as sharp as a tack,” Bridget assured. The woman was smart enough to fake swoons any time she didn’t get her way, which proved she was lucid, but Bridget was worried. What if someone was trying to harm her relative? Some things Granny Ginny had said suggested people were trying to run her off her property by pretending to haunt it. Bridget suddenly sighed. “I guess I just thought you might help end the curse.”
“So your love life will turn around?”
“You don’t have to say it quite so bluntly.”
He chuckled softly now, and she smiled in response to the familiar sound. “It’s no secret. It’s the overriding complaint of your life, Bridge.”
“True.” More than once, Dermott had pretended to be her boyfriend to dissuade Mr. Wrongs who still thought they were Mr. Rights, and at this year’s Christmas party at Tiffany’s, he’d even pretended they were hot and heavy, since her boss favored women with active personal lives, and she’d been in line for the promotion from clerk to floor manager, which she’d gotten. It had been a remarkable performance. All night, it had seemed as if Dermott really was her boyfriend. Everything had seemed perfect, with him in a suit, and her in a perfect black dress, and with him pouring her another glass of champagne—of exactly the brand he was supposed to be drinking with Carrie right this minute.
Her eyes slid to the bedroom door, then returned to Dermott. He really was handsome. The V of his shirt exposed thick black chest hair, and even though he’d buttoned the shirt, he hadn’t done so before she’d trailed her gaze all the way down to the waistband of his slacks.
She startled. “Uh,” she began quickly, pulling herself back to the matter at hand. “I was thinking, since I’m already off work all week and since I’m not going skiing…”
Dark eyes that had never looked so good before this moment widened in disbelief. “You’re thinking of flying to Florida, to see if you can find the ring?”
“Well,” she admitted slowly. “Maybe not flying.” She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d been afraid to fly since 9/11. She glanced once more toward the windows through which the Twin Towers had been visible.
“Oh.” His jaw slackened. “Now, I get it.”
She winced. “It was just a thought,” she assured, the cubic zirconias flashing as she held out a staying hand. “Honestly, Dermott, I had no idea you were so busy. I wouldn’t have come.”
“You want me to drive you,” he guessed.
“You were talking about taking vacation time,” she defended. “And more than anyone, you have intimate knowledge of my abysmal date failures, not to mention family quirks. You’ve met Granny, and you’re skeptical about the family myths, so I thought that might keep me in check.”
His eyes were unreadable. “If you start seeing ghosts?”
“I remembered you saying you wanted to record sounds for a movie sound track,” she said, rushing on, still trying not to contemplate what the sight of him, nearly naked, had done to her erogenous zones. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she let her fingers linger, then tugged on her earlobe, as if that might help her hear her inner voice and jog recall. “You know, the movie that’s set in the South.”
He nodded. “It’s a Civil War picture.”
“And I was thinking…” Her words quickened. “What if there really are ghosts, Dermott, just the way Granny Ginny says? I’ve heard about them so often, I guess I do believe in them, but still, it’s hard to imagine seeing them. What if we really heard…” She paused. “All those gunshots, cannonballs and horses…”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Dermott flatly.
“Of course you don’t,” Bridget assured. “But I was just thinking…well, it might be fun to play ghost-busters. Granny Ginny says she always smells my father’s whiskey and the cigars Mom made him quit smoking, and that he tracks mud and leaves the doors open.” She blew out a short, determined breath. “I’ve been skiing before a thousand times, but I’ve never searched an old plantation for a ring. I just want to take one good look at the portrait and the chandelier. And like I said, wouldn’t it be great if you caught sounds of real ghosts on your equipment?” Dermott owned an SUV outfitted with state-of-the-art sound equipment.
A long silence fell.
Then he said, “Let me get this straight. You need the use of my van to record possible ghost sounds?”
“I’m not sure. But it might come in handy.”
“And if we go down there, find this ring and end the curse, your love life will work out?”
Put that way, it sounded ridiculous. Nevertheless, she nodded. “That’s what Granny Ginny said.”
“And you’ll marry somebody?”
“That’s ambitious. Sex would be good.” Maybe just a date on Valentine’s day, she thought, but wasn’t about to call attention to Dermott’s situation again with Carrie Masterson. “I could start with sex,” she joked, the smile growing tight when she realized she was imagining having that sex with Dermott, “and then work my way up.”
Outside, a loud thunderclap sounded, claiming her attention, and she watched as lightning crossed a darkened window. Straight in front of her, she could see the waters of the Hudson swell against empty slips at the Manhattan Yacht Club, and to the right, the space where the Towers had been. She tried to visualize how they’d looked, but she simply couldn’t, just as she couldn’t exactly envision how Dermott had looked to her before five minutes ago when she’d found Carrie naked in his apartment. Now, he seemed like a completely different man.
Suddenly whimpering, Mug burrowed in the hollow of her shoulder. “Look,” she managed. “I’d really better go.”
And then Dermott scratched his jaw and said the last thing Bridget expected, proving that he was still her best bud. “I’ve got a few days off. Then I’m in L.A. for a long weekend.”
She squinted. “You are?”
He nodded. “My agent got me a gig with a new indie director. They want me to go over some of the sound mix and help re-edit it. Right after that, we’re in Kenneth and Allison’s wedding. But between now and the L.A. gig…” He sighed. “Okay, Bridge. I’ll go pack. What time should I pick you up in the morning?”
Her heart soared in a way she’d never imagined it could. Even though Carrie Masterson was here, Dermott was going to help her. “How about seven?”
“EVERYBODY warned me!” Carrie exploded a moment later, her dark hair bristling as it flew around her shoulders.
Dermott, who was particularly sensitive to sounds, listened to the flapping sheet as she snapped it from her body, then to the soft rustle as she reached for her bra and panties. Somehow, it didn’t help that she’d been wearing one of the sheets Bridget had given him for Christmas. “Don’t go, Carrie,” he said, but he knew the words were useless. She was flying around his bedroom like one of Bridget’s poltergeists. What a night! He’d been tied up at work, Carrie had wanted to give him a final fitting of the suit for Allison and Kenneth’s wedding, and it was raining, so he’d been afraid she’d get stranded, which was why he’d told
