We all waited -- for a good long time. Aunt Vi repeated her request for the "ghost" to show at least half a dozen more times. Much to my relief, Betty didn't make another appearance.
Although Betty seemed to have abandoned the ruse, Margaret still acted like she expected something to happen. Everyone else, including Juliet and Michelle, seemed to have gotten into the spirit of the séance, doing their best to be still and pay attention. But Margaret shifted in her chair, her eyes darting in the direction of any creak or groan of the house I knew to be normal. When her gaze inspected the others in the group she skipped past me as though I was a Medusa and to be avoided at all costs.
Throughout the whole psychic ordeal my stomach held a tense knot, despite the knowledge I'd foiled their scam -- this time. I needed to talk to Margaret. She was Aunt Vi's friend and she wasn't acting like it. My aunt really believed in this stuff and setting up a mock ghost was just plain cruel.
At last, Aunt Vi declared an end to the efforts to raise the ghost and called for everyone to help clean up. Unfortunately, by the time I'd finished helping stack the chairs and carry the folding tables back to Kim's house, Margaret had left, along with Betty. I didn't mention my suspicions to Aunt Vi, only told her I was sorry it didn't work out. She took it well, saying these things were unpredictable. However, when I got home I unloaded the whole sorry set-up along with my anger on Paul. He said he wasn't surprised, which didn't surprise me.
I got up early the next morning, left a note for Paul on the bathroom mirror reminding him of his promise to fill in the holes in our backyard, and told him to come and get me when he was ready to go -- I'd be having breakfast with Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry. I figured Aunt Vi would need some cheering up after the previous evening's failure.
I was wrong.
"Coffee's hot," she said, smiling and cheerful when I came in the kitchen door.
"Thanks." I poured myself a mug full. Uncle Henry appeared at my side and held out his cup. I topped it off.
"You're not dressed to ride this morning," he said. He was. Evidently is was an early lesson morning for him.
"No." I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. "I'm dressed to shovel dirt into holes in my backyard."
"Henry –" Aunt Vi turned toward us and the ladle she held flew out of her hand spewing batter across the front of the dishwasher and nearby cabinets. "Oh, my word. What a mess!"
Uncle Henry picked up the ladle and set it in the sink. "You're filling in that hole where the skeleton was found?" He tore some paper towels from the roll handed me some then got some for himself.
"No, no. You’ll just spread it around. Give it here." She snatched the towels out of our hands, dampened them and attacked the batter herself.
I gave up trying to help and addressed my uncle’s question. "No, not that one." Unfortunately. My poor rhody was still languishing away, tipped on its side. "There are couple dozen additional holes that Lauren Ipsom seems to think were put there by people digging for pirate gold. Did you hear her last night, Aunt Vi? That woman drives me nuts. Nobody in their right mind would think there's buried treasure in my backyard."
Aunt Vi toss the towels in the garbage bin and without missing a beat, plucked a huge, lovely, golden brown waffle from the iron, slid it onto a plate and handed it to me. They come out so perfectly when she does them. Mine always looked half eaten when I pulled them out of my iron.
"Yes, duck, I heard her."
"I'm sorry the séance was a bust last night," I said, setting my breakfast on the table and pulling out a chair. I didn't really believe her cheery attitude. "Everybody had a good time, anyway, I think. Except maybe Margaret. She seemed kind of nervous."
"Oh, don't pay her any mind. I think she gets over-tired caring for her mother. She takes her to the senior center sometimes so she can have a break, but she worries about her all the time. Can hardly sit through a whole bunco game anymore."
I poured syrup on my waffle. "What's wrong with her mother?"
"Dementia. Oh, sometimes she's very lucid and chats away like she's right there with us. Makes all the sense in the world. Then, bang! She just slips into another time and place. Once in a while she doesn't even recognize her own daughter."
The snarky knee-jerk response I'd been about to voice wishing Mother sometimes forgot me was nudged aside by the memory of Paul's injury last summer that temporarily erased part of his memory -- me included. What if it had been permanent? What felt like a knife to my heart also brought tears to my eyes. I swallowed down the lump in my throat with a sip of scalding coffee. "Wow, that's tough. I'm so sorry."
"It's quite the emotional burden for her. I try to include her in activities when I can. She needs the mental break, but it's getting more and more difficult for her to find a care-giver. Money is tight. All us ladies chip in a bit on the sly when we can."
"You're a good person, Aunt Vi." I wanted to hug her, but she was cooking.
"Oh, you. I'm doing what's right and proper is all. Eat your breakfast while it's hot. Henry, do you want another?"
He handed her his plate.
"So, am I understanding you correctly?" he asked. "Someone has been digging up your backyard?"
"Yes. You should have seen all the holes -- in the yard, in the garden -- what a mess."
"Good heavens, Theodora, you take everything so personally." Mother strolled into the kitchen, elegant in her white bathrobe and slippers, got a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee. "Lauren's probably right about treasure hunters. And by the way you were quite rude to her last evening."
I cut another piece of waffle. "Not any ruder than she was to me."
"That's no excuse, young lady."
"Waffle, Rebecca?" Aunt Vi asked.
"That would be lovely, thank you. Now where was I?" Mother sat at the table and eyed me, likely reviewing my additional faults for comment.
The kitchen door opened letting in a cold, damp draft and Paul, dressed to dig in the dirt. He shut the door quickly, and made for the coffee pot.
Mother watched him, a perturbed set to her mouth. When Paul didn't acknowledge any of us she turned to me. "As I was saying, it wouldn't hurt you to try and be a little nicer. Lauren is jealous because she thinks Jim likes you."
"He does like her." The early-morning roughness in Paul's voice made him sound cranky. "Coffee pot's empty. I only got half a cup." He dropped into the chair next to me.
"Then make some more," Mother snapped.
Paul started to get to his feet despite knowing full well how proprietary Aunt Vi felt about her kitchen appliances. I couldn't blame him. Mother did have a certain command in her tone.
"You stay put. I'll not have you fouling up my coffee maker. I'll get more going just as soon as this waffle finishes up."
Paul thumped back into his chair.
"Well," Mother said. "What are you going to do?"
"About what?" Paul asked.
"Jim's very nice to Thea, and respectful. He'd have taken her to meet his parents at Christmas."
"His father lives in Everett and Thea's already met him. His mother is resting comfortably, and permanently, nearby, from what I understand," Paul said.
Aunt Vi handed Mother a plate with her breakfast. She took it to the table and sat across from Paul. "You should have taken Thea to Hawaii to meet your parents. It would have been a nice trip."
"It was even nicer to save the money."
"If you don't make that coffee right now, I will," I said to Aunt Vi.
"I'm on it, dear. You can throw a bucket of water on them if they get to scrapping too much."
"What I'm saying is," Mother persisted, scalding me and Aunt Vi's back with a glare before continuing her assault on Paul, "you need to make some effort to let Thea know you're not taking her for granted --"
Paul's lip curled. "Fine. How about I challenge him to a duel."
"Don't get smart with me. Since you've moved in with my daughter you've developed a lackadaisical attitude and aren't paying her the attention you once were. That's probably why she finds Jim's attention flattering."
I stared at her for a beat before finding my voice. "Mother --"
"If you didn't enjoy his attention you'd discourage him and be nicer to Lauren."
"Lauren is a colossal pain in the ass." It's all I could come up with on less than one cup of coffee. I took another gulp, hoping for inspiration. None came.
Mother's expression turned calculating. "Maybe you should continue to encourage Jim --"
I choked on my coffee. "Mother!"
"I'm serious. He not only likes you, he likes your house. He told me so New Year’s Eve. In fact his father used to own it. He'd like to see it fixed up."
I slammed my fork onto the table. "It was fixed up until the fire."
"I mean brought up to modern building code specifications. All your fussing was surface improvements. What Jim can do can really add value."
Before I could respond -- at volume -- Paul stood, noisily shoving his chair back.
"Have you got a travel mug I can borrow, Vi? I think I want to go add real value to Thea's house by filling in the holes someone has been digging."
Aunt Vi poured coffee into a mug, added a splash of milk, screwed the top on and had us on our way in less than thirty seconds. The backdoor closed on us but not too soon to catch my father's cheerful, "Good morning, everyone."
Perfect timing.
Paul retrieved our tools from the shed and tossed them into the bed of Uncle Henry's pickup. The rake and shovel clattered painfully. I winced.
"Your mother," he said, jerking open the cab door, "is a colossal pain in the ass."
My sentiments as well, but considering the current state of his temper, and mine, I chose to keep my mouth shut.
Paul guzzled Aunt Vi's coffee, finishing it off before we got into town. He pulled into the first drive-through espresso stand we came to and ordered two venti mochas. He started to hand me mine, stopped and, much to my disappointment, took it back.
"Oh, excuse me," he snarled, "I took for granted that you'd want one."
My teeth ground before I could form a sentence. "The one and only cup of coffee I had is starting to wear off, and with it my sense of humor. Give me the freaking mocha." He handed it over. "Thank you. I hope you'll be equally appreciative of me later when I take for granted that you'll want something."
He steered the truck back onto Maple Avenue. The edge of his mouth twitched for a moment as if he was struggling with a smile, then he growled. "How does your father put up with her?"
"I've asked myself that question for years. I think he's got a weird appreciation of farce."
"Maybe the sex --"
"NO!" I tried to slap my free hand over his mouth, but cuffed the end of his nose. The truck veered into the opposite side of the road and jerked back.
"Dammit, Thea."
"Don't go there, ever. And I'm not talking about the wrong lane."
He massaged the end of his nose.
A couple of turns and a couple of blocks later we pulled up in front of our house -- behind a landscaper's pickup. The lettering on the side said, "Amazing Grass. The One To Resurrect Your Lawn."
"You call them?" Paul asked.
"No."
"Your mother?"
"Doubt it. She'd have mentioned it."
He shook his head. "Stupid name."
"Really? I think it's kind of catchy."
I'd have laughed at his snort, but at that moment Jim came around the corner of the house, a shovel in his hand. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the truck belonged to.
Paul swung out of our pick-up. I scooted out my side, grabbing the small bag of grass seed.
"Hey, Jim," Paul said.
"Paul, Thea."
His eyes softened when he said my name. Paul grew so silent I questioned if he'd stopped breathing. No way was I looking to check, though. I couldn't be crabby with Jim. It wasn't his fault my mother liked him best.
"Don't suppose you know whose truck this is," my genius said.
"Sure do. It's mine. Just a little side business I have. Started it to increase the curb appeal of my projects. Comes in handy."
"Clever name," I said.
"Thanks." Jim's smile was just for me. I smiled back -- it was hard not to.
Paul took the shovel and rake out of the back of the pickup with as much clatter as he tossed them in. "What are you doing here?"
"Fixing those holes out back. Got a message on my voice mail last night offering to double my fee if I got out here first thing this morning. Can't resist an offer like that."
Paul leaned against the truck. "Who was it?"
"Don't know." He slid his shovel into the rack in the back of the landscape truck, turned toward the house and whistled. "Guillermo, Manuel! Let's go! We’ve got a tight schedule." Then he climbed into the drivers seat and raised a hand to us -- well, probably me.
Jim's two workers rounded the side of the house and walked toward us carrying their own equipment.
"Buenas dias," Paul said.
"Buenas dias, Señor," one of the men responded.
"Momento, por favor. ¿Quién te llamo?"
"Señor Brown."
"¿No, quiero decir que lo llamó por teléphone?"
"No sé."
"Gracias." Paul turned to me and shrugged. "Well, it didn't hurt to ask. They don't know who called the job in either."
I could have told him that. The man Paul spoke with stowed his shovel in the landscape truck, then looked my way.
"You won't need the grass seed, Miss. We put sod down. Looks real nice."
I grinned. "Thanks." Still grinning I turned to Paul. "Show-off."
"Yeah," Paul grumbled, "well, so's he." He strode off toward the backyard.
I followed and took his hand when I caught up. Except for the still uprooted rhody, the yard looked good. In fact, you could hardly tell there had been holes, although I'm sure when spring came around and the bulbs I'd planted started to sprout I might notice empty spots where I expected to see flowers. Then again, since my sister had been responsible for initially strewing the bulbs in a random scatter all over the beds, it might not be as evident as if she'd planted in the same neat rows I'd done in the front. Knots I hadn't noticed in my shoulders before that moment melted away as if I'd just emerged from a thorough massage. Our problems were on the road to being solved. I took a deep lungful of the cold, damp January air and exhaled the last of my tension.
"I'm going to do a little research," Paul said, once we were back in the truck.
"Into what?"
"Something your mother said this morning about Jim's family owning your house years ago." He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. "Besides, what you said at the New Year’s party about researching county records won't leave me alone. I'll lay you odds Jim knows who that skeleton was, and I'll also bet I can dig up enough information to jog his memory."
I studied his profile as he drove. Apparently, the scowling concentration on his face was not due to the nonexistent traffic. "Maybe you're looking for a way to make Jim and his family look bad."
The corner of his mouth turned down farther and he flicked an annoyed look at me. "I'm not trying to make Jim's family look bad. Tell me you think it's purely a coincidence that his family owned our house and I'll leave it alone."
I couldn't tell him that. Damn. Now that he'd brought it up, I couldn't ignore it either. This time I felt every twinge as the muscles in my shoulder began to knot.