Page 84 of Crazy Spooky Love
She looks slightly mollified. “I suppose he’ll be more use than your mother.”
“If he comes straight from the offices in town he could be here within a few minutes,” I estimate.
“Or he could be in a meeting, or in the pub, or on a date and not check his phone.”
I quite like the idea of him in a meeting. It fires a completely out-of-context boss-and-secretary fantasy across my frontal lobe. God, having sex with him has ruined me forever. I’m having inappropriate thoughts about him even when my life is in danger. I’m not so keen on the suggestion of him being at the pub too busy to check his phone, and the idea of him on a date gives me the hump with Marina for even suggesting it.
“Let’s just hope for the best, shall we,” I mutter sourly, and then we both go silent and hold our breath because someone is thumping up the stairs.
“Oh God, Melody.” Marina’s hand finds mine on the floorboards between us. “If he kills us, I’ll miss you every day.”
I don’t have time to reply, because the bedroom door just flung back on its hinges and I can see Donovan Scarborough’s shiny brown brogues. I squeeze Marina’s fingers tight and cower as he comes closer, and I think he actually whispers, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He’s enjoying this way too much; he’s definitely Lloyd’s great-grandson.
A second pair of shoes comes into view, equally shiny, and then Leo speaks.
“Let me help you look.”
He’s standing beside the bed, and then he drops to his knees, dips his head, and looks directly at me with his one good eye. I stare back at him, and for a second I feel like Liesl fromThe Sound of Music,and hope like hell that Leo’s loyalties to me are stronger than Ratbag Rolfe’s were to her. Please don’t blow the whistle, Leo, Marina can’t run for the hills in those heels.
He stands, dropping the edge of the sheet back down carelessly. “Just suitcases.”
They leave the room in a clatter of leather soles on wooden boards, and Marina and I look at each other and let painfully huge whooshes of air out from our lungs.
Marina loosens her death grip on my hand. “Unfortunately, I think you officially owe Leo Dark a favor.”
We hear them moving away along the landing into the other bedrooms and I rack my brain for our next move.
“We need to get down the corridor to the main bedroom,” I say, and then I gasp because a hand has just grabbed my ankle and is hauling me out from under the bed. I cling to Marina in panic, and she kicks out viciously at the fingers with her high heel. I take a moment to reflect on how different a movieTakenmight have been if Liam Neeson’s daughter had been a stiletto fan. He wouldn’t have needed to find the abductors and kill them, but then the internet would have been deprived of one of its finest memes. Whoever it is hanging onto my ankle mutters an irate “fucking hell” under his breath and lets go, then bends down to stare at us. “Fletch,” I breathe with relief, trying not to look at the blood on his knuckles as he reaches his hand out and tugs first me and then Marina from our hiding place.
“You came.”
Not only that, he came in not much more than four minutes. Maybe he just happened to be in the area, or maybe he truly is my real-life superhero on call whenever I really, really need him.
“Again,” he says softly, and for one moment of scorching hot eye-sex I think he’s going to kiss me, or that I might kiss him.
“What the fuck is going on here?” he asks instead, low and urgent.
“There isn’t a quick answer to that,” I say, thinking how to shrink this down into his terms, which means no ghosts or things that go bump in the night to make him sneer, then get mad and leave again. Luckily there are chunks of this story that are black and white. “Donovan Scarborough is furious with me because he thinks I’ve broken in and that I’m going to hold up the sale of the house.”
“Have you, and are you?”
“Well, technically yes, and yes, but for a good reason.”
Fletch rolls his eyes as if to say he doesn’t think he’s going to like what he’s about to hear.
“Don’t tell me anything about ghosts or I might just leave you to get whacked.”
Marina jumps in to help. “Okay, forget the ghosts. There was a murder in this house about a hundred years ago and we’re going to solve it, if you’ll help us?”
Oh, now he’s interested. His reporter’s ears prick up and his moss-green eyes glitter with excitement he can’t hide.
“No bullshit?”
We both shake our heads, and Marina crosses her heart for good measure.
“Why do I think I’m gonna regret this?” he mutters and then sighs heavily. “What do you need me to do?”
It’s a hastily cobbled-together plan,but I think we might just be able to pull it off. It’s two-pronged, and Fletch doesn’t approve of the first prong at all on account of the fact that it falls into the gray area between black and white that makes no sense to his logical brain. Pulling my phone out again, I quickly text Artie.
