Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(10)

Glancing from his brother to the ghost, who was standing only a few feet away from him, Alex was tempted to ask Sam if he could see him. The ghost was human and solid and so absolutely there that it seemed impossible for Sam not to notice him.

“I wouldn’t,” the ghost said, as if reading his thoughts. “Because Sam can’t see me, and you’re going to look crazy. And I’m not all that keen on the idea of sharing a padded cell with you.”

Alex dragged his gaze back to Sam. “Nothing,” he said in answer to Sam’s question. “Why are you up here?”

“Because I heard you.” An irritable pause. “I asked you to keep it down, remember? My friend Lucy is resting. What were you shouting for?”

“I was talking on the cell phone.”

“Well, you should probably go. Lucy needs peace and quiet.”

“I’m right in the middle of fixing your damn attic for free, Sam. Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to postpone her nap until I’m finished?”

Sam gave him a hard warning glance. “She was sideswiped by a car while she was riding her bike yesterday. Even you should have a little sympathy for that. So while an injured woman is trying to heal up in my house—”

“Okay. Keep your shirt on. I’m leaving.” Alex’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his brother. Sam never lost his cool over a woman. And come to think of it, Sam never allowed any of his girlfriends to stay at the house overnight. Something unusual was going on with this one.

“Yes, he’s falling for her,” the ghost said from behind him.

Alex glanced over his shoulder. Before he thought about it, he asked, “Can you read my mind?”

“What?” Sam asked in bewilderment.

Alex felt his face heat with embarrassment. “Nothing.”

“The answer is no,” Sam said. “And I’m glad. Because it would probably scare me to know your thoughts.”

Alex turned to start packing away his tools. “You have no idea,” he said gruffly.

Sam began to descend the stairs, then paused. “One more thing—why is there caulk splattered all over the wall?”

“It’s a new application method,” Alex snapped.

“Right,” Sam said with a little snort, and left.

Alex turned to the ghost, who was watching him with a smart-alecky smile.

“I can’t read your mind,” the ghost said. “But it’s not tough to guess what you’re thinking. Most of the time.” His gaze turned speculative. “There are times you don’t make any sense. Like today, the way you acted around that cute little blonde—”

“That’s my business.”

“Yes, but I have to watch anyway, and it’s irritating. You liked her. Why not talk to her? What’s the matter with—”

“I liked it better when you were invisible,” Alex said, turning away from him. “Conversation’s over.”

“What if I want to keep talking?”

“Talk your head off. I’m going home, where I’m going to drink until you disappear.”

The ghost shrugged and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “Maybe you’ll be the one to disappear,” he said, and watched as Alex went to scrape off the caulk splatters.

Four

“Justine,” Zoë said severely, “don’t eat any more of those. I need at least two hundred for the cupcake tower.”

“I’m helping you,” Justine said around a mouthful of pink velvet cake with Chambord buttercream frosting. With her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and her slim form clad in a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, she looked more like a college student than a successful businesswoman.

Zoë glanced quizzically into her cousin’s brown-velvet eyes. “How exactly are you helping?”

“Quality control. I need to make sure these are good enough for the wedding guests.”

Smiling wryly, Zoë rolled out a yard of ice-pink fondant with an aluminum rolling pin. “Well, are they?”

“They’re terrible. Can I have one more? Please?”

“No.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell you the truth. Given the choice between eating this cupcake or watching Ryan Gosling and Jon Hamm wrestle each other for the privilege of ha**ng s*x with me, I’d choose the cupcake.”

“I’m not even finished yet,” Zoë said. “I’m going to cover each one with fondant and top it with pink roses, green leaves, and clear sugar dewdrops.”

“You are the baking genius of our time.”

“I know,” Zoë said cheerfully. When the fondant was an eighth of an inch thick, she began to cover each cupcake in a smooth, perfect casing, trimming the excess with a spatula. She had worked at Justine’s bed-and-breakfast for more than two years, handling the cooking, grocery shopping, and food orders, while Justine managed the business side. Immediately after the failure of Zoë’s brief but disastrous marriage, Justine had approached her with an offer that included a share in the business. Zoë, still shell-shocked by the dissolution of her marriage, had hesitated at first.

“Say yes and you’ll never regret it,” Justine had said. “It’s everything you like to do, all the cooking and menu planning, without all the business stuff.”