nodded. At least this time I had the presence of mind to keep my mouth shut. My shoulders prickled again. Stiff as the proverbial board, I turned my head toward my father. Eyes narrow, he studied me as if I were a bug in a science project.
This was so not good.
Dad’s gaze swung to the stainless steel refrigerator where mine had been moments before. Liam met his glance and straightened.
“I tell you that gravy boat floated through the air.” Vel’s ample bosom heaved. She stepped in front of Uncle Leon. “And if you don’t believe me, you can accept my resignation here and now.”
Liam looked alarmed. No doubt concerned about his gentlemanly gesture backfiring even further. The rest of us watched, amused. Even Dad’s sharp gaze relaxed as he turned it on Uncle Leon and Vel.
The cook had worked for them since I was five. Not a month went by without some altercation between Vel and Uncle Leon. I think they both enjoyed it and, by my dad’s twitching lips, he felt the same. He stepped into the breach. “Now, Vel. If you say the gravy boat floated through the air, I for one believe you.”
In two strides, he stood beside her and put his arm around her. “You know that no one in the family could do without you. I’d be devastated without your Sunday fried chicken.”
That snapped her back. Clever, Dad, clever. She straightened. “Oh my, your brunch will be cold. Go on in and get to eating. I’ll reheat the gravy and bring it right in.”
Uncle Leon rolled his eyes but trooped out with everyone else. As Dad walked through the door, he turned and stared at the refrigerator before he swung back and strode into the dining room.
I was the last one out. As I started for the door, Liam appeared in front of it. He raised his arm to open it for me before he caught himself. Either that or my look of abject terror clued him in. His arm dropped. “This is very frustrating for me. I’m a gentleman, not a churl. Gentlemen open doors for ladies.”
Churl. I’d have to remember that one. The boy was fascinating.
“Go on, girl, before your father gets any more ideas. I’m right behind you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered.
Once at the table, I heaped my plate. My mom broke off her conversation with Aunt Janet, looked at me, and frowned. “Good gracious, Caitlin, you’ll be sick if you eat all that. Are you nervous? You always overeat when you’re nervous.”
“Nervous? What’s there to be nervous about? Floating gravy boats and ghosts?” Hysterical laughter burst from my throat.
Everyone at the table stopped speaking and stared. Marcy, bless her, changed the subject. “Momma, did you know Black’s is having a shoe sale? Even though I can’t take advantage of it, there’s no reason for you not to pick up a pair of those darling espadrilles.” She shot her father a martyred look that he ignored, and the conversation resumed.
After a huge piece of coconut pie, I rose groaning from the table.
“Cat, why don’t you stop over this week? We haven’t had a chance to chat in all the flurry of graduation and you settling in with Marcy,” Daddy said.
Uh-oh, fishing expedition. “Sure, Dad. I’ll bring Marcy along.” Check and check mate.
I gave everyone the prerequisite hug before I hustled out the door, Marcy on my heels bemoaning her lost credit cards.
“Nice family.” Liam floated beside me, his hands in his pockets.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Not much gets past your father.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I just was. Weren’t you listening?” Marcy stopped to pull a tiny pebble out of her strappies.
“Of course. It’s going to be a long two weeks,” I commiserated.
“An eternity.” She sighed. “Just wait till I get a job. Then if he pulls my charge cards, it won’t matter.”
“Mm-hmm.” I patted her arm.
“What’s a charge card?” Liam’s frock coat snapped in the wind, his thick tawny hair danced in the breeze. A lock fell on his forehead. He looked yummier than the coconut pie we’d had for desert.
My knees went weak. I raised my hand to push back that errant lock of hair before I caught myself. Finally, his question about credit cards registered. Pitiful. How had anyone survived in the 1800s without credit cards?
“You can tell me later,” he decided.
Thank you, your highness, I thought, grinning.
Marcy glanced over at me. “It’s not funny.”
“Of course it’s not,” I soothed. Trying to distract her from her grievances, I asked, “You want to go for a swim?”
“On top of that dinner?” She groaned. “I’d never fit into my bikini. I think I’ll veg out in front of the flat screen and watch a movie.”
“Let me do a few laps to work off the potatoes and gravy.” I managed not to look at Liam at the word “gravy”…but only just. “And then I’ll join you.”
“Sure.”
We’d reached the cottage. She headed for her room and I headed for mine. As I stepped into the bedroom, Liam disappeared. “I hope you’re keeping your word about no peeping,” I whispered.
I tossed my dress on the bed, toed off my shoes, and slipped into my pink polka dot bikini, then swore. As bikinis went, it was pretty demure. It rode a sedate inch below my belly button and very little cleavage showed. The problem was my distended belly.
Marcy called that one. I thought about wearing my black one-piece, then decided against it, going on the assumption I’d swim it off.
I grabbed a short pink beach robe, took a detour to the fridge, poured myself some tea, and hauled butt out to the pool.
The scent of chlorine assailed me, and I dove into the cool clear water. Ten laps later, I dragged myself into a lounge chair and slipped on sunglasses.
The scent of cinnamon and limes tickled my senses. There he was. My heart gave a small jump and my stomach fluttered. How was it possible to have a physical reaction to a ghost, a mass of ectoplasm?
“You have a good, strong stroke.” By the way his gaze traveled over me and the gleam in his eye, it appeared it wasn’t just my stroke he liked.
He slid into the chair beside me, removed his jacket, and turned his face to the sun. His eyes drifted shut. A look of pure contentment played across his features. I had no doubt it was reflected on mine. I stretched out and wiggled my toes, admiring my Purple Sunset polish.
“What does your father do for a living?”
“Well there’s a mood breaker.” I picked up my iced tea. “He’s a reporter.”
“That
