“What the hell?” Landon exclaimed.
They pulled apart and had the grace to look embarrassed.
Thea cleared her throat. “Sorry. I was just practicing.”
“And I was coming to her rescue,” Duncan said. “I can’t resist a lass in distress.”
I snorted a laugh.
“Neither can I,” Landon said dryly, and I elbowed him because I knew he was talking about me. I had been in distress, and he’d come to my rescue. But soon we’d leave phase one of the crisis and go into phase two — long-term plans. And I was pretty sure there wasn’t room for me in his.
Or room for him in mine?
“I hope we didn’t ruin the surprise,” I said. The artists had been keeping us out of most of the rooms for a couple of days while they set everything up.
“For this room?” Thea’s smile was smug, and her deep blue eyes shone. “Oh, no. It’s going to look completely different at night.”
“I can’t wait.” And I meant it. I had bats fluttering around in my stomach. This was going to be cool.
It had to be.
Chapter 20
Landon and I went back home to shower (separately, alas) and change into clean but casual clothes for our preview of the haunted house. We both ended up in jeans and black T-shirts — his with a jack-o’-lantern on it that said “I’m just here for the boos,” and mine a plain V-neck that did amazing things for my cleavage. Judging from the quick scan he gave me, I’m pretty sure he noticed.
Why was I tormenting him? Or, more to the point, why was I torturing myself?
We decided to car-pool for once, and he volunteered to drive. We climbed into his truck, and he flicked on the radio. “That historian’s show is supposed to be on.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Marla said Motebarkle was going to talk about the mansion.”
The twenty-minute segment perfectly filled the drive time. And what started out happily — with a brief mention that the house was being reopened and an interesting history of the mansion and the family — ended in a nightmare.
“Alas, the new owner of the Fountain house” — he didn’t call it Milkweed Mansion except for one dismissive mention of its “unfortunate nickname” — “is sullying its hallowed halls with a Halloween haunted house. This event is a smack in the face to the family, or I’m sure itwouldbe if any of the descendants still lived. Especially given the baseless rumors of the house being haunted. I only hope this precious legacy of Bohemia’s early history isn’t destroyed by this callous money grab when, by all rights, it should be converted into a historical museum.”
I slammed my fist against the truck door as the segment ended.
“Hey!” Landon switched off the radio. “Take it easy!”
“‘By all rights’? I own the place. And ‘money grab’ is a complete joke. Money pit is more like it.”
“You do know Motebarkle has been begging the city council for money to expand the historical museum for years? It gets under his skin that the city is supporting your plans for the house.”
“It’s not like they’ve approved a grant yet. They’re giving us some nice PR and fast permitting, maybe.”
“Believe me, that’s huge,” Landon said. “Don’t let it get to you. Your plan will respect the history of the house and will allow controlled public access. You could even have an open house once in a while, maybe in conjunction with the historical society.”
“The last thing I want to do is work with that guy! And what if the city decides to shut us down after that little diatribe?”
“Don’t worry about it. They’ve clearly demonstrated their support for you. Give the haters a little time to appreciate what you’re doing. One thing you learn in construction is patience.”
“At this point, I’m more worried about Motebarkle tanking my ticket sales.”
Landon flashed me a brief Fireworks smile. “Wait and see.”
He pulled into the drive of Milkweed Mansion and parked among the other cars under the trees. We were working with a nearby office building to offer event parking and a shuttle once we opened Friday, but these were all our friends. I was nervous and excited to see what they’d wrought.
Darkness was just settling in, and the gauzy creature atop the tree stump, the huge skeletal wraith, was shifting in the breeze, looming over us as we walked up to the porch.
