Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (10 page)

"It's a collector's item," she replied, beaming at her gremlin of a vehicle.

"It doesn't even have anti-lock brakes." Why was he fighting her? Let her keep the little deathtrap. Elizabeth wasn't his problem.
 

"Some of us like the classics." She gave his car a meaningful look.
 

"It's a del Sol. It'll never be a classic. You shouldn't let sentimentality rule you. It's just unsafe."

She glared at him and got into the car. He watched her as she tried to start the car.
 

The engine sputtered then died. She tried again with the same result. This was ridiculous. He would give the stubborn woman a ride to the nearest car rental place and call Rafe at Vintage Motors to arrange for a tow. He stepped forward to pull her out of the car just as the engine roared into life.
 

He frowned as she drove away. He felt somehow disappointed and wondered why.

No, he knew why. He was entirely too attracted to Elizabeth Hunt.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

E
LIZABETH
PARKED
her car in her parents' driveway. The del Sol hadn't broken down, so take
that,
Gabe Franco. She turned off the car and jiggled the key, two turns to the right and one quick jerk to the left, to pull it out of the ignition. See? Perfectly serviceable.

Del Sol: 1. Gabe Franco: 0

She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, still cursing his name. Then she looked up and smiled.
 

It wasn't the house that lightened her mood, although it was a handsome enough brick colonial with a historically accurate white portico and Williamsburg lanterns framing the six-paneled front door. Like all houses subject to the Banshee Creek Historical Preservation Committee Regulations, it was classic, tasteful, and occupied less than seventy-eight percent of its lot. No, she was smiling, but it wasn't because of the house.

She was smiling because there was a flat of purple pansies and a set of garden tools on the front yard.
 

Her mom was gardening again.
 

She eyed the purple and yellow flowers with pleasure. Yes, indeed, wonderful news. It almost made up for today's fiasco.
 

Almost.

Her happy mood dissipated. Two rejections in a row, and she'd been fired to boot. How would her mom react to that last bit of news? She'd finally rallied some interest in her real estate business, and her daughter had managed to terminally alienate the client. Not good.
 

But at least the firing had a silver lining; it would get Mom back into the office. She would likely not characterize this particular development as a blessing in disguise, though. This was going to take a bit of finesse.

She walked up to the house, trying to think of a way to confess that Gabe wanted a new agent. Nothing came to mind.
 

Had that stupid kiss short-circuited her brain? She reached the portico, still pondering this unpleasant thought, but stopped dead on her tracks when a slender figure came out of the house clutching a piece of paper in her hand.
 

Mary Hunt, still beautiful in her fifties, was dressed casually in beige chinos and a teal shirt that brought out the blue in her eyes. She also sported a chic new haircut with feathery bangs. Elizabeth was taken aback. She'd been wearing nothing but dingy gray sweatpants and T-shirts since Cole's passing. Elizabeth couldn't even remember the last time her mom had bothered to put on jewelry. But today Mary Hunt looked great.
 

She also looked angry. Pissed, in fact. Her eyes sparkled as she put her hands on her hips and glared. Elizabeth cringed. The source of her mother's anger was no mystery.

"The Hagen House?" Her eyebrows were knit together in a frown. "Have you lost your mind? Why did you show him the Hagen House?"

"Why?" She snapped back, knowing that the best defense was a good offense. "Because I have to sell that house. And, as long as we're discussing the whys and wherefores, why didn't you tell me Gabe was your oh-so-wealthy client? I would have appreciated a little warning."

 
"I wanted it to be a surprise." Her mom's eyes shifted guiltily. "And I didn't expect you to pull a stunt like this. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking like a sensible person. The Hagen House is perfect for Gabe."
 

"Perfect?" Her mom's voice held great skepticism. "I heard Liam had an exorcism performed."

"It was just a blessing," she said between clenched teeth.
 

What was it with the absurd curse talk? Was she the only right-thinking person left in the world?
 

"And," she continued, "he only did that because his workers asked him to. Any rational person would buy this house."

Her mom smiled at that. "I take it Gabe is not a rational person?"
 

"Don't tease me, Mom. Mrs. Franco already told you that the showing didn't go well."
 

"She's been a good friend, and she really wants her son nearby. Surely we can do better than the town's most notorious curse. "

"It's a historic property. It's bound to have a legend or two. Legends are part of this town. They provide..." Elizabeth sputtered, "...folkloric value."

"I hear it's going to be on TV soon."

It's only YouTube
, she wanted to scream, but her mom went on.
 

"The important thing is, what did the client think of the folkloric value?"
 

Elizabeth's shoulders slumped. The client had driven away as fast as his expensive Italian sports car could take him. "He doesn't want to buy it," she admitted. And really, why was she defending the Hagen House? She knew perfectly well that she was trying to sell the unsellable. But it was an old reflex, this automatic defensiveness.
The black clothes are comfortable. All the kids are wearing purple highlights. The scaffolding is solid. I can too make it in Hollywood.

"Gabe didn't make piles of money by buying folklore. He's going to want a solid house. And Isabel won't let him buy the Hagen House."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest.

"Give it up, sweetie. You'll sell the Hagen House, but you won't sell it to Gabe." Her mom smiled at her kindly, trying to take the sting out of her words. "But enough about the house. I don't want us to have a fight. Have you heard from your father?"

"Not yet," she answered, her mood clouding further. "I guess the board meeting has taken longer than expected."
 

If her mom wanted to avoid a fight, talking about Elizabeth's father wasn't the way to do so.
 

While her mother had spiraled into depression, her husband had engaged in continuous business travels. Elizabeth suspected that his long absences also had to do with his assistant, a flirty and attractive blonde in her early thirties. She wasn't going to share such suspicions with her mom, though.
 

"I'm sure he's very busy," she said quickly.
 

It was time to change the subject yet again. An obvious topic came to mind, but she wasn't sure how to report that she'd managed to lose Gabe as a client without dropping back into their old Mom-criticizes-and-Elizabeth-gets-defensive routine.
 

"I love your hair," she blurted out in desperation.
 

Hairstyles were a neutral subject, right? And her comment was completely truthful. Her mom's gray hair was now neatly trimmed in a cute pixie cut that gave her a severe, but impish look. Where had she seen this haircut before? Judy Dench?
 

Oh Lord, her mom looked like James Bond's hard-as-nails boss. It was strangely appropriate.

"Thank you." Her mom's eyes brightened. "Isabel took me to the salon. She told the stylist what to do." She looked at Elizabeth doubtfully. "Is it really okay? I just trusted Isabel. She's so well groomed all the time. I figured she wouldn't steer me wrong."

"It looks wonderful," Elizabeth said sincerely. That explained the transformation. She could picture Mrs. Franco storming into the house, forcing her best friend into clean clothes and dragging her to the hair salon. Her conservative mother would have never considered a change as drastic as a pixie cut, but Mrs. Franco was as strong-willed as she was kind, and she'd done well by her best friend.
 

"We had a good gossip at the salon." Her mom's low whisper signaled conspiracy. "I hear Caine has a fan club and isn't too happy about it. Families are going to his bar now, and the kids keep asking for caramel apples."

"He brought it upon himself," Elizabeth said, shrugging. She had no sympathy for Caine. Zero. Zip. Nada.

"And I hear people aren't too happy about the Ghost Tours being cancelled," she said.
 

"And by people, I guess you mean Caine."
 

"Well, he isn't alone."
 

Elizabeth had to agree. Gabe, for one, was firmly on Caine's corner. She should tell her mom about the firing. This was the perfect moment.
 

"We also went to the garden center and bought some stuff," her mom continued, and the moment was gone. "I hadn't realized how terrible the garden looked. The fall pansies will tide us over, and I'll start the real planting in the spring." Her mom frowned at the piece of paper in her hand. "I usually do staggered rows, but this magazine came out with an intriguing clumps layout." She showed Elizabeth the picture. "What do you think? Would it look too untidy?"

"I think they'll look great, Mom," Elizabeth said, biting her lip to keep from smiling. Only her mom would worry about her pansies looking untidy.

Her mom frowned at the piece of paper. "But they're all over the place."

"That makes it look more natural." Elizabeth pointed at the article. "It says that they're trying to make it look like a meadow."
 

The arrangement really did look nice, like a romantic cottage garden. But nothing was romantic in her parents' house. The place was as formal as Buckingham Palace. This would be a big change. She snuck a puzzled glance at her mom. Why was she suddenly into clumps?

"Yes, that's what the article says." Her mom sighed. "Natural is in now. " She looked down at the yard, shaking her head. "But I don't know. Your father likes rows. I don't think he's ready for clumps yet."
 

Elizabeth didn't think so either. She still remembered coming home from school to the shock of the staggered rows. Cole had taken a gardening job to help their mom out. He'd told their mother that no one did perfect rows anymore. It had been quite a battle, but Cole had prevailed, and the pansies had been staggered ever since. She wondered what Cole would have thought about the new landscape. No question about it, her brother would have been an enthusiastic clumps supporter.

Her dad was another story. He would hate the change.
 

Well, her dad could stuff it. The house could use a bit of fun. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her family was so frustrating. Jazzing up the pansy arrangements was what passed for fun in this house.

"You could try a few," she said, "and see if you like them. You can always replant them if they don't work out."

Her mom considered that, frowning. "I don't want to replant them. They might go into shock. And I like the idea of a natural hedge. I'm just not sure about the clumps. Why does natural have to look so untidy?" Her face brightened. "I know. I can put some stakes in. That'll help me visualize the pattern. I think I have an unopened package of stakes in the office."
 

Elizabeth smiled as she followed her mom into the house. Her favorite childhood memories all involved dirt and flowers. Even during her rebellious teenage years, gardening had been the one thing that she'd been able to do with her mom without fighting, probably because it was the only area where she followed directions without complaint. She dug where she was told to dig and planted where she was told to plant. Her mom may have spent all four years of high school complaining about her daughter's dark clothes and heavy makeup, but even she had to agree that black nail polish hid dirty fingernails very well.

They passed through the dining room, where her mom paused to straighten a picture. The gesture was unnecessary. Like every other picture in the beige dining room—heck, like every other piece of decor in her parents' bland, beige house—the tasteful architectural print was perfectly straight. Her father wouldn't tolerate any crookedness. Or any color other than beige. Actually, the study's beige plaid wallpaper had a thin red line in it. In her father's house, that was a true revolution of color.
 

It hadn't always been that way. Their dad hadn't been around when they'd moved into this house. He'd left the family and moved to Middleburg with a young bank teller. Their mom had been left with no money and this house, the only place they could afford, had been a wreck. But Cole had brought some leftover paint from one of his gardening jobs, and he and Elizabeth had painted the dining room a bright green shade, the color of granny apples. The walls had been streaky and splotchy, and the flower prints they'd hung on the walls looked cheap, but the cheerful color had made their mom smile. Then their dad had returned and their mom, ever dutiful, took him back. He'd brought in an expensive contractor and the cheery green walls had remained beige ever since.

"If the clumps look good, I'll take a picture for Isabel," her mom headed up the stairs. "She may want to get one of her boys to plant them for her."
 

"Maybe she'll ask Gabe to do it," Elizabeth said without thinking.

"I wouldn't put it past her." The statement was accompanied by a rusty peal of laughter. "She likes to keep her boys in their place."

Elizabeth smiled. She hadn't heard that slightly high-pitched laugh in a long time.

"Is that why he's buying a house in town?" she asked as she considered how to confess that Gabe had fired her. She should just come out and say it and get the fight over with, but pleasant conversations were a rare treat in this house, and she was loath to cut this one short.