All right, so maybe Connor wasn’t a total man-whore. That knowledge shouldn’t be enough to justify the wave of relief that went over me. To cover my irritation at myself, I asked, “How long has it been since someone else…another girl, I mean…was here?”
“I’m not sure.” Her brow puckered. She was very pretty, in a sort of porcelain-doll way, with her thin penciled brows and Cupid’s bow of a mouth covered in dark red lipstick. “I don’t pay much attention to time, I’m afraid.”
I’d heard that sort of thing before, from Maisie. Just because ghosts hung around in our world didn’t mean they were tuned into the ebb and flow of days, weeks, months. Judging by her dress, the woman before me must have been haunting this building for at least eighty years, maybe more. Differences in a few months or even a few years might not have registered much with her.
“What’s your name?” I asked. Generally, I liked to be more personal with ghosts, if they allowed it.
“Mary Mullen,” she replied. “I lived here once…such a lovely apartment. My husband made it real nice for me, with furniture shipped all the way from Chicago. But then the girls caught diphtheria, and so did I. They went first, and when it was my turn, I thought I should stay here, to make sure my husband was all right.” She frowned again. “But then he went, too, and I was still here. Have you seen any of them?”
I shook my head. I wanted to tell her that they must have moved on, that there was no reason for her to remain here, but I wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that…even after eighty years. Maybe later, if I had a chance to speak with her again. Not that I really wanted to have the opportunity, since that would mean I’d be stuck here for a lot longer than I wanted to be.
She didn’t appear upset, only resigned. “I thought I should ask, since you’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to since…well, since. And you have a kind face.”
That was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me. “Um…thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more.”
“It’s all right. You take care…and take care of that boy, too. He’s lost, that one.” And she disappeared then, just as Maisie always did. Here one second, gone the next.
I waited for a moment, just in case she decided to come back, but she seemed to have left this plane for the time being.
A frown of my own etched my brow as I continued downstairs.
What did she mean, Connor was lost?
2
An Unexpected Visitor
I didn’t know about “lost,” but Connor definitely seemed to be MIA. After I wandered into the kitchen, I found a bag of bagels in the refrigerator as promised, then extracted one and cut it in half using a knife and a cutting board I found sitting on the counter. A few crumbs indicated that Connor had apparently used it for this same purpose earlier that morning.
That kitchen was the sort of room I’d dreamed about while poring over catalogues in preparation for updating Great-Aunt Ruby’s house. Stainless-steel appliances, warm-toned granite countertops, floor of red Spanish tile. Someone had poured a lot of money into this place, and recently, judging by the style of the fixtures.
The toaster oven dinged, indicating my bagel was ready. I pulled it out and buttered it. Luckily, the butter had also been sitting out, so it was soft and spreadable. I’d just taken a bite when the front door opened and Connor came in, carrying a white paper bag and wearing an exasperated expression on his face.
Looking at him, at the clean lines of his jaw only partly obscured by stubble, at the glint of those green eyes from between the heavy dark lashes, I could feel another of those unwelcome waves of heat pass over my body. I tensed, then forced myself to glance away, to stare down at the bagel in my hand as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Maybe it was, if it could keep me from launching myself directly at him and tearing his clothes off.
“How was work, dear?” I asked, and his eyes narrowed.
“I got tied up,” he said shortly.
“Sounds like fun,” I replied. Okay, where the hell had that come from? I wasn’t supposed to be bantering with him — I was supposed to be demanding that he let me go.
“Looks as if you’ve gotten settled all right,” he said, ignoring my remark and moving past me to deposit the bag he held on the counter. “I brought us some sandwiches — if you’ll still have room after eating that bagel.”
“Oh, I will. You’ll probably go broke feeding me. I eat like a horse.”
“I somehow doubt that.”