Tweedledum. My mother and your aunt.”
He waved a hand to dismiss the subject. “They’ll be fine once they get to know each other.”
“How can they get to know each other? My mother is perpetually confused, and your aunt never calls anyone by the same name twice. They’re like squirrels chasing each other’s tails!” She did a wickedly accurate imitation of Roberta, substituting a ballpoint pen for the ever-present cigarette. “ ‘My word, Rochelle, you make good eggs!’ Then my mother says, who’s Rochelle? ‘Your daughter, for heaven’s sake, Amelia! Your daughter, Roxanne!’ Then they start the whole thing over again! It’s worse than having breakfast with Abbott and Costello!”
“Honey, relax,” Bryan said with a cheerful smile. He pulled a quarter out of her ear, handed it to her, and patted her cheek. “Buy yourself a cup of coffee. They’ll be all right. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
Rachel stared at him in exasperated disbelief as he turned and headed for the front door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get a haircut!” he called, waving at her over his shoulder.
Rachel ground her teeth, Wasn’t that just like him to blithely wander off on some silly errand, leaving her to deal with the problem.
No, she corrected herself as she slumped back against the wall, that was like Terence. Her stomach churned at the thought. Bryan was sweeter than Terence had ever been, and less self-absorbed, but when it came to accepting responsibility, it was looking more and more as if they were peas in a pod, smoothing the rough spots over with platitudes, leaving her to deal with reality while they chased rainbows.
When Bryan returned to Drake House several hours later, he was brimming with barely contained excitement. Unfortunately, Rachel was in neither the mood nor the position to hear his latest theories and the history behind them.
Bryan unfolded himself from behind the wheel of Rachel’s Chevette, staring in stunned disbelief at the scene that greeted him. Addie was hanging out her bedroom window, flinging Rachel’s clothes out onto the lawn one article at a time. Rachel stormed around the yard, gathering up undergarments, pulling her bras off bushes, digging her shoes out of the shrubbery.
“What’s going on?” Bryan asked with a quality of innocence that earned him a scathing glare from Rachel.
“Mother is upset with me because I let a realtor into the house this morning.”
“Traitor!” Addie shouted, and let fly a pair of loafers.
“She’s taken all my things and locked herself in her room.”
“Oh, dear.” Bryan frowned. “Where’s Aunt Roberta?”
“She went scuba-diving with someone named Brutus, an old friend of one of your brothers,” Rachel said, retrieving one of her shoes from the hood of her car. “If you want my frank opinion, the man did not appear to be mentally balanced, but who am I to judge?” She gave a brittle laugh that managed to combine fury and hysteria.
Bryan’s brows shot up in surprise at the news.
“This is all your fault.” Rachel glared at him and shook a loafer under his nose. “You told Mother we wouldn’t have to move. Naturally, she has no trouble remembering that little gem of information. Thanks a lot, Bryan,” she said, smacking him on the arm with the shoe. “You’ve made my job
Bryan winced and rubbed his arm. “But Rachel-”
“You keep saying you want to help me,” she ranted, running under a pair of jeans as they floated to earth. “Then you turn around and undermine my efforts to get Mother to accept the inevitable.”
“But honey, it’s not-”
They both broke off as a brown Ford Galaxy rattled up the drive. The car coughed to a halt and Porchind and Rasmussen emerged from the interior. A rock sailed down from above and richoceted off the grille of the car with a
“It’s Porky and the Rat!” she shouted, loading a bra cup and letting another stone fly. “Get away from my house!”
“Please excuse my mother, gentlemen,” Rachel said as they all took cover on the porch. “She’s been hallucinating a lot lately.”
“We’ve come to retrieve our books, Miss Lindquist,” Porchind said without preamble, tugging at his brown vest in a vain attempt to get the garment to cover his protruding girth.
“Books,” Rasmussen echoed. He cast a glance at Bryan, his sunken eyes gleaming with restrained temper. Bryan merely smiled at him inanely.
“Oh, yes,” Rachel said, giving Bryan her own fierce look. “I’m so sorry about the mixup. Bryan will get them for you.”
“They’re in the study,” he said, pleasantly unrepentant. Opening the door, he motioned everyone inside. Rachel stomped past him. Porchind and Rasmussen sidled by, reluctant to turn their backs on him. “Wasn’t that funny- those two stacks of books getting switched around that way?”
His only reply came in the form of three furious stares, which rolled harmlessly off his shield of innocuous enthusiasm.
“My, that old journal was certainly interesting reading,” he said brightly as they went into the study.
The two visitors turned abruptly to each other, their complexions paling from white to ashen.
“I couldn’t make head or tail out of it myself,” Bryan said with a grin. He fought the urge to chuckle as Porchind and Rasmussen relaxed visibly, letting out a collective breath.
They sank down on the leather love seat, apparently weak with relief as Bryan handed the little stack of books over to them. Porchind’s fingers, as stubby and round as breakfast sausages, curled greedily over the bindings as he pressed the books to his ample belly.
“I’ve spoken to a realtor about the house,” Rachel said abruptly, drawing startled glances all around. She leaned back against the desk, crossed her arms over her chest, and gave Bryan a mutinous look.
“We were hoping to save you the trouble, Miss Lindquist,” Porchind said with a nervous twitter.
“I had to get a fair idea of the market value,” Rachel explained.
“You’re certain you’re going to sell, then?”
“Yes,” she said, avoiding Bryan’s intense look.
“There’s still the little matter of Mrs. Lindquist,” he said pointedly. “It is, in fact, her house.”
Rachel reined in her temper and her own feelings of guilt. She hated to have it come down to a competency hearing. She had the ominous feeling that all hope of a reconciliation with Addie would be utterly destroyed by that. But the situation was getting desperate. Their funds were dwindling, and the IRS was breathing down their necks. She could see no way out other than her original plan of selling the house and going on to her new job in San Francisco. Her emotions were only complicated by Bryan’s unreasonable opposition. She felt as if he were betraying her.
“And there is the little matter of my contract with Mrs. Lindquist,” he continued. With a tremendous effort of will he ignored the fury rolling off Rachel in waves and resurrected his foolish grin. He turned to the gentlemen and began juggling a trio of red foam balls he had produced from thin air. “I’ve been hired to find the ghost.”
“There are no such things as ghosts, Mr. Hennessy,” Porchind said as if he were admonishing a ten-year- old.
Immediately both he and Rasmussen gave a little squeal of surprise and leapt forward a bit on the love seat. Their heads swiveled simultaneously, looking behind them as if they expected to see daggers protruding from the back of the chair. Everyone then glared accusingly at Bryan, who went on happily juggling, ignoring their unspoken accusation that he was somehow to blame.
“Sure there is,” he said enthusiastically. “This one’s name is Archibald Wimsey. He was staying here in 1931 as a guest of Arthur Drake. Mysteriously disappeared. I’m quite convinced that his spirit inhabits Drake House to this day.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Porchind said severely.
“Absurd,” Rasmussen reiterated.
Together they popped up from the love seat, their eyes and mouths round O’s of surprise, their hands going to their backsides.
Rachel sent Bryan a withering glare, then stepped forward to console her guests. “The springs must be going in that old thing. No wonder no one wanted to buy it yesterday.”
