Home for the Haunting(36)

I had the sense that he knew more than he was letting on. One thing I can say for my father: He’s the soul of discretion when he feels something isn’t his business.

“All I know is that the kids are at Disneyworld with Kyle’s parents,” said Dad.

“So she hasn’t mentioned how long she’ll be in town?”

He shook his head. “Just take her around with you; show her the ropes. She was saying last night she might like to get involved, go into the family business.”

I froze.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It might not be such a bad idea. You’re always talking about moving to Paris. Think about it. If your sister stepped in to take over for a while, you’d be off the hook.”

Cookie in charge of project schedules, client relations, and construction workers? The mind reeled. The dust level alone on the typical jobsite would give the woman palpitations.

“Dad, I really don’t think—”

“Sometimes you don’t give your sister enough credit. She’s a good girl, and she’s smarter than people think.”

This battle was not worth fighting. I didn’t want to disparage my own sister, and Dad was defensive of her. Whether he really couldn’t see it or was simply living in a state of denial didn’t much matter. The results were the same.

I had one more possible out today, though.

“I’m not just working construction today, though, remember? I’ve got ghost class tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.”

He rolled his eyes. “For cryin’ out loud, when are you going to stop with that ghost stuff?”

“You told me yourself I needed to take ghost busting seriously if I was going to keep doing it. So this is me taking it seriously. There’s a lot to learn, not the least of which is how to run things like an actual business and get paid for my services. There are forms and licenses to consider.”

He snorted and started chopping onions.

“Making omelets?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Dad wasn’t buying.

“Just do what I tell you and take your sister.”

I saluted. “Yessir, Commander, sir.”

I had lost this round, but at least I made him smile.

• • •



The morning air was crisp and cold. I started up the car and put on the defrost, then climbed out to wipe the dew from the windows and mirrors. Dog immediately jumped into the passenger’s seat, happy and ready to go. No matter that he got carsick, he always leapt into the car, excited to be going somewhere, apparently failing to connect the sick feeling to the vehicle. As much as I loved him, I had to admit that Dog was a profoundly dim bulb.

Cookie came out of the house wearing fashionable boots and a pink wool pea coat, looking like a perky Lands’ End model, even at this early hour. She stomped her feet and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Brrrr. It’s so coooold.”

“Tell that to people in Montana. This would be downright temperate for them.”

“In LA, the weather’s always perfect: not too hot, not too cold. Every day’s the same.”

I managed not to express my next snide thought: Sounds boring.

“Does the doggy have to come?”

“We’re trying to help him get over his carsickness,” I explained. My father and Stan had taken Dog to a holistic veterinarian in Berkeley. None of us could get behind the suggestion that the poor canine go vegan, but we were giving the suggested exposure therapy a shot. “He’s supposed to ride around with me at least three or four times a week.”

“Why can’t he go tomorrow?”

“He’s already in and ready. Let’s just go.”

“He’s in my seat.”

Dog’s big brown head lolled over in our direction, tongue hanging out the side of his muzzle, chocolate eyes huge and patient and benign.

“He likes to ride shotgun,” I said. “Would you mind riding in back?”

Cookie made an outraged gasp, her mouth hung open, and she gaped at me.

“Just kidding.” I chuckled at her reaction. Okay, it wasn’t much for humor this early in the morning, but it made me smile. “In the back, Dog,” I said with an exaggerated gesture, pointing toward the rear seat.

Why I did this was anyone’s guess; Dog had never once responded to my verbal command. Finally, I put a hand under his butt and urged him on until he finally jumped awkwardly into the back.

“There you are,” I said to Cookie. “Let’s go. I’m already running late.”

“There’s hair all over the seat! It’ll get on my coat.”

I blew out a breath and tried to draw upon my shallow reserve of patience.