Page 35 of Crazy Spooky Love
“This is all getting somewhat tedious now, Miss Bittersweet.”
I jump, because the low voice is directly in my ear as I step into the hallway.
“Lloyd.” I take a step backward into the kitchen to put a breathable distance between us. He was definitely waiting right by the door with the sole intention of trying to scare me. I’m annoyed with myself for being startled, but I’m not frightened of him. He’s going to have to try harder than that. I’m not some unsuspecting civvy here. I’m a Bittersweet. Lloyd Scarborough has underestimated me and, for now, I’m happy to allow him to look down his long nose at me and continue under that delusion.
“Mr. Scarborough to you,” he corrects frostily.
“You don’t appreciate my being here,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m a ghost and you’re a ghost hunter, Miss Bittersweet. I think that rather sets us at odds from the outset.”
Well, I can hardly argue with that one, can I?
“I can probably help you,” I say.
He laughs, a hollow sound that rattles around the walls. “That’s exactly the problem. I neither want nor need any help from you or any of your assorted cronies.” Resentment rolls from him in cold waves. “The ridiculous arrogance of youth. Douglas was always exactly the same.”
My ears perk up, and he sighs.
“Oh please. Permit me to express a negative opinion of my brother without automatically casting me in the role of cold-blooded murderer.”
“Well, someone killed him,” I say, mildly.
“Isaac’s guilt was well-documented at the time.”
“Yet he wasn’t found guilty.”
“That doesn’t make him innocent.” Lloyd shrugs. “It’s really neither here nor there, is it? The house will be sold soon and, from what I gather, filled with a bunch of dribbling old dears waiting for God.”
I decide that I really don’t like Lloyd Scarborough. He’s bitter and rude, and in my experience a person’s ghost is pretty much a true reflection of the person they were when they were alive.
“It can’t be sold if you keep trying to frighten off any prospective buyers.”
“It isn’t me doing the frightening, Miss Bittersweet.”
He shrugs and then disappears into thin air, leaving me alone in the hallway.
Right, then. I can either go back outside into the sunshine or head on up the sweeping staircase to see what lies beyond. Most sane people would choose the sunshine. I’m not a sane person, I’m a Bittersweet with a job to do. I set my foot on the first creaking step and start to climb.
It really is a stunning old place. I mean, granted, it needs an imaginative overhaul, but it’s the most magical house. The high ceilings and grand proportions of the rooms lend it a stately air, and it was clearly decorated with flair and decent finances, because the fabricsused for the curtains and upholstery are all heavy velvets and slippery old silks; not particularly to my tastes but they were obviously high-end and high fashion when they were chosen. The house wears an overcoat of dust and neglect, but beneath the surface lies a designer party dress and exquisite jewels. It really is a crying shame that Donovan Scarborough isn’t thinking more along the lines of turning the house back into a gorgeous family home; but then, I expect the presence of three inhospitable ghosts is quite a turnoff. In all honesty, I wouldn’t especially want to live here myself with the Scarborough brothers in situ, so I guess I can see why it’s being sold off. Not that Donovan seems at all regretful to see the house go; I get the impression that is very much a decision made by the head, not the heart. Sad really; every floorboard and rafter of this house is soaked in his family history, both good and bad, and it’ll all be ripped out and lost, replaced with bland corporate magnolia, cheap curtains, and metal grab rails.
“On your own, ghost hunter?”
I turn at the lighthearted sound of Douglas Scarborough’s voice and find him lounging against the doorway to one of the bedrooms.
“I am.”
Crap. I can feel my cheeks getting hot because he looks a bit like one of the Rat Pack, all glam and louche. I shoot him a cheery smile and hope I’m not noticeably blushing. “Feel like a chat?”
“You mean you need me to talk to you.” He grins easily. “There’s something I’d like in exchange first though.”
“Am I going to regret asking you what it is?”
“Shouldn’t think so.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I want to watch cricket.”
Okay. So that wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t actually know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
“You know you can’t leave the house though, right?”
