Page 90 of Ghoul as a Cucumber

“Butwhy?”Bree wails. “And why is Edward out there whispering terrible sonnets and tripping my mother and…and…omg, you’re sabotaging the viewing!”

“We are making you happy,” I say. “You do not want anyone to buy Grimwood. Well, we will make certain that no one does.”

“Oh, Pax…” Bree frowns, and for a moment I think that she’s going to yell at me, that I’ve done everything wrong and messed up again. But then she throws her arms around me. “Thank you.”

“Excuseme.” A dark shape moves through the wall. “If anyone should be thanked, it’s me. I’m the one out there, doing all the hard work, waving my hands through people and composing some of my finest sonnets and lifting books as if I’m the servant…”

Bree rushes over and hugs him. “Edward, you’re amazing. Keep up the good work.”

“My pleasure,” Edward says as he plunges his hand into the wall. The lights flicker, and in the next room, Gwen shrieks as another lightbulb bursts.

33

Bree

“Well, that was a complete bust.” Mum slumps down in her favourite armchair, a glass of sherry clutched protectively to her chest. “I felt certain that we’d have at least one offer today, but it’s as if the universe is against us. How didtwelvelightbulbs manage to blow in a single day? On today of all days?”

“I know, it’s sostrange.” I glance over at Edward, and can’t help the grin spreading over my face. “Who knew we really had ghosts?”

“There are no bloody ghosts!” Mum snaps. “We have a house that’s falling down around us and no one to take it off our hands.”

“We have to be patient, Sylvie.” Dad doesn’t look up from the puzzle he’s doing. He keeps dropping the pieces on the floor, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Maybe if no one wants this place, you’ll have to hire someone else to run the B&B instead?” I suggest. “Pax is strong, maybe he could help with the DIY jobs around the place. I know he’d appreciate the extra money.”

And then he might learn some skills that could help him find a job. Skills that don’t involve stabbing people.

“We’ve already considered it, but we can’t afford to pay anyone else. The guesthouse has only worked because your father and I don’t pay ourselves a wage.” Mum punches a pillow. “If you can find someone willing to work for free, I’m all ears.”

“You could get an investor? Someone to give this place an infusion of cash to fix the roof, maybe redecorate the rooms and attract higher-paying clients. If we could charge what they do at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, then you could afford to keep Grimwood—”

“We’ve already thought of that, love,” Dad says. “But honestly, we wouldn’t know the first thing about finding an investor. And reinventing this place and getting it up to scratch for high-end clients is not a project I want to take on right now.”

As if on cue, he fumbles his puzzle piece, and it drops into his tea.

“You didn’t happen to meet any cute billionaires on your Kerouac journeys?” Mum pipes up. “We could do with a knight in shining armour right about now, ideally one who will also give us lots of grandchildren.”

“I volunteer,” Edward calls from his position beside the fireplace. “I cut a striking figure upon a steed, and Iamrather virile—”

“Nope, sorry.” I kick out my feet, showing off my tracksuit pants, knotted hair, and pie-stained Blood Lust t-shirt. “Would you believe that no billionaires are interested in this? I know, I can’t understand it, either.”

“I can’t bear to sit in this house another minute.” Mum stands up and smooths down her dress. “Mike, how about going to the pub to drown our sorrows? Bree, do you and your not-boyfriends want to come, too?”

“Actually, no.” I pretend to stifle a yawn. “I’m pretty beat. Today really took it out of me. I think I’ll stay in and go to bed early.”

As I leave the room, I grab Pax’s hand and yank him down the hallway, beckoning Edward to follow.

I drag him into my room and slam the door behind me, checking that it’s bolted. Ambrose looks up from the desk at the window with a start, where he’s been working on his Braille. “Bree?”

Edward floats through the wall, a stern expression on his face.

“The three of you…” I glare at them. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ambrose says. “I was at the cemetery all day, and you cannot prove otherwise.”

“Please,” I roll my eyes, which is silly because he can’t see that. “I know who came up with the idea to give Pax that speech about the ghosts of the Roman legion. That has Ambrose Hulme written all over it.”

“Guilty,” Ambrose’s face breaks into a grin.

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