Read Online Deeply, Desperately by Heather Webber - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Webber
Tags: Paranormal Cozy
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Reasonable.
"Hello," a young man said as I walked into SD Investigations. "Do you have an appointment?"
He sat behind an antique table that doubled as a desk. His black-and-white Pumas stretched out far beyond the wonderful turned legs of the table, his jeans torn in the latest teen style. The hood of a UMASS sweatshirt covered his head, the strings pulled tight around his jaw.
The table was an original from the early nineteenth century. Dovie had a similar one at Aerie and I coveted that as much as I did this one--found by the interior designer Sam had hired to spiff up the place. But Federal-style tables simply weren't in my meager budget.
There were some days, like today, when I questioned why I ignored my trust fund.
"Do you have an appointment?" the young manasked again. A worn, dog-eared Dennis Lehane novel lay facedown on the desk. He loosened the strings around his face, pushed his hood back an inch or two. Thick hair tumbled forward onto his forehead.
The hood, I noted, wasn't a fashion statement. It was self-preservation. The room was freezing, and the feeble warmth of a humming space heater lacked the power to fight off the chill in the air.
"Why is it so cold?" I asked.
A voice came from my left. "The freaking furnace is on the blink." Sam wore a thick corduroy barn coat. "It's being worked on right now. I'm thinking about taking the rest of the day off, just to defrost."
Defrosting sounded good. I was suddenly missing the seat warmers in my father's car.
"I see you've met Andrew." Sam nodded to the new receptionist.
"Not quite. I'm Lucy Valentine. I work downstairs. Sean and I ... work together."
"Closely," Sam added, completely straight-faced.
The boy's eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind drooping tawny bangs.
I threw Sam an outraged look. I supposed this was payback for steaming up his hallway yesterday.
"It's nice to meet you, Andrew," I said. "I hope, ah, that I'll be seeing you again."
He shot a look at Sam, who was giving me his own outraged look.
"Is Sean in?" I asked.
Sam said, "Um, yeah, I think so. With a"--he coughed--"client. Coffee? You look like you need some coffee."
Coffee sounded amazing. My toes had gone numb. I followed Sam to the kitchen.
"Does Andrew know about the curse?" I asked as Sam pulled a mug from the cabinet.
Sam glanced nervously over his shoulder. "There's no such thing, Lucy."
"Oh, is that right? Should we start the pool now to see how long he lasts?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Sean and I already did."
I laughed. "I'll take two hours."
"Generous," he said sarcastically, looking again over his shoulder. "I'll, um, be right back. You know where everything is, right?"
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you acting so strangely?"
"Strange? Me? No." He laughed. "Must be the cold air. Not enough oxygen getting to my brain."
I stared at him. He stared back.
"Right," he said. "Be back in a minute."
I poured coffee to the rim of my mug, enjoyed the warmth as it slid down my throat as I took my first sip.
The mirror in the hallway beckoned. I looked like something dragged in the ferry's undertow. My hair was a mess, windblown and frizzy. Nothing much I could do about it. Giving up, I turned ... and found a woman staring at me with hard eyes. She was beautiful with an olive complexion, high cheekbones, and shimmering dark hair. Before I could say hello, she rushed forward, bumped into me, and kept on going. Coffee dripped down my hand, soaked intomy trousers, puddled around my feet, leached into the thick throw rug.
"Cara!" Sean yelled, flying around the corner. One look at me and he drew up short, nearly knocking into me too.
Sam stood behind him. "I'm going to, ah, see about the furnace." He edged around us and hurried away.
I blinked. Cara? Cara Franklin? Sean's ex-fiancee Cara?
"Shit," Sean mumbled.
I couldn't find my voice. I hadn't known he'd been speaking with her, let alone seeing her.
He brushed past me, turning into the kitchen. A roll of paper towels in
"Hello," a young man said as I walked into SD Investigations. "Do you have an appointment?"
He sat behind an antique table that doubled as a desk. His black-and-white Pumas stretched out far beyond the wonderful turned legs of the table, his jeans torn in the latest teen style. The hood of a UMASS sweatshirt covered his head, the strings pulled tight around his jaw.
The table was an original from the early nineteenth century. Dovie had a similar one at Aerie and I coveted that as much as I did this one--found by the interior designer Sam had hired to spiff up the place. But Federal-style tables simply weren't in my meager budget.
There were some days, like today, when I questioned why I ignored my trust fund.
"Do you have an appointment?" the young manasked again. A worn, dog-eared Dennis Lehane novel lay facedown on the desk. He loosened the strings around his face, pushed his hood back an inch or two. Thick hair tumbled forward onto his forehead.
The hood, I noted, wasn't a fashion statement. It was self-preservation. The room was freezing, and the feeble warmth of a humming space heater lacked the power to fight off the chill in the air.
"Why is it so cold?" I asked.
A voice came from my left. "The freaking furnace is on the blink." Sam wore a thick corduroy barn coat. "It's being worked on right now. I'm thinking about taking the rest of the day off, just to defrost."
Defrosting sounded good. I was suddenly missing the seat warmers in my father's car.
"I see you've met Andrew." Sam nodded to the new receptionist.
"Not quite. I'm Lucy Valentine. I work downstairs. Sean and I ... work together."
"Closely," Sam added, completely straight-faced.
The boy's eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind drooping tawny bangs.
I threw Sam an outraged look. I supposed this was payback for steaming up his hallway yesterday.
"It's nice to meet you, Andrew," I said. "I hope, ah, that I'll be seeing you again."
He shot a look at Sam, who was giving me his own outraged look.
"Is Sean in?" I asked.
Sam said, "Um, yeah, I think so. With a"--he coughed--"client. Coffee? You look like you need some coffee."
Coffee sounded amazing. My toes had gone numb. I followed Sam to the kitchen.
"Does Andrew know about the curse?" I asked as Sam pulled a mug from the cabinet.
Sam glanced nervously over his shoulder. "There's no such thing, Lucy."
"Oh, is that right? Should we start the pool now to see how long he lasts?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Sean and I already did."
I laughed. "I'll take two hours."
"Generous," he said sarcastically, looking again over his shoulder. "I'll, um, be right back. You know where everything is, right?"
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you acting so strangely?"
"Strange? Me? No." He laughed. "Must be the cold air. Not enough oxygen getting to my brain."
I stared at him. He stared back.
"Right," he said. "Be back in a minute."
I poured coffee to the rim of my mug, enjoyed the warmth as it slid down my throat as I took my first sip.
The mirror in the hallway beckoned. I looked like something dragged in the ferry's undertow. My hair was a mess, windblown and frizzy. Nothing much I could do about it. Giving up, I turned ... and found a woman staring at me with hard eyes. She was beautiful with an olive complexion, high cheekbones, and shimmering dark hair. Before I could say hello, she rushed forward, bumped into me, and kept on going. Coffee dripped down my hand, soaked intomy trousers, puddled around my feet, leached into the thick throw rug.
"Cara!" Sean yelled, flying around the corner. One look at me and he drew up short, nearly knocking into me too.
Sam stood behind him. "I'm going to, ah, see about the furnace." He edged around us and hurried away.
I blinked. Cara? Cara Franklin? Sean's ex-fiancee Cara?
"Shit," Sean mumbled.
I couldn't find my voice. I hadn't known he'd been speaking with her, let alone seeing her.
He brushed past me, turning into the kitchen. A roll of paper towels in
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