“No one ever wants relationship advice, sweet-cheeks.” For the first time since she’d appeared, Cheryl looked at him like he was more than pretty meat. “But how did you know?”
He sighed and tried not to think about what he was kneeling in. “We spoke to Steve and Debbie.”
“Nice kids.”
“They’re some scared.”
“Yeah, well, death’s a bitch.”
“Can you believe that she died right after a nooner with my best friend?” Howard Poropat sounded more resigned than upset by the revelation, his light tenor voice releasing the words in a reluctant monotone that lifted slightly at the end of each sentence, creating a tentative question. “Did she tell you that?”
“No, she didn’t mention it.” Claire braced herself as the car turned into the motel parking lot, sliding a little in the accumulated slush. When she thought it was safe to release her grip on the dashboard, she pointed. “There. Number 42.”
Jaw moving against a wad of nicotine gum, he steered the station wagon where indicated. “Let’s just go over this again, can we? Cheryl’s ghost is haunting the room she died in?”
“Yes.”
“And she can’t move on until she says something to me?”
“Apparently.” It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade him that it was possible. For all that he reminded her of processed cheese slices, he had a weirdly egocentric view of his place in the world.
“You think she wants to apologize?” The car slid to a stop, more-or-less in front of the right room.
“I honestly don’t know,” Claire told him, slamming her shoulder against the passenger side door and forcing it open. “Why don’t we go inside and find out?”
While Claire’d been gone, the room had been redecorated in early playing cards. Most of them were just lying around, but several had been driven into the ceiling’s acoustic tiles.
“What happened?”
Dean nodded toward the ghost and mouthed the word, “Boom!”
Brows drawn in, Cheryl folded her arms. “We were playing a little rummy to pass the time, but he cheats!”
“Dean? I doubt that. He spent six months living next to a hole to Hell, and the ultimate force of evil couldn’t even convince him to drop his underwear on the floor.”
“Not him, the cat!”
Austin continued washing a spotless white paw, ignoring both the conversation and the seven of spades only partially hidden by a fringe of stomach fur.
Claire snorted. “What did you expect? He’s a cat.” She had no idea how a cat, a ghost, and Dean had managed to play rummy when only one of them could actually manipulate the cards, nor did she want to know. Shrugging off her jacket, she moved farther into the room, pulling a suddenly reluctant Howard Poropat along with her by the pocket on his beige duffle coat.
The ghost’s eyes widened. “I don’t believe it! How’d you convince him?”
“I asked him nicely.” She dropped down onto the edge of the bed, out of the reconciliation’s direct line of fire.
“Cheryl?”
“Howard.”
The bed dipped as Dean joined her. Claire leaned back and, when her weight pressed into his shoulder, turned her head to murmur, “You okay?”
“I got clipped by the six of clubs, but my sweater deflected it.”
Dean’s sweater was a traditional fisherman’s cable knit. Handmade by his aunt from wool so raw it had barely paused between sheep and needles, Claire suspected it could, if not deflect bullets, certainly discourage them. “Thanks for staying with her.”
His arm slipped around her waist. “No problem, Boss, always willing to help.”
Austin’s right, Claire thought as they turned their attention back to the couple staring into each other’s eyes in the center of the room. It’s been implied for a week, what are we waiting for?
There’d been contact—touching, kissing, more touching, gentle explorations all crammed into those rare moments when they were actually alone and not likely to hear a speculative comment just as things got interesting—but somehow they hadn’t moved on to that next step.
Maybe I should lock Austin in the bathroom.
The next level of intimacy.
Not that he’d stay there.
The horizontal mambo…
Stop it.
“Howard.”
“Cheryl?” Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he held out his hand and stroked the air by her cheek. “The, uh, Keeper, says you got something to say to me?”
“That’s right.” She leaned into his touch. His baby finger sank into her eye socket. She didn’t even notice, but Howard shuddered and snatched his hand away. “It’s about me and Tony.”
“Tony? My best friend who you betrayed me with?”
“Yeah. Tony. I got something I need to say.”
Howard spread his hands, the picture of forgiving magnanimity. “What is it, babe?”
Cheryl smiled. “I just wanted to say—had to say—before I left this world forever…” All four of her listeners leaned into the pause. “…that Tony was a better lover than you ever were. Bigger, better, and he knew how to use it! We did it twice, twice, during his lunch hour, and he bought me a hoagie! He made me forget every miserable time you ever TOUCHED ME!”
In the silence that followed the sound of Howard slamming up against the inside of the door, the queen of hearts fell from the ceiling and Austin murmured, “I gotta admit, that wasn’t totally unexpected.”
Calm and triumphant, Cheryl turned toward the bed. “All right, Keeper. I’m ready.”
“Dean…”
“I’ll see that he’s okay.”
It only took a moment for Claire to send Cheryl on. Thinned by a distinct sense of closure, the possibilities practically opened themselves.
“Remember what I said, hon.” Scarlet lips made a suggestive kissing motion. “You oughta go for it.”
Keepers were always careful not to respond emotionally to provocation from metaphysical accidents. Unfortunately, Claire remembered that after she shoved Cheryl through to the Otherside just a little harder than necessary. A lot harder than necessary.
Howard seemed essentially unaffected by both his dead wife’s parting words and the impact with the door. As Claire resealed the barrier and turned, blinking away afterimages of the beyond and of a translucent figure bouncing twice, Dean was
