Page 22 of Crazy Spooky Love
“Come and sit with me, Artie, I think Melody might have something.”
I smile at him with an encouraging nod that he should joinMarina on the sofa. He freezes, moving his eyes from side to side, reminding me of a weird old zebra clock one of our elderly neighbors used to have hanging on her kitchen wall.
“Is there someone here?” he mouths, as still as if he were playing musical statues and someone turned the music off. I’ll remind him later that whispering will not stop any prospective ghost from hearing him.
“I can hear you,” the younger ghost laughs, dancing around Artie, but for now I ignore him and concentrate on Artie.
“Yes, Artie, there is.” I look him in the eyes. “So let’s call this meeting to order, shall we? You’re in charge of taking notes. Can you do that for me?”
For a second, I think he’s going to bolt. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, all long legs and wide eyes, completely static. Marina and I both watch him carefully, and I let my breath out when he mouths “this is amazing” before approaching the sofa on exaggerated tiptoes.
“God help us,” Isaac mutters, shaking his head as he sees Artie arrange his long limbs beside Marina and pull hisDoctor Whonotebook from his coat pocket. He flips it open and writes the date on the top of the first page then looks up expectantly, Biro poised for action.
I give him a double thumbs-up.
“Right, so I’m going to just chat now with Isaac and…” I glance toward the younger ghost, who has draped himself over the corner of Isaac’s sofa, his arms flung wide across the back.
“Douglas Scarborough,” he supplies.
“Douglas Scarborough,” I repeat, for the benefit of the others. “There’s two of them?” Artie whispers, noting the names down.
“You don’t need to whisper,” Marina murmurs. “They can hear you just the same as we can.”
“Three, actually.”
I turn toward the new voice in the room and find a third man now occupying one of the wingback chairs by the French doors.I’d guess his age as early eighties, the eldest Scarborough sibling, then. His resemblance to Isaac is striking; but while the two older brothers have similar features, in actual fact they are very distinct from each other. Without wishing to do Isaac an injustice, he’s a fairly plain elderly man, a regular Joe in both his ’60s clothes and style. His brother though is not. He shares Isaac’s fine cheekbones and slightly lengthy nose, but he is long-limbed and poker-straight, and his silk smoking jacket over paisley pajamas and Turkish slippers suggests theatrical. There’s a cold haughtiness emanating from him; I get the distinct impression that he isn’t pleased to have us in the house. When he gets up from the chair and strolls over, he doesn’t sit beside the others. From the way that Isaac stiffens, his expression hardening, I conclude that there is little love lost between these two. “There’s a third presence.” I keep Marina and Artie up-to-date, looking at the new arrival as I wait for him to supply his name.
When he doesn’t, Douglas laughs softly.
“He’s our other brother, Lloyd. The third musketeer—eh, boys?” There is a sarcasm behind his words and, actually, on closer inspection, all of them look fractious and ill-at-ease beneath the surface, despite, Douglas in particular, attempting to appear relaxed.
Artie swings his head around, following my gaze as if he might be able to see them too if only he looks hard enough.
“Okay. So we have Isaac, Lloyd, and Douglas Scarborough, three brothers. I’m assuming this is your family home?”
I glance between the three Scarborough brothers, trying to straddle a position of holding a conversation with them and keeping Marina and Artie informed of what’s happening without obviously relaying everything verbatim. This is new to me too, remember? I don’t want to piss the brothers off by parroting everything they say.
Lloyd, the newest arrival, cuts straight to the chase. “Would it be impertinent of me to ask why you’re here?” His voice is silky and underscored with menace.
I glance quickly at Isaac, who I know was privy to my conversation with Donovan Scarborough on the doorstep yesterday.
“Your great-nephew, Donovan, has asked me to come and talk to you all. I’m sure you’re aware by now that his father passed away quite recently, and Donovan Scarborough wanted me to let you know the house has been put up for sale.”
Lloyd eyes me with barely concealed contempt. “So you’re his mouthpiece?”
“His eyes, in this case,” I say. I have to admit that I’m finding it hard to warm to Lloyd.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Douglas runs his hand through his dark hair and I smile at him, glad of his intervention.
“I’m Melody. Melody Bittersweet.”
He tilts his head as if he’s considering it. “Melody. As in a song. I’ll remember that. Why is it that you can see us?”
I shrug. “Family trait. All of my family can. It’s our thing.”
“You should bring them over.” Douglas laughs carelessly. “God knows we could do with the company.”
“If you’ve quite finished flirting,” Lloyd cutsin.
