Kiss Me Hello (19 page)

Peekie had tried to look somber in a long black dress, black boots, and jet bracelets and necklace, but her scarf flowed with gypsy colors and her usual Bohemian flair. She’d stuck her hair on top of her head, but several copper curls had already escaped the dastardly trap.

“Hey, gorgeous!” She gave Sara a hug.

“Yeah, right. I look okay.” Sara wore black wool slacks and a plain black silk sweater. She’d forgotten to put on jewelry. “But Bonnie, you’re a work of art.”

Bonnie glowed at the compliment. “What an awesome turnout,” she said.

“I know. How did this happen?” Sara said. “It’s supposed to be a memorial service, not a party.”

“It’s a celebration of Amelia’s life. Is that so bad?” Peekie said. “Besides, that’s what you get for putting the mayor in charge of the guest list.”

“I was afraid no one would come.” Sara said.

“Not likely,” Peekie said. “Spot knows everybody.”

“Amelia never had people out here,” Bonnie said. “No one’s going to miss the chance to see Turtledove Hill.”

Sara opened the back door. “The caterer wants guests to stay out of the kitchen, but we can cut through to the front where the booze is.”

Peekie said, “I want a disgustingly sweet bevvy with a paper umbrella.”

“No worries.” Bonnie surveyed the kitchen with a real estate agent’s eye, horrified. “No one’s going to gather in here. The wallpaper will scare them off.”

“Oh, good grief.” Sara burst out laughing. “Isn’t it the worst?”

It felt so good to laugh. This had been the week from hell, and she was ready to let it go. She just wanted to say goodbye to Aunt Amelia, stop worrying about Bram and Bonnie, and forget about Joss Montague.

“That looks…good.” Bonnie stopped at the repaired staircase.

It was Sara’s turn to beam. She was delighted with how it had turned out. Rafe’s men had stripped off the old carpet, stained the original wood, and laid down a beautiful arts and crafts style runner based on a cabbage design by William Morris. The runner was held down by clamps of polished brass at every tread.

“It’s beautiful, actually.” Bonnie eyed the work and glanced up the stairs longingly. “This entire place screams to be restored.”

“Have you seen the whole house?” Sara asked. “Bram says you’re the expert on it.”

“Not really,” Bonnie said. “I’m a fan of the architects. Where is that man, anyway?”

“At the bar, last I saw him.” Sara opened the front door.

The veranda was crowded with guests. Bram waved from the far end where he hovered over the bartenders and motioned at her to bring the others up to the back of the bar.

“Hell, yeah,” Peekie said. “The perks of knowing the host.”

The line for drinks extended down the stairs and out to the lawn. In the middle of the grass, Gracien and Spot were involved in animated conversation. Sara was relieved to see Rafe on the lawn too, his arm in a sling. He was talking with Dr. and Chief Kasaty.

“You two go ahead,” Sara said to Bonnie and Peekie. “I want to see how Rafe is.”

“What’s your bevvy?” Peekie said.

“Wine.” Sara grinned. It was good to see Peekie so ready for a good time. For Bonnie’s benefit she added, “Bram will know what I want.”

The doctor saw her coming. “Mrs. Blakemore, let me say again how sorry I am for your loss. Amelia was a wonderful person.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kasaty. I appreciate everything you did for her. And please call me Sara.” She did mourn Aunt Amelia, but it felt strange to be on display with it. Like she hadn’t earned her grief. “Hello again, Chief Kasaty.”

“I’m definitely Ken,” Chief Kasaty said. “Amelia was a nice woman, and we’ll miss her. Are you going to be staying on?”

Rafe perked up. Of course. As a vice president of Poole Haven Wines, he’d be interested in her answer. Sara had learned he had a degree in viticulture and enology from the University of California at Davis and was one of Gracien Poole’s top lieutenants.

“I’d like to. I’ve always loved this house.” To Dr. Kasaty said, “If we do stay, we’ll need a new GP.”

“Call my office Monday morning,” Dr. Kasaty said. “We’ll get you set up.” She and the chief left to get something to eat.

Sara turned to Rafe. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I knew Miss Amelia since I was a kid. She pushed for my scholarship to Davis, though she’d never admit it.”

“This is going to sound strange, but do you remember me?” Sara told him about the crazy driver in the Lexus, though she left out the part about thinking he was flirting with her.

“Man, that lady was mad.” Rafe laughed. “Yeah, I remember that, now you mention it.”

“I was just a kid then.” Sara didn’t really think he’d remember her, but she was disappointed all the same. “You wouldn’t have noticed me. But when I saw you the other day, I remembered your smile.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Blakemore. I don’t remember you.” His smile broadened. “You must have been a nice kid, though.”

“Why do say that?”

“I was pretty shy in those days. Don’t get me wrong. I looked at all the pretty girls. But I only smiled at the nice ones.”

Sara felt her face go red, but she was saved from embarrassment by Spot.

“Hey,
hermosa!
” The mayor gave her a hug. “It’s good to see you on this gorgeous evening.” He was schmoozing, being all political as the mayor, but the attention felt good. In fact, now that she thought about it, Rafe had just called her pretty and nice. She was on a roll.

“Don’t you look handsome,” she said to Spot. “There’s a certain bookstore owner here I should introduce you to.” Spot blushed, and Sara had a flash of insight. She was only joking, but she’d hit a nerve. Spot liked Peekie!

“What’s happening with your ghost?” Spot changed the subject himself. “Any luck?”

“None with going to the light,” Sara said. “The other day, though, I found the graves of Joss Montague’s wife and son in Pelican Chase Cemetery.” She said nothing about Joss’s feelings for Olivia. It would be gossiping, even if he was dead. “If his remains are ever found, there’s consecrated ground waiting for him beside the little boy.”

“Aha, the ghost of Turtledove Hill,” Rafe said. “Maybe that’s who put those vine stakes in the rafters.”

“Hey, here they come!” Spot broke out in a smile as a blue van with a huge cartoon eye painted on the side door came down the driveway. “
Hermosa,
your husband told me you had no music planned. We can’t have that!”

The van stopped and the door slid open, and out poured a band of mariachis like they were coming out of a clown car. Each musician hit the ground playing his instrument—a mariachi version of
When the Saints Go Marching In
.

Sara was scandalized. But a cheer went up all over the lawn and spread to the veranda. She relaxed. Sometimes she forgot not everyone grew up in fundamentalist circles. Just because Dad would be shocked by mariachis at a memorial didn’t mean she had to be.

“Nobody can be sad when Parpadear plays,” Spot said. He glanced over Sara’s head toward the house. “Ah, here comes your sweetheart now.”

Sara gasped. Spot
was
a ghost whisperer. Could he see Joss too? She turned and bumped into Bram’s chest.

“Whoa.” A little wine spilled out of the glass he was holding.

“Oops. Bram, I'm sorry.”

“For you, babe.” He handed her the wine. “This is a great Napa Valley sauvignon blanc I just discovered.”

Bram had a bottled beer in his other hand and Peekie had her fruity
bevvy
with a paper umbrella. Bonnie wrinkled her nose at Bram’s comment, like they’d shared a personal joke about the wine, but Sara wasn’t going to let any of that bother her today.

“Now there’s a pretty girl,” Rafe said to her under his breath, looking at Bonnie. She was stylish sipping a crantini. Rafe winked at Sara. “If only she was as pretty on the inside.”

The sun must have dipped below the horizon, because the stars were suddenly brighter in the darkening sky. Parpadear was playing
Cancion
del Mariachi.

All was right with the world.

Sara tried to ignore the fact that when Spot had said
sweetheart
she thought of Joss, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the roof. Her heartbeat skipped. He was there. He was standing behind the wisteria, looking looked down at the lawn, searching the crowd.

Their eyes met, and his bittersweet smile warmed her soul.

- 22  -
We Can Have It All

“D
ON’T JUDGE, BON,” BRAM
said. “Remember: an old lady lived here for a million years, so it won’t be up to your exacting standards.”

Bonnie followed him up the fabulous staircase. The house was mostly horrid inside; Amelia sure did a number on it in the ‘70s. But there was a lot of original content to work with, as the staircase restoration showed. The library downstairs was amazing. She wasn’t much for books, but it wouldn’t surprise her if there were some first editions in the collection.

It was strange to think that her great aunt had once lived here. If things had gone differently, if Olivia hadn’t been killed, Amelia Lyndon never would have inherited Turtledove Hill. It might even have come to Bonnie. And with a tax assessment based on 1975 values. She wept inside to think of it.

Bram stopped at the door at the end of the hall on the second floor. “The master bedroom.” He motioned for her to go in first. “Imagine what you could do with this. The view alone is to kill for.”

She gasped.
You got that right
. Windows spanned one wall with French doors opening onto a covered deck. The view of the vineyards went on and on. It would make a perfect honeymoon suite.

“Fashion wasn’t Amelia’s strong point,” she said.

“Fashion doesn’t run in the Lyndon family,” Bram said. “They’re all so….” He set his bottle of Sierra Nevada Torpedo down on the dresser and slipped his arms around her waist. They were the same height, their eyes level with each other. “They’re all so short.”

He pushed her against the wall and kissed her. “Oh, Bonnie.” He squeezed her breast and thrust his tongue into her mouth. He tasted of beer.

“Wait a minute,” she said.

“Beautiful, beautiful Bonnie.” He kissed her again. “I’ve never been happy with Sara. I never wanted to marry her.”

“Bram…”

“I didn’t know what love was until I met you.”

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Then why did it feel so…so like not what she wanted?

“We’re going to be together, Bon. It was meant to be. And I’m going to get Turtledove Hill for you. I promise.”

“That doesn’t matter, Bram. None of that matters. All I want is you.” But the words sounded wrong before they were out of her mouth.

“Don’t say that.” He looked at her strangely. “Don’t sound like Sara. Don’t settle, Bon. You deserve the world. We can have it all.”

He tugged at her neckline, trying to pull her dress down to get at her breast.

“Don’t, Bram. Not here. Not now.” This was Amelia’s memorial. “All my clients are here.”

“Oh, come on.” Bram pushed her against the wall again and slobbered all over her neck. “I like a little danger.”

“I don’t.” Danger was never neat and tidy, and it was rarely beautiful.

“It doesn’t matter.” He backed off and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter if she catches us. Soon it will all be over. I’ll be free.”

“If you leave her, you won’t get anything,” Bonnie said. “Turtledove Hill is her inheritance. It’s not community property.”

“I’ll get it all,” Bram said. “This is my Hamptons mansion. It even has stairs to the lawn. Can’t you see? It was meant to be. It’s my density.” He laughed.

Bonnie didn’t get the joke. “It’s hers. It’s not subject to a property split.”

“But if she’s dead, there’s nothing to split. The bereaved husband inherits all.”

A chill crawled down Bonnie’s spine, and a dull feeling of disgust. What a bastard. But she already knew that, didn’t she? She’d been ignoring it, hoping she was wrong. Hoping it would go away. And he was a coward too.

“You won’t kill Sara,” she said. He didn’t have the nerve.

He wouldn’t kill her outright. But he might do it indirectly. The coward. Trip her on the stairs. Knock her off a boat at sea. Leave a box of sharp heavy objects at a precarious angle in the barn rafters.
I have to get out of here.

“Everyone knows she’s unstable,” Bram said. “Something might happen to her. She swears Turtledove Hill is haunted, for god’s sake. What if the ghost—” he made air quotes “—trips her on the stairs and she breaks her neck? Or she could fall off a cliff while looking for those damn bones.”

This was what fear and loathing felt like, Bonnie thought. Fear of Bram. Loathing for herself. How had she sunk so low?

“I’ll be right back.” She dipped under his arm. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Should she walk normal or get the hell away from the freak as fast as humanly possible? Somehow she made it into the master bathroom without him. She locked the door.