grabbing Priscilla by the arm, feeling blood drain from her face as it dawned on her that she was shaking a ghost. Instantly she dropped her hand. "What did that man do with her?"

  "Sly, you mean?" Priscilla said with an odd little smile.

  "Of course she means Sly," Carter said hotly.

  "Who's Sly?" Laura asked, looking so suddenly bewildered Carter wanted to take her in his arms.

  "My uncle. Simon. His nickname's Sly. Because his middle name is Fox." She wasn't taking in a word he said. He swung back to Priscilla. "Sly's gone somewhere with Jessica. If you have any idea where, you'd better tell us."

  "Or else what?" Priscilla asked, twirling a stray curl around her index finger. Then she shook her head and looked apologetically at Laura, whose eyes were frantic. "I'm sorry, my dear, I don't mean to tease. You woke me up and it takes me a while to really… assemble myself." She yawned prettily, patting her mouth with one slender hand. "What was it you wanted to know?"

  "Do you know where Jessica is?" Laura said through her teeth, enunciating every syllable.

  Priscilla looked mildly offended. "How could I? You told me to stay out of sight." When Laura took hold of her arm again, she added quickly, "No, I don't know where they went, but I'm sure Jessica is all right. Sly is a perfect gentleman." Her smile had become demure. "I do like older men. So courteous. Courtly."

  Carter groaned. "You didn't materialize, did you?"

  "Of course not. I promised Laura I wouldn't." She patted Laura's hand where it still gripped her arm. "I didn't even speak to him. I just watched him until I got a trifle bored with the card tricks. Then I dozed off, I'm afraid."

  Holding up a cautionary hand, she tilted her head sideways. "Somebody's coming." She began disappearing right away, an eerie procedure that involved a cloud of fog moving in, surrounding her, then dissipating. As Laura watched disbelievingly, it took her a minute to react to what Priscilla had said. Then she heard the back door being opened and flew toward it, Carter hot on her heels.

  Sly and Jessica were both sucking on the last inch of ice-cream cones. Chocolate, by the look of the ring around Jessica's mouth. Jessica's face was pink with pleasure. "Where have you been?" Laura demanded, picking her up and holding her tightly.

  "We went downtown," Jessica said in a reasonable voice. Putting the last bit of her cone in her mouth, she patted her mother's cheek with a sticky hand. "I can't breathe, Mom," she complained.

  Her eyes tightly closed, Laura was physically incapable of loosening her hold on her daughter. During the few minutes that had elapsed between her discovery that Jessica was missing and hearing the sounds at the rear door, her imagination had provided a hundred possibilities, each one more horrendous than the last. If anything had happened to Jessica,
it would have been her fault. How could she have been so thoughtless as to leave her with a stranger, a man who had turned out to be nicknamed Sly, which she certainly hadn't known beforehand. If Carter Kincaid had told her his uncle was known as Sly, she would never…

  She opened her eyes and glared hotly at both men. Simon Kincaid looked sheepish. Carter's midnight-dark eyes were full of concern. She should never have agreed to go out with him. She should never have… "Go away," she said to both of them, closing her eyes and clutching Jessica even closer.

  "Now, now, my dear, there's no cause for—"

  "You heard the lady," Carter interrupted. Laura opened her eyes a crack to see him shepherding his uncle along the hall to the front door, one hand on the older man's shoulder. He appeared grim. Sly seemed to be hanging back. He glanced back at Laura and Jessica, then sidestepped Carter and looked out the narrow window alongside the door. With a determined expression on his face, Carter took hold of his arm. Sly shrugged and apparently decided to go quietly. "I'll call you, Laura," Carter said softly, just before he closed the door behind him.

  She started to tell him not to bother, but sighed, instead. She was in no state to say anything. She'd just have to deal with him when he did call.

  "Mom!" Jessica wailed. "You're squashing my tummy."

  "I'm sorry." Very gently, very carefully, she set her child down, then led her into the downstairs bathroom and washed her face and hands. Her own hands were shaking uncontrollably.

  Trying to breathe slowly and deeply, she ushered her daughter into the living room, sat down on the sofa and lifted Jessica onto her lap. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened from after I left until you came home."

  Jessica screwed up her face in a frown. "Well, we played a lot of card tricks. Priscilla watched for a white—I could feel her moving behind my head—but then she went away. And then Uncle Sly said we should go get an ice-cream cone and we did."

  To be fair, Laura realized she hadn't told Sly not to take Jessica away from the house. But at the very least, he could have left a message, or called the restaurant to ask permission. "Why didn't he write a note for me?" she asked.

  Jessica grinned. "There wasn't time. We were busy playing cops and robbers." Her eyes were shining. "It was fun, Mom."

  "What was fun?"

  "After the car came."

  Laura gritted her teeth. "What car, Jester?"

  Jessica shrugged elaborately. "Uncle Sly thought he heard a car. We looked out the window and there was this big black car parking just along the street."

  Laura remembered suddenly that as Carter had driven into Humboldt Street, a large black car had started up outside the Robinsons' house and moved past them. "A vintage Mercury," Carter had commented. "Possibly a '51."

  "And?" Laura said.

  "That's when Uncle Sly thought it would be a good idea to play cops and robbers and go get an ice-cream cone."

  "How exactly did you play this game?"

  Jessica laughed. "Uncle Sly asked if we had a key to the back door and I showed him where it was in the little cupboard where you keep the wineglasses. So then we went out the back door very quietly." She used her fingers to demonstrate tiptoeing. "Uncle Sly locked the door and then we crossed the alley and went through Mr. Jones's yard to the next street and then along to Stewart Street and down all the steps."

  "You walked all the way downtown?"

  Jessica nodded. "And then we walked around some more and looked at the sea gulls and the boats in the marina and Uncle Sly told me stories about when he worked on a cruise ship dealing cards. On the Mi-ss-iss-ippi. Then we bought ice-cream cones and Uncle Sly got a taxi to bring us back." She giggled. "Uncle Sly was funny in the taxi."

  "Funny how?" Laura demanded, feeling a chill shudder throughout her entire body.

  "He sort of scrunched down like this." Jessica demonstrated, hunching her little body until her head was on her knees.

  "Why did he do that?"

  "He said it was part of the cops-and-robbers game."

  "That's all he did?"

  "Sure."

  Laura let out a long, relieved breath.

  "Can I go up and play in my room now?" Jessica asked.

  Laura nodded absently. Then, as Jessica slid off her lap, she held her lightly by the arm and stroked a few stray hairs away from her forehead. "In the future, Jess, if I'm gone and I leave you with someone, don't let them take you anywhere, okay?"

  "Okay," Jessica said.

  "Not that I'm likely to leave you again for a very long time," Laura muttered. But Jessica was already gone.

  "A mystery," Priscilla said. "How very delightful!"

  Laura started almost out of her skin. Priscilla had managed to assemble herself without Laura noticing. She was comfortably seated in the neighboring armchair, leaning back in a thoroughly relaxed way, her small booted feet propped up on a needlepoint stool. Laura swallowed. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to Priscilla suddenly showing up like this. Maybe she should hang a bell around her neck to provide some warning. The thought made her smile, even though her stomach was still in turmoil.

  "That's better," Priscilla said. "You really should smile more often, Laura. You have a lovely smile."

  "Today was not a smiley day."

  "You didn't enjoy lunch with Carter? Did you talk about me?"

  "Lunch was fine," Laura said, ignoring the second question. "Finding Jessica missing almost sent me into cardiac arrest."

  Priscilla frowned. "Is that anything like the vapors? I used to suffer terribly from the vapors. I had to have Sal Volatile handy at all times. Smelling salts. I understand they're out of fashion now."

  "Slightly." Laura's heartbeat was returning to normal.

  "I heard what Jessica said about a black car," Priscilla said. "It must have arrived during my nap. Who do you think was in it?"

  "Someone who scared Simon Kincaid witless," Laura said. Sitting up straight, she glanced at her watch. Three p.m. Perhaps she could catch Carter at home before he left for his party. She shook her head. This wasn't something she wanted to discuss with him on the telephone. Best if she waited until morning and bearded him in his museum. But it was Saturday tomorrow—would the museum be open? Of course it would. The town filled up with tourists on weekends.

  "Are you going to see Carter again?" Priscilla asked. There was a hopeful expression on her face.

  Laura squinted at her. "Can you read my mind?" she demanded.

  Priscilla's laughter had a musical sound, very feminine. Laura could see why men had been attracted to her when she was… alive. "Heavens, no," she said. "I'm not some sort of psychic entity, Laura, just an ordinary ghost." She chuckled. "I read some books on body language the last tenant had. He had terrible taste in decor, but he was very interested in psychology. I learned a lot about reading people's thoughts by their expressions or by the way they moved. Your face is what I believe they call a dead give-away." Her mischievous smile flashed. "You were thinking about Carter, weren't you?"

  "Not in any romantic way, I assure you."

  "But he's so romantic looking, Laura. Like Pierce Brosnan." She raised her eyebrows. "You look surprised. I told you I like television. I watched Remington Steele with you on Sunday."

  Laura swallowed. So often she'd felt that tingling sensation that someone else was in the room, but it had never occurred to her to believe there really was. "I'll grant you he's a charming, good-looking man," she said after a brief silence. "But I was married to a charming, good-looking man. It wasn't all that great."

  "Did Brady play around from the beginning?"

  Laura stood up. With Priscilla's last question, reality had intruded once again. Surely sitting around in the afternoon discussing her life's history with a ghost was close to madness.

  "If you'll excuse me, I have to change my clothes and get some work done," she said flatly. "That wainscoting isn't going to leap up on the kitchen walls by itself." A sudden thought struck her. "How are you at lifting, Priscil
la?"

  Priscilla began fading right before her eyes. "The energies involved, Laura," she said faintly. "Lifting solid objects. It just isn't…" Only one small fragment of haze was left hovering over the armchair. Then it, too, was gone.

  Laura frowned. Priscilla had played draughts with Jessica. And helped her run model race cars. She had also hidden Laura's tools. All of which involved solid objects. Did the weight make a difference?

  She shook her head. Mulling metaphysics at three in the afternoon was not going to do a thing for that wainscoting. And, as she had told Priscilla, it wasn't going to take care of itself. A sudden image of the paneling leaping up against the wall made her wish she'd blocked the thought. That was something she had no desire to see.

  Laura and Jessica had passed by the Kincaid Museum several times since they had moved to Port Dudley. It was physically impossible for Laura to stay away from antique shops or bookstores and there were four of the former and two of the latter on Front Street.

  The museum was a stately French-provincial house with a wonderfully proportioned mansard roof. She hadn't noticed until today that the equally gracious building on the other side was part of the museum—joined by a glassed-in walkway. There was a sadly neglected building in the back that had once seen much better days.

  The entrance was a marble-floored foyer that was much larger than her own. Several people were wandering from room to room and up and down the massive oak staircase. A slightly dowdy middle-aged woman was bending over a wooden crate, set in front of a rosewood desk. She seemed to be reading a label on the crate while at the same time talking on the telephone, its receiver held crookedly against her shoulder.

  Her eyes welcomed Laura through round tortoiseshell glasses and her eyebrows conveyed the message that she'd be with her soon. A nameplate on her desk identified her as Mildred Whittock.

  Laura nodded. Wide-eyed, Jessica gazed all around, obviously subdued by the grandeur of the entry hall.