mouth. “What’s the matter with you? Bryan Hennessy is not now, nor will he ever be a part of your life. You are going to see to that first thing this morning.”
Whether he was a legitimate scientist or not didn’t enter into it. She couldn’t afford to pay him for his questionable services. She had things like doctor bills and rent to consider.
It still made her angry to think he would take money from Addie. Her mother was obviously not in full command of her faculties. This ghost business of hers was most probably some result of the Alzheimer’s. Rachel had read that some victims of the dementing illness experience hallucinations. This ghost, this “whimsy,” was probably just that—whimsy. The mother she remembered would no more believe in ghosts than she would believe in Santa Claus.
Rachel padded across the cold floor to the window for her first glimpse of the view from Drake House. Stepping over a large pair of battered loafers and around a bird cage, she peeled back one of the sheets from the glass. Fog obscured the view. She could hear the distant crash of the ocean, but she couldn’t see the lawn, let alone the cliff edge or the blue water beyond.
“How symbolic of my life at the moment,” she said dryly.
She turned away from the window and set herself to the task of preparing to face the day. With an eye toward pleasing her mother, she dressed in a conservative white blouse and a hunter-green jumper, painstakingly restored order to her hair, then turned to make the bed. That was when she found the rose.
A single yellow rose, slightly mangled, was peeking out from beneath the spare pillow she had hugged and punched and tussled with throughout the night. She picked it up by the end of the stem, staring at it in shock and disbelief as a petal dropped off and drifted to the bed.
Warmth surged through her before she could check it. A rose. How lovely. How thoughtful. How sweet. Then a blush bloomed on her cheeks and indignation rose up inside her. Bryan Hennessy had snuck into her room! He’d come into her room while she had been asleep.
Of all the low, strange things to do. How long had he stood beside the bed, looking at her? A minute? Five minutes? The very idea was mortifying! She might have been talking in her sleep or snoring or drooling, while this man she barely knew watched her!
Leaving the housekeeping for later, Rachel turned on her heel and stormed purposefully from the room to go in search of her midnight caller.
Bryan woke slowly, knowing Instinctively that he would be better off unconscious. All the clues were there as his mind reached cautiously up out of the depths of sleep: an ache here, the beginnings of a pain there. Still, his eyes came halfway open, and he rubbed his hand along his jaw, rasping a two-day growth of whiskers against his palm. He realty did have to remember to shave later.
The light in the billiard room was dim. It was early, he guessed, early enough for him to get to the bird cages before Addie did. Groaning, he pushed himself upright on the felt-covered slate of the old billiard table and swung his long legs over the edge. His body protested in more places than he cared to count.
“Maybe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” he reflected as he retrieved his spectacles from the cue-stick rack and put them on. He looked at himself then in the ornate mirror that hung on the wall, taking up a space equal to that of the billiard table. Even through a couple of decades worth of dust he looked bad. He looked like a vagrant. His shirt was rumpled beyond redemption, the tails hanging out of his equally wrinkled pants. His wilted magic rose drooped over the edge of his shirt pocket.
A shower, a shave, and clean clothes were the order of the morning, he thought as he slicked his disheveled hair back with his hands. But first, the bird cages.
He went into the parlor and unearthed the coffee can filled with bird seed Addie kept stashed behind a burgundy
Whether he was a legitimate scientist or not didn’t enter into it. She couldn’t afford to pay him for his questionable services. She had things like doctor bills and rent to consider.
It still made her angry to think he would take money from Addie. Her mother was obviously not in full command of her faculties. This ghost business of hers was most probably some result of the Alzheimer’s. Rachel had read that some victims of the dementing illness experience hallucinations. This ghost, this “whimsy,” was probably just that—whimsy. The mother she remembered would no more believe in ghosts than she would believe in Santa Claus.
Rachel padded across the cold floor to the window for her first glimpse of the view from Drake House. Stepping over a large pair of battered loafers and around a bird cage, she peeled back one of the sheets from the glass. Fog obscured the view. She could hear the distant crash of the ocean, but she couldn’t see the lawn, let alone the cliff edge or the blue water beyond.
“How symbolic of my life at the moment,” she said dryly.
She turned away from the window and set herself to the task of preparing to face the day. With an eye toward pleasing her mother, she dressed in a conservative white blouse and a hunter-green jumper, painstakingly restored order to her hair, then turned to make the bed. That was when she found the rose.
A single yellow rose, slightly mangled, was peeking out from beneath the spare pillow she had hugged and punched and tussled with throughout the night. She picked it up by the end of the stem, staring at it in shock and disbelief as a petal dropped off and drifted to the bed.
Warmth surged through her before she could check it. A rose. How lovely. How thoughtful. How sweet. Then a blush bloomed on her cheeks and indignation rose up inside her. Bryan Hennessy had snuck into her room! He’d come into her room while she had been asleep.
Of all the low, strange things to do. How long had he stood beside the bed, looking at her? A minute? Five minutes? The very idea was mortifying! She might have been talking in her sleep or snoring or drooling, while this man she barely knew watched her!
Leaving the housekeeping for later, Rachel turned on her heel and stormed purposefully from the room to go in search of her midnight caller.
Bryan woke slowly, knowing Instinctively that he would be better off unconscious. All the clues were there as his mind reached cautiously up out of the depths of sleep: an ache here, the beginnings of a pain there. Still, his eyes came halfway open, and he rubbed his hand along his jaw, rasping a two-day growth of whiskers against his palm. He realty did have to remember to shave later.
The light in the billiard room was dim. It was early, he guessed, early enough for him to get to the bird cages before Addie did. Groaning, he pushed himself upright on the felt-covered slate of the old billiard table and swung his long legs over the edge. His body protested in more places than he cared to count.
“Maybe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” he reflected as he retrieved his spectacles from the cue-stick rack and put them on. He looked at himself then in the ornate mirror that hung on the wall, taking up a space equal to that of the billiard table. Even through a couple of decades worth of dust he looked bad. He looked like a vagrant. His shirt was rumpled beyond redemption, the tails hanging out of his equally wrinkled pants. His wilted magic rose drooped over the edge of his shirt pocket.
A shower, a shave, and clean clothes were the order of the morning, he thought as he slicked his disheveled hair back with his hands. But first, the bird cages.
He went into the parlor and unearthed the coffee can filled with bird seed Addie kept stashed behind a burgundy
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