Sadie's Spirit - CB Samet (important of reading books txt) 📗

As Willow parked her car, she gaped at the beauty of the old house. The sun filtered through the leaves rustling in the cool, March breeze – casting dancing shadows across the house. The shingles looked new, but the gutters were the original copper. One of the large windows jutted out to create a sitting area, in what appeared to be a library. To make it even more appealing, majestic oak trees surrounded the house, enveloping it in an aura of tranquility.

Willow stretched after the two-hour car ride, before walking up the porch steps.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man dressed in a navy suit who stood expectantly in the doorway. He had sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, and tanned skin. His square, cleanly-shaven jaw looked tense. “You’re late.”

Willow looked at her watch. Two minutes late, and that was only because she’d been ogling his house and the premises while standing in the driveway.

Now, instead, she caught herself ogling this stranger, and his broad, triangular physique.

“I’m not late.”

“Business courtesy dictates arrival fifteen minutes before a meeting time.”

Willow wanted to tell him where he could shove his business courtesy, but she needed this job and needed the money. Besides, the gentleman seemed to be in a hurry. Perhaps he had somewhere important he needed to be, and the urgency had made him rude.

“I’ll remember that for any of our future meetings.” Willow extended a hand. “Willow Nightingale.”

The stranger shook her hand briefly, his grip warm and solid. “Mark Stryker.”

“Tell me about your ghost problem.”

Mark stepped aside and gestured with his arm for Willow to step inside the house.

As she entered, her gaze roamed the interior and the evidence of ongoing renovations: Half-painted walls, stripped railings ready for staining, and stacks of new wood planks.

“I don’t have a ghost problem,” Mark said.

Willow felt a jolt of alarm. Had she been lured to a man’s house under false pretenses? She reached for the phone in her pocket and pulled it out. “Sorry, I’ll make it quick.” She pretended to answer the phone and talk to her friend. “Erika? Hi! Yeah, sorry – I can’t talk right now. I’m at that old house: The one we looked at online… Yes, okay… I’ll call you later. Bye-bye.” She stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

Mark’s lips quirked. “Did you just fake a phone call?”

“No.” Damn! Her voice had probably been infused with too much cheer.

“You did. You realized you’re miles from civilization, alone with a stranger, so you faked a call.”

“Did not!”

Mark smiled. “I’m in real estate. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. And you’re a bad liar.”

Willow tried not to stare at Mark’s infuriatingly dazzling smile.

He took a nonthreatening step back and nodded toward her. “Go ahead. Call or text whomever you need to in order to feel at ease. I’ll wait.”

Willow retrieved her phone again and texted Erika that she was on a job. Then she sent the address of Mark’s house, adding that she’d call Erika later.

Willow finally pocketed her phone again. “Thanks.” She looked up at the handsome stranger. “Now, do you or do you not have a ghost problem?” If he didn’t have a problem, why had he called her?

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” Mark crossed his arms. “But, as I seem to be in the minority in these parts, I need someone with a reputation for dealing with ghosts to declare this place cleansed.”

“Cleansed?”

“Ghost-free.”

Willow walked through the house with Mark on her heels. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

“You’re the fifth person I’ve called. Two were a waste of money. Two were unavailable. Asher Brenner was the fourth one, and the one who seemed to be the most reputable, but he only does missing persons. He gave me your name.”

Willow nodded. She’d met Asher when they crossed paths on a previous case. After they’d compared notes, she’d known Asher was the real thing—a fellow medium.

“You don’t advertise,” Mark added.

“I don’t,” Willow agreed. She knew that if she advertised her services, she’d be bombarded with people wanting séances to connect them with dead family members, and Willow performed no such rituals. She preferred to keep her activity low-key, and simply help the occasional spirit move on from the living world.

“It must make finding business tough.”

“You found me.” Willow walked through the gutted kitchen, with its missing cabinet doors, and then the dining room with the sheets over the table and chairs. The lounge had a beautiful brick fireplace and led into the library. There, old books covered in cobwebs filled half the shelves. Willow looked at the seat by the window. She could envision spend hours relaxing in such a place. She could sit, and write, and stare into the woods for inspiration.

Mark watched the fascination on Willow’s face as she explored his house. Her green eyes were wide with wonder, and her cheeks flushed. She didn’t look like a psychic—not with her blue jeans, pink blouse, purple scarf, and worn boots. She was a few years younger than him—late twenties, perhaps. She looked good enough to eat, but Mark wasn’t about to hit on a woman who claimed to see ghosts.

Willow touched the spine of one of the books, and her lips parted slightly.

He looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you have a ghost-Geiger counter or something?”

She arched a dark eyebrow at him. “I am the Geiger.”

“Well?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Before you go too far, we should discuss payment.”

Willow turned toward him. “You agreed to my price on the phone. I agreed to no payment until the job is done. Fortunately for you, I’m desperate enough to accept your terms.”

“Ghost hunting doesn’t pay the bills?” Mark asked.

“Hardly. And this isn’t hunting.”

“Ghost whispering?”

“I don’t whisper.”

“What do you call it then?”