Page 43 of Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places
“For the time being, yes. If it’s all the same, I’d like to ask you some questions.” He retrieved a tablet from a satchel resting on the end table next to him.
“Sure, if you agree to answer mine. I only operate on two-way streets.”
“I’ll do what I can.” His placating smile felt like condescension.
“Looks like we’re taking turns, then.” She set the peas on the table and whipped out her phone with a theatrical flourish, ready to transcribe. Intense head pain, swollen face, and bloodshot eyes be damned. She’d conducted interviews under far worse conditions, like the one time she’d been sick with a flu straight from the pits of hell and had to stay up until two a.m. to meet a potential contact in Romania via Zoom. “I’ll be generous—you can go first.”
He regarded her for a moment, gaze assessing her from head to toe before nodding. “I’ve watched all your interviews thus far.I noticed Maverick rarely inquired after your physical state. How have you been sleeping?”
“Fine.” Realizing he was clearly waiting for her to say more, she added, “I slept fine. Do you need complete sentences or something?”
He exhaled in what could only be described as a regal huff. “Could you elaborate? Please.”
“Could you give me specifics?” she shot back. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult, but I answered the question.” Until she felt satisfied that he’d make good on their little quid pro quo deal, she’d answer exactly what he asked. No more. No less.
“Have you noticed any changes from your normal sleeping habits?”
“Yes, actually.” She grinned. “Why is your name on the attic wall?”
“Because I wrote it there.” His icy tone could give the arctic tundra a run for its money. “Please list all the changes you’ve experienced while sleeping.”
“I sleep longer. I’ve stopped waking up during the night. I don’t really move either, like whatever position I go to sleep in, that’s exactly how I am in the morning. I haven’t had a single dream since I’ve been here. When I wake up, I am fully awake and extremely well rested,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Did Hennessee ask you to write your name on the wall?”
“No,” he said. “Do you experience headaches or sudden overwhelming bouts of exhaustion in the evenings?”
“No,” she said. “Did you know the other caretakers had written their names on the wall? The team didn’t.”
Xander paused, unable to keep the sudden surprise off his face.
Lucky gave him her cheeriest smile. She probably looked mad in the British sense—a Cheshire cat with bloodshot eyes. “Do you need me to repeat the question?”
He shifted in his seat, surprise giving way to his usual steely expression. “I suspected as much,” he said. “Does the smell of peppermint truly not mean anything to you?”
“I have an exceptional memory, medically speaking. I’d remember if it did,” she answered honestly. “Has Stephen slept in the house before?”
“No. I don’t believe so.” His measured response nearly sounded like a question. “Do you hear voices at night? Blatant or subtle ones that are easy enough to explain away as paranoia?”
She almost answeredJust Maverick’sas a joke but had a feeling Xander wouldn’t find that funny. He was as much the boss as Stephen—being flippant might get Maverick in trouble. “I haven’t heard any unexplainable voices. Did you use to live here?”
“Intermittently. My family used it as a vacation home,” he said. “Have you seen anyone who isn’t supposed to be here? Glimpses in the mirror, your peripheral vision, walking through the orchard, sitting on the stairs—anyone at all?”
“No.” The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck stood at attention. “Don’t lie to me: Are there ghosts in this house?”
“Not that I know of.” He held out a hand as a peaceful gesture. “Please calm down. I am not attempting to deceive you. I was simply referencing common places where specters have manifested. The caretakers recognized each manifestation, most of them matching people who were still alive. Hennessee seemingly pulled them from their memories.”
“Not ghosts?” Her brain was stuck.
He smiled gently. “No ghosts. It’s all right.”
She nodded, sitting back against the couch. “I haven’t seen any specters. I found the cat I emailed you about, though.” She pointed beside him where Gengar quietly sat. As if on cue, he jumped onto the couch and sat directly between them, his back to Lucky as if to protect her. “I named him Gengar.”
“What an atrocious name.”
“Thanks.” She snorted. “Pretty sure he was abandoned.”
Xander frowned. “He needs a haircut. I do not want him shedding on the furniture. I’ll find a groomer who accepts cats and make an appointment.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Thank you.”
