Page 16 of Ghostridden
She made jazz hands at me. “May I present Maz Amani, ghostwriter, who just happens to have room in his busy schedule?”
Saul smiled, making him look even more like Sam Waterston. “Really? Do you handle research as well?”
“Uh…” My gaze bounced between the two of them. “Well. Yes. I can give you my rates and a writing sample—”
He waved my words away. “I’m not concerned about that. Just collecting all Thaddeus’s papers and getting them in order would be worth whatever you want to charge. And if we move forward with the book? Even better.”
“Dad,” Taryn said, her tone both fond and exasperated. “That’s not the way to negotiate the best deal.”
He winked at her. “I leave all the negotiations to you, my dear.” He turned away when Patrice said something to him.
Taryn grinned. “That’s settled. You’ve got a gig. What are your rates?” I told her and she shook her head. “Honestly, you and my dad are a pair.” She shifted Gil off her lap, earning her amewof displeasure. “Don’t worry. I’ll draw up a contract that’s fair to you both.” She stood up. “In fact, I’ll head into the office right now to get it taken care of.” She opened the front door. “But meet me later at the pub and I’ll stand you that drink.”
“Taryn,” somebody said from outside, “I don’t know how you can do me like that.”
That voice…
I scrambled to my feet. Sure enough, Ricky was standing on the porch, apparently about to knock. I couldn’t help the little thrill in my middle, despite him remaining on my short list of break-in suspects. Because the whole ghost thing? Still not buying it, but I couldn’t deny Ricky was dang cute.
Although in case you haven’t noticed? My taste in men could use some work.
“Um. Hi.” I flapped my second pathetic wave of the day, then wiped my hands on my jeans.
He smiled warmly at me and that thrill amped up. “Good morning. I was just dropping off Tia’s groceries and thought I’d see how your first night in the new place went. Then I find one of my oldest friends steering you toward a rival business instead of Taqueria Vargas, home of the best Mexican food in Ghost and run, incidentally, by my family.”
Taryn rolled her eyes. “He needed a drink, Enrique. Notdinner.”
Ricky clapped a hand to his chest. “And Papi’s margaritas don’t fill the bill?”
“Let’s let Maz decide, okay? Maybe he doesn’t like Mexican food.” She glanced at me. “Although the Taqueria’s food is amazing. His papi knows his way around a kitchen. So what’ll it be? Pub grub or Mexican?”
“I love Mexican. Food. Mexican food. Yes. That.” Oh, yeah. I was just exactly that smooth. I snatched Gil up before he could run out the door.
“Good. Enrique can tell you how to get there—it’s on Main Street, like most everything else in town. Shall we say six?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
“I’ll have that contract for you by then, too.” She leaned back to peer into the library. “Bye, Dad. I’ll see you and Pop for dinner on Sunday. Bye, Professor.” She skritched Gil’s ears. “Goodbye, Gil.” With one waggle of her fingers to me, she strode across the porch and down the steps toward her Prius.
Ricky watched her go with a shake of his head. “She’s a powerhouse, that one. Has been all her life.” He faced me. “And once you land in her friend zone, you’ve got a champion forever.”
“Good to know.” I beckoned for him to come in and shut the door behind him so I could set Gil on his feet.
“Did she say Saul was here? Why? Usually, he’s at the museum by this time. Professor DeHaven too?”
I glanced at him a little sharply. It occurred to me that if the town of Ghost was truly jonesing for an actual haunting, maybe staging one with a naïve newbie—and one who was a writer—was a way to boost the town’s mystique. Ricky seemed genuinely curious, but hey, Greg had fooled me at first, too.
“Yeah. There was an… incident.” I gestured toward the library. “Take a look.”
Ricky shot me a quizzical glance and strode forward. When he reached the french doors, he rocked back on his heels. “Whoa.”
Saul looked up from his tablet, his lined face practically glowing. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use,” I muttered.
Ricky edged into the room, peering around at the shelves that had been neat and full yesterday, and the papers that still littered the floor, despite the tidy stack Professor DeHaven had collected on the desk. He looked at me, and I could swear there was concern and not triumph in his dark eyes. Trust me—after three years with Greg, I could tell the difference.
“Did somebody break in? I knew I should have changed that garage code yesterday. If I—”
