Ghost for Sale. Sandra CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
Bromwell is going to reimburse me for this purchase. I’m not paying three thousand for a cracked test tube. My daddy taught me the value of a dollar.” Hands splayed on her waist, she glared at the broken cylinder.
“Yeah, and I wonder if your idea of value is going to equal his.”
“Say what?”
“Nothing. What about the other one?” I pointed at the still intact tube. Her face brightened. She looked at me, grinned, and picked it up with perfectly manicured nails.
Slowly, she pulled out the cork, drawing out the moment, then pop. “Welcome to your new home, ghost.”
A current of electricity traveled along my skin and trailed down my arms in a slow, sensuous slide. Heat escalated and my arms burned. “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.” As I flailed around, the smell of cinnamon and tart limes teased my senses. The hairs on my neck stood on end. Goose bumps roughened my skin. What the…
“Caitlin, what is wrong with you?”
“I have no idea,” I wailed. “My arms feel on fire. Do you smell that?”
Marcy dutifully lifted her nose and sniffed. “Smell what? Your arms have just gone to sleep. That’s happened to me before. Just keep shaking them and they’ll feel better in no time.”
Right. I ran to the sink, turned on the cold water, and stuck them under it. The heat disappeared as quickly as it had come. The smell was gone too. This is weird. I touched my arms, for any lingering warmth, but they were cool from the water. My skin looked perfectly normal, no blisters.
“Are you better?”
“Yes.”
“I would have never thought about running water for a muscle cramp. I’ll remember that next time.”
I opened my mouth to correct her, then promptly shut it. What was the point?
Marcy’s attention turned back to the test tube. She waited expectantly, her eyes wide. As the minutes ticked away, the look of expectation turned to disappointment. “That thief, I’m going to ask for all my money back. He sold me empty test tubes.”
I tried to work up a “well duh.” But I couldn’t quite do it, maybe because I was shaking like a leaf.
When I didn’t respond, my cousin looked at me. The frown on her lovely features deepened. “What’s wrong with you? You’re white as a sheet and trembling.”
Not for a million bucks or a thousand pair of shoes would I admit I might have just experienced my first ghostly encounter. I croaked the first thing that came to mind. “Sugar.”
She pulled out a box of donuts, tossed them on the table, just missing an empty juice glass, and I fell into the chair.
“Want a Pepsi?”
“Please.”
“I can’t believe I got scammed. I was so sure I was buying ghosts. The seller seemed so sincere.” She pulled a can out of the fridge and handed it to me. I drank it so fast I choked, and she slapped me on the back.
“I’m fine.” I waved her away.
“Here, have a donut.”
I reached for a glazed, inhaling the yeasty confection before brushing my palms together to get the sticky icing off my fingers.
“There, you’re looking better.” She beamed, then turned and walked out.
I loved my cousin, and her abrupt mood changes were just part of her charm, but this one left me a bit off balance. Clearly, she was already over her ghost disappointment and had moved on to her next obsession.
As soon as she left, I slipped out of the room and went to the little study off my bedroom, opened my laptop, and googled paranormal activity. In moments, I was immersed. Time disappeared as I tried to find a rational explanation for the strange scent that had appeared when the top popped on the tube, along with the kilowatt voltage that had fried my skin without leaving a mark.
“I’m leaving now.” Marcy spoke from the doorway.
My breath caught and I clutched my heart. “You scared me. What time is it?” I looked at the tick-tock cat clock on my wall, disoriented. “Six o’clock,” we said in unison, me in disbelief.
“Have you been networking all this time?”
“Yeah.” I took the coward’s way out and didn’t try to explain I’d been researching paranormal activity—ghosts in particular—not chatting socially. I’d be totally humiliated if my sophisticated cousin thought I was a geek. “You look great, Marcy.” She wore faded jean capris and a crimson silk shirt over a red halter, topped off with chunky red jewelry. “I didn’t think the party was till later.”
“Cookout on the patio.”
“Gotcha. Have fun.”
“Sure you don’t want to go?” A set of bangle bracelets jingled on her arm as she shifted her little red clutch to her other hand.
For a moment, I considered it. But I had a headache I couldn’t shake, and the nerves under my skin were twitching. “I’ll catch the next one.”
“All right. Feel better.” She gave me an airy wave of her fingers before she strolled out of the room.
“Have fun,” I called after her, then winced as it notched up my headache. I shut my laptop and stretched. Maybe a swim would clear my head. I put on my black one-piece and headed for the pool, my cork thongs clopping against the warm cement. The glistening liquid beckoned. After toeing off my footwear, I dove in.
The cold splash of water shocked me and cleared my head. I floated on my back, buoyant, mindless. The sun still had an hour before it would set, but already the sky had turned a lovely shade of red. My body went limp and my headache disappeared.
Interspersed with the smell of chlorine, a light scent drifted toward me. For a moment, I enjoyed the sensual masculine fragrance. The next instant my body went rigid. Cinnamon and tart limes! Stiff as a board, I lost my buoyancy and went under. I kicked to the surface, coughing and choking. As I dog-paddled and pushed my streaming hair out of my face, a shadow fell across the pool.
My heart gave a hard thump. “Who’s there?” I scrubbed droplets out of my eyes but couldn’t see anything.
The sky clouded and turned overcast as the wind cooled and picked up, causing the water to ripple. Goose bumps rose on my arms and legs that had nothing to do with the weather. The shadow swayed back and forth in rhythm with the wind, beginning to take shape.
My insides turned to ice, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.
The next moment, a shimmery silhouette of a man lay across the water.
With more speed than grace, I sprinted for the opposite side of the pool. Water churned as I kicked out. As soon as I reached the ladder, I grasped it and whipped around. “Who’s there?” I squeaked again. Only silence. The shadow, or whatever, was gone. The only scent the evening breeze carried was chlorine.
My muscles bunched and jumped as I pulled myself out of the pool. Pressure building in my head, I grabbed a thick white towel, wrapped it around me, and raced into the bungalow just as the phone rang. My feet wet, I slipped and slid across the tile floor as I hurried to answer it. “Hello?”
“Caitlin, how are you?” Laughing voices and music sounded in the background.
“Clayton?” Surprise jolted me.
“Yeah, I’m back. I was going to surprise you. Thought you’d be at Richie’s. Want me to come over?”
“I’d love for you to,” I responded with more enthusiasm than poor Clayton usually received from me.
“I’m on my way.” He clicked off.
“Hurry,” I muttered to the silent