Everyone looked at Orbra in surprise, and she shrugged. “Hey, I read a lot of murder mysteries—and you know I’ve just been bingeing onAgatha Christie’s Poirot. I love me some of those old-fashioned murdermysteries.”
“You mean where the butler did it?” Cherryteased.
Orbra huffed. “There’s never been one where the butler did it, I’ll have you know. Though there was one time when the housekeeper did it, but it was really the mistress of the housepretendingto be the temporaryhousekeep—”
“All right, Miss Marple,” Cherry said with a laugh. Her expression turned sober. “Either way, we know two things for sure: One, there’s a murderer on the loose, and it’s not John Fischer. Two, the ghost is Kristen van Gerste, and until we figure out who killed her and why, she’s going to be haunting this place and throwing all sorts of tantrumsand—”
The lights flickered violently…and then went out with a sharp pop. Rufus bolted off Leslie’s lap, heedless of where his claws dug in the process. Ungratefulbeast.
“Great, Cherry,” Orbra grumbled in the pitch dark after a moment of stunned silence. “Now look at what you’vedone.”
“Now wait a second, you don’t really think—” Cherry stopped as a definite chill invaded the room, as sudden as the lights had goneblack.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve offended someone,” Leslie said, choking on a laugh. Her thighs were stinging from Rufus’s hastyexit.
“All right, all right—they’re not tantrums,” Cherry said, raising her voice to the level of the supernatural. “I didn’t mean it was a tantrum. Kristen has the perfect right to have her killer brought to justice. And I want to do whatever I can tohelp.”
Leslie held her breath as the lights flickered, then slowly came back on. The room went back to a normal temperature just as quickly. “Now you’re just showing off, aren’t you, Kristen?” she said on a relievedchuckle.
Orbra laughed nervously when the lights flickered again, but this time they stayedon.
Leslie looked around at everyone. “Now…I think it’s time for me to get some rest. Anyone who wants to stay is welcome—but I’m going tobed.”
She got up, surprised at how wobbly she felt, and went into her bedroom. With a last glance at Declan, who was studiously not looking at her, she closed the door and sought herbed.
* * *
Declan openedhis eyes to something that smelledheavenly.
Not as heavenly as Leslie’s hair, but delicious enough that he was wide awake in aninstant.
Coffee. And something cooking…bacon, maybe. Whatever it was, he had toinvestigate.
He slid off the sectional in Leslie’s living room/office, where he’d remained even after Cherry and Orbra left for the night, and padded out to the kitchen in his barefeet.
“You must be feeling much better,” he said, taking in the sight of her in those very flattering yoga pants and a hot-pink t-shirt. She’d clipped up her inky hair into some sort of twist, and one thick lock fell in a gentle S-curve down the back of her neck. His mouth watered at the sight of that slender, elegant neck. It sure had tasted sweet and warm, and smelled oh so good when he’d kissed her there the otherday…
Damn. Regret pinged in him, then simply ebbed away. Maybe things didn’t have to be so…black andwhite.
“I am feeling better,” Leslie said from the stove. “Thank you so much for staying last night—I’m sure it wasn’t convenient for you having to figure out what to do with Stephanie, but I really appreciate it. Are youhungry?”
He cautiously took a seat at the table, aware of the achingly formal tone of her voice and the nonchalant words—while he, on the other hand, was thinking about anything but formalities and the distance such implied. “Yes, thank you, I’m starving. Whatever it is, it smells good. Uh—can I do anything to help?” He made to push his chair back from the table to do so, but she was already walking toward him with aplate.
“No, it’s all done. Thanks, though. How do you want yourcoffee?”
“Black is fine.Thanks.”
Hoo boy. Could their conversation be any more stilted? How did he even begin to talk toher?
He’d thought he couldn’t handle being with a woman who’d made the sort of decision she’d done, but here he was—and there he’d been last night, about to go to pieces at the thought of something happening toLeslie.
He definitely didn’t want anything to happen to her…and, black or white or gray, that was the simpletruth.
“I have something to show you,” she said as she took her seat at the table with him. Her plate was laden with the same food—albeit a smaller portion—as his: eggs scrambled with green onions, bacon, tomatoes, and feta cheese. And…were those avocado chunks in theretoo?
Damn, she was a great cook. How had someone like her—who’d worked seventy hours a week—learned to cook likethis?
Will you marry me?The memory came back to him in a nostalgic flash from the last meal they’d had at thistable.
