Shrugging, Michael said, 'It was the ghost of some old prospector named Swanson. Kind of a goofy-looking guy.'
'The ghost wasn't a little kid?'
Michael stared at her, seeing that the veneer of calm and control was wearing thin. 'You've seen a ghost.'
'I've seen something,' Isabel agreed. 'Although what we need to call it remains to be seen.'
'Where did you see your ghost?' Michael wasn't terribly interested, but at least now Maria would have to listen to Isabel talk about ghosts too.
'Later,' Isabel replied. 'Look, we need to get together and talk. Do you know where Max is?'
'No,' Michael replied. 'He hasn't been around.'
'Maybe we haven't been around for him.' Isabel frowned and gave Michael a reproachful look.
Michael didn't say anything. He didn't feel guilty. Max was a big boy. Max didn't have trouble seeking Michael out when he wanted something, and Max had developed a habit of doing his own thing whether Isabel or Michael approved. That tendency was one of the things Michael respected about Max.
Isabel looked around. 'Where's Liz?'
'Hospital.'
Concern lit Isabel's features. 'Was she hurt?'
'No. Liz's dad had her go to the hospital and make sure everything is taken care of. She's a witness for the police reports on behalf of the cafe. Insurance and stuff like that in case the guy sues.'
'Good,' Isabel said. 'I want to go there myself. If you need me, that's where I'll be.'
Irritated, knowing Isabel had seen a ghost and hating the way she left him hanging even though she'd demanded answers to all her questions, Michael watched her go. If Isabel was interested in the ghosts, if she'd seen one as well, things were about to take another turn into the strange and unpredictable in Roswell.
Across the street, a number of teenagers and townsfolk had gathered to gawk at the damage. Dozens of rumors were already making the rounds about the damage. There was even a suggestion that the Crashdown Cafe had been built over an old Indian burial ground.
'Does that broom still fit your hands?'
Turning at the sound of Maria's voice, Michael found her standing a few feet behind him. 'I was talking to Isabel.'
Maria made a point of looking around. 'She's gone now, so unless you're using telepathy, you're done.'
Recognizing the tone of disapproval in Maria's voice, Michael asked, 'Are you mad about something?'
'No,' Maria answered flatly. 'Should I be?'
'No,' Michael said. He gestured at the ruined state of the cafe. 'I didn't do this.'
'There are a lot of things you don't do, Michael. There are a lot of thing you evidently don't even think about doing.' Without another word, Maria turned and walked back into the kitchen area.
Michael tried to get back to work, but he knew he couldn't. When he totally had no clue about what was upsetting Maria, Michael knew there was only one course of action. Sighing, he put his broom and dustpan down, then unknotted the strings of his apron and left it on a table.
He walked through the door into the kitchen and found Maria scrubbing pots and pans in a sink full of soapy water. Soap and water splattered the floor around her work area, mute testimony to the fact that she'd gotten herself worked up before she'd come looking for him.
Michael leaned a hip against the grill, crossed his arms over his chest, and prepared for the worst. Anytime Maria got this way, he knew she blamed him for something. The ghost wreaking havoc in the Crashdown Cafe was the biggest thing he could think of. And he wasn't responsible for that. 'I didn't bring the ghost here,' he said.
Maria kept washing dishes.
Michael prepared a mental list of things that had gone badly. 'I didn't volunteer us for the cleanup detail.'
'No,' Maria said in a cold, distant voice. 'I did that. I knew we could both use the money, and Liz's parents could use the help.'
'You didn't ask me,' Michael pointed out. 'I could be mad about that.'
Maria looked at him. She'd been washing dishes with enough effort that small puffs of soap had splashed up into her hair. 'Are you mad about that?'
Wisely, based on considerable experience with that tone of voice and that look, Michael chose discretion as the better part of valor. 'No. Extra money is good. Even though I've still got quite a bit put back from the work out in the desert.'
'So you didn't need this?'
Michael sighed. This is going to be bad. As much as he racked his brain, though, he couldn't think of one thing he'd done wrong. There hadn't even been time, really.
'Um, about not telling you about the ghost,' Michael tried. 'I was wrong about that. I should have told you.'
'I wouldn't have believed you,' Maria said.
Michael blinked in confusion. Had he missed something? 'I don't understand why you're mad, then,' he admitted.
Maria blew out her breath in obvious frustration.
Michael cringed and took a step back. He hadn't backed away from the ghost of the old prospector even when lightning started striking inside the Crashdown Cafe, but he backed away from the wrath Maria exhibited.
'Did you even think about what you did?' Maria asked.
'I didn't do anything,' Michael protested.
'Yes, you did.'
'What?'
'You saved Liz from the ghost,' Maria said, 'and I was standing right there You didn't think about saving me!'
9
Liz sat in the waiting area outside the hospital emergency room wing. She wanted out of the hospital, or at least to get out of the waiting room and outside for a couple minutes. But she had the feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
The waiting room was bright with early afternoon sunlight that poured in through the slatted blinds. People sat and talked, some of them acting like they'd had quite a bit of experience sitting in the hard, uncomfortable chairs. Others fidgeted or flipped through magazines without any real comprehension. A handful looked sick and nauseated, only inches away from being truly desperate.
All things considered, Liz thought the hospital waiting room wasn't an ideal place to spend time worrying about someone. Even though she didn't know Wilkins, she thought enough of him that she felt guilty. Mostly, her thoughts were on Max, wondering where he was and why he hadn't come when he'd found out what had happened at the Crashdown.
Unless he doesn't know, she told herself. Quickly she tried to cut down on that line of thinking because those thoughts got intense with a scary suddenness.
Liz glanced at her father at the other end of the room. Jeff Parker was trim and driven. He cradled his cell phone to his ear, listening for a while, then talking rapidly, working out details with the insurance people. He often referred to the yellow legal pad and file he carried, making notes as he went along.
Unable to sit any longer, Liz got up and walked over to her dad. When he looked up, she said, 'I'll be right back. I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?'
'Coffee,' her dad said. 'Thanks.' Then he turned his attention back to the phone conversation.
Liz left the waiting room and walked to the small alcove filled with vending machines. She pushed a dollar in, then made her selection.
A shadow slid across the vending machine's surface as Liz straightened with the soda can in hand. Startled, remembering how she hadn't seen the ghost back in the cafe and suddenly wondering if they left shadows or
