Forced to the Altar

“I’m going to work.” He walked ahead of her until they reached the media room. “I’ll see you in the morning, Julianne. I’m glad we finally met.”

Had that been just a few hours ago? “Thanks again.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, Zach. Just one question?”

He cocked his head.

“I’m curious why Elspeth’s room is locked. My impression is that ghosts can vaporize and travel wherever they want to.” She worked hard to keep innocence in her voice.

“Elspeth prefers it.”

“She said so?” Julianne asked, but he just slid his key in the lock then disappeared into his hidey-hole. She smiled. There was no ghost. He liked to perpetuate a myth, when convenient.

She slid a DVD into the player, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, and settled in. She listened for Zach, but he didn’t emerge by the time the movie ended and she returned the movie to its box. She considered the exquisite black-and-white film an incredible romance, even though the fiery, sea-captain ghost and the beautiful widow Mrs. Muir couldn’t touch or kiss. The seaside house and ocean made Julianne feel even more connected to the film.

In a thoughtful mood, she turned off the television to go to her room. A slight sound stopped her. She stood still, listened hard. Footsteps from above, near—or from—Elspeth’s tower room.

“Ridiculous,” Julianne muttered. “It’s two floors up.”

Something heavy fell to the floor, the sound muted as if by a rug. Silence again.

Julianne waited a few seconds then hurried out of the room, through the dining room and kitchen then up her stairs. She shut her door soundly then laughed at herself. Zach had planted the seed of curiosity tonight. Ghosts. Ha!

Still, she didn’t take much time to get ready for bed, then pulled the covers up to her chin and stared into the darkness for at least an hour. Just as she finally drifted toward sleep she heard a helicopter again. She threw back the covers and raced to the window in time to see lights from the chopper as it landed quite a distance away.

She saw Zach leave the house and jog into the night, disappearing. She waited and waited and waited. If he returned, it wasn’t via the same path. Vague sounds reached her from somewhere within the castle, but it was like an echo chamber, bouncing sound without clarity.

What do you do, Zachary Keller? Are you a smuggler? Contraband of some sort? Illegal substances? People?

Her imagination was working overtime and she was running on empty, tired and yet keyed up. She was tempted to creep down the stairs, but finally decided against it. She wasn’t going to cause problems, wanted nothing to interfere with her plans. If they left her alone, she would give them—although she had no idea who “them” might be—their privacy, too.

Her decision made, she went back to bed, knowing she was fooling herself. More than anything she wanted to know what was going on.

Even if it involved ghosts.

Four

Mr. Moody took Julianne to her new office the next morning and explained the job she was to do, entering numbers in a spreadsheet program, tedious work since she couldn’t relate them to anything, just numbers and geographical locations without particular meaning to her.

After she’d been working for a while someone came through the open doorway behind her. She’d expected Zach, but it was Mrs. Moody, carrying a mug of something steaming.

“I thought you could use a break,” she said.

The rapturous scent of coffee and chocolate reached her nose. Heaven had been brought to her.

“I hope you like mochas,” Mrs. Moody said.

“I love them. How did you know?”

“I watch television, too.” She offered a hint of a smile. “I know you young people like your fancy coffees.”

“I thought maybe you were a mind reader.” Julianne took a sip and sighed. “Perfect.”

“Let me know whenever you want one.” She left soundlessly, not even a disturbance of the air. Like a ghost.

Julianne stopped working to enjoy the hot drink, then proofread her entries, double-checking their accuracy. By noon she was done.

She hadn’t seen Zach at breakfast, nor had she heard the helicopter leave, but she’d slept soundly when she’d finally gotten to sleep, so maybe she’d just missed it. She’d hoped to get a daytime glimpse of him. She wasn’t aware of any visitors in the castle, either.

After lunch with the Moodys, the afternoon loomed large. She asked if she could go into town, a word she used tongue-in-cheek, since she knew there wasn’t much of a town, but maybe she could find some magazines or books to help her pass the time.

She’d accepted that she would stay on the Prom until allowed to leave. She’d called Jamey and told him to forget about finding her another job, and, while he was surprised, he was glad she’d “come to her senses.”

She couldn’t tell him the reason for her about-face was Zach, because Jamey would probably have something to say about that, words she undoubtedly should hear but didn’t want to.

Julianne wasn’t used to going it alone. She had close girlfriends whom she was advised not to contact until the whole mess with her brother was over. She couldn’t confide in or even just chitchat with the reticent Mrs. Moody. And the consequence of that was that, left to her own devices, Julianne had let her imagination run so wild she’d almost believed the house was haunted. She’d heard nothing, seen nothing, yet she found herself looking and listening. Crazy.

So, she asked to go to town and the answer that came back from Zach via Mr. Moody was yes. She could even take the Jeep. She hesitated then, wondering if Zach wanted her out of the way for some reason.

Still, it was an opportunity to do something new, so she went. Since there was only one main road, she couldn’t get lost. Within minutes she pulled up in front of a wooden, two-story building, a hand-carved sign hanging from the porch roof that said, If You’re Desperate.

It made her laugh.

Julianne climbed two sturdy stairs, walked across a five-foot-wide porch and entered through the front door. A bell sounded overhead, not a soft tinkling alert, but loud enough to call cows home. Two men and a woman looked her over from their seats at a wood plank table. Coffee mugs and empty paper plates holding wadded-up napkins sat in front of them.

The woman pushed herself up. “I’m Lil,” she said, extending her hand. She was about forty years old, had graying, long black hair and wore no makeup, nor did she need it. Her skin glowed. “You must be Julianne.”

“My reputation precedes me?” she asked, a little startled then reasoning that Mr. Moody must have called ahead.

“Something like that. My cohorts are Reb and Misery.”

The men nodded in greeting. Misery was a tall, skinny African American who looked to be in his thirties, and sixtyish Reb probably hadn’t shaved or cut his hair in twenty years, his beard and hair like a furry white blanket.

Like characters out of a story, Julianne thought, enjoying them. She rubbed her hands together. “I came for the action.”

Reb laughed, knocking his hand against Misery’s arm from across the table.

“Can I get you something?” Lil asked. “Got soda and coffee, but nothing designer or frilly. You have your choice of two sandwiches—tuna salad and tuna melt. No salads. Brownies, though.”

“I’d love a brownie and coffee, thank you.”

“We serve the high-octane, just so you know.”

“Strong’s good,” Julianne said, taking a seat at the picnic table next to Misery.

“So, you’re from Cal-i-for-ni-a,” he drawled.