Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(28)

Abby’s heart sank as she realised Mrs. Truman was speaking to Cash.

What was next? Would the sky fall? The oceans boil? Tidal waves on the Bristol Channel?

The lady sat and listened and then snapped, “Well, change them! I’m an old woman. I don’t know how many dinner parties I have left in me.”

Abby watched as Mrs. Truman paused and listened some more then went on. “The stories say you’re a clever boy, they even made a movie about you, you’ll think of something. Now bring a bottle. White. Chilled. And some flowers. I like roses. And some chocolates. None of that stuff from the grocery stores, decent chocolates,” then she finished, “Abigail’s right here.”

With that she held out the phone to Abby.

Abby stifled the urge to strangle her to death and took the phone, mumbling, “Excuse me,” and with all due haste she left the room, walked down the hall and shut herself in the living room.

Then she put the phone to her ear and with no further ado said, “I told you she could be worse.”

She heard Cash’s rich laughter through the phone and at the sound her belly dipped.

When he’d stopped, she asked, “How much do the English authorities frown on homicide of blue-haired ladies?”

Cash didn’t answer, instead he told her, “I’m considering hiring her. She’d strike fear in the hearts of half the bastards I have to deal with every day. How old is she? My pension people will want to know.”

“Nine hundred and ninety-two,” Abby answered and heard his lush laughter again and knew she’d tried to make him laugh on purpose, again.

When his laughter died, she asked, “Why are you calling? Is something up?”

There was still amusement in his voice when he responded, “I’m calling because that’s what women expect men to do. You expect us to call at least once a day, proving we’re capable of thinking of nothing but you when we’re not. We’re thinking of work.”

Abby smiled to herself, walking to the window where she saw Jenny parking her new Mini outside. “So you’re calling me to tell me you’re not thinking about me?”

His voice changed when he replied. It got that deeper, throatier, sexier that she was beginning to like way too much.

“You? No. Your ass, your smile, your hair and that f**king kiss this morning? Yes.”

She was inordinately thrilled he was thinking about the kiss. When she wasn’t thinking about her screwed up life, her troubles, her house and crazy Mrs. Truman, that was all she could think about.

“Mostly,” he went on, “I wanted to make sure you got my note.”

She’d got it. It was sitting on the kitchen counter by his espresso maker with a set of keys beside it. The black ink was a manly scrawl on the sheet telling her to take the keys, leave a grocery list for his housekeeper and that he’d be home at seven.

She’d made a grocery list but she’d also met Aileen, his housekeeper, by bumping into her while going out the front door.

To Abby’s surprise, Aileen acted like she didn’t run into a woman every time she came to see to Cash’s house.

They’d chatted for a bit and Abby decided she liked her. Then again, there were few people Abby didn’t like, she could count only one and at that very moment that particular person was sitting in Abby’s kitchen.

“I got your note,” she told Cash as she walked toward the door.

Jenny was about to come in and Jenny was Abby’s best friend in the whole world. She didn’t want her to meet Mrs. Truman without warning. No true friend would let that happen.

“Good, what are you making me for dinner?” Cash asked in her ear as Abby opened the door to find Mrs. Truman outside it eating a Bourbon biscuit and unabashedly listening.

“Mrs. Truman!” she cried instead of answering Cash.

“You need to speak up when I’m eavesdropping,” Mrs. Truman told her. “I’m not as young as I once was and that includes my ears.”

At that moment, Jenny walked in stomping her feet and slamming the door, shouting, “It’s f**king cold out there!”

“Language!” Mrs. Truman snapped and Jenny swung around, her face getting pale.

Jennifer Kane was the kind of woman who didn’t let anything faze her. Kieran had a great job that paid really well but he also had to move from country to country. Without a peep, Jenny went with him. She said good-bye to friends. She bought and sold homes and cars and shipped belongings. She found new friends and renewed acquaintances. She travelled to far lands with her husband on business and pleasure.

She could even change her own oil.

What she couldn’t do was live without fear of nosy, maddening Mrs. Truman.

Jennifer Kane was a strong woman but she wasn’t Superwoman.

“Cash,” Abby whispered, “I think I have to –” she was going to say “go” but Mrs. Truman was speaking.

“You and your Australian husband are coming with her,” she pointed a bony finger at Abby, “and her new man, to my place for dinner. Tomorrow night. Seven.”

Jenny’s pale face swung to Abby and she asked, “I am?”

“You are,” Mrs. Truman declared, moving forward, toward her coat, “Bring a bottle. White. Chilled. And some dog treats. They’re having company too.” Then she let out a piercing whistle, Abby winced at the shrill sound nearly dropping the phone and she could hear little spaniel feet thundering through the house. Mrs. Truman turned her attention to Abby. “Tell your man I won’t take any last minute excuses. I don’t care if he’s got fancy schmancy friends. If Marlon Brando himself asks him to dinner, he’s going to say no. Understood?”