Unquiet Spirits Read online

  "You too, Bart," she said, hugging him as well.

  "You said to come as we were," Kit said, looking down at her jeans. "I'm glad I put on a fresh shirt at least."

  "You look lovely. Besides, when you're seventy years old, you have to take every advantage you can get over the competition," Johanna said with a saucy wink at Bart.

  "Johanna, there is no competition. You are in a class by yourself," Bart said and bent to kiss her hand with a continental flair.

  Kit chuckled at the pleased but flustered look on her grandmother's face. She hadn't prepared Johanna for Bart.

  "Well, now," she said, smoothing a nonexistent wisp of silver-blonde hair off her unlined forehead. With sparkling eyes and genuine smile, she looked hardly a day older than she had seventeen years ago. Johanna slipped her arms through Bart's, then Kit's. "Come meet everybody."

  She hustled them out of the elegant vestibule with its oriental rug, cherry wood telephone table and gilt-framed mirror and into a vast pale-green carpeted living room. A tall, solidly built man with keen eyes, a pleasant smile and a shock of white hair stood as they entered. Almost immediately, a shorter, smiling, dark-haired man rose from a sofa on which the other occupant, a slender, blue-eyed brunette remained seated. Kit noted with relief that they were all wearing casual clothes.

  "Mike Martin, Betsy and Joel Warner, I want you to meet my granddaughter, Kit, and her dear friend, Bart Thornton."

  As they approached, the brunette got up from the sofa and hesitantly took Kit's outstretched hand. "I've wanted to meet you for ages," she said. Her timid smile extended to her blue eyes. "Johanna talks about you all the time."

  Betsy was probably in her early forties and not at all what Kit expected of a woman in the promotion business. She seemed almost shy, but Kit liked the unreserved way she held eye contact with her. Her husband didn't appeal to Kit as much although even with his thinning hair, Joel was good-looking enough. He had regular features and the solid body of someone who worked out. Something about his smile, though, reminded her of her late husband. It was attractive, but a little too practiced.

  "Betsy has been working with me recently on a whole new image for the resort," Johanna said. "But I mentioned that in my letter. Joel doesn't work for us. He has a real estate agency in Huntsville."

  That explained the professional smile.

  "And this is Mike." It was obvious from the warmth in her grandmother's voice that the older man was a close friend. Kit was glad she found Mike's firm handshake as attractive as his smile. "Mike owns the general store and garage you passed as you turned onto the Spirit Lake Road."

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted her introductions. Johanna excused herself to answer it.

  Mike, with the efficiency of a man who knew his way around Johanna's apartment, took over the duties of bartender and brought Bart the scotch and Kit the white wine they requested.

  "Elsa says she's running a bit late but she will be here soon," Johanna announced. "I was afraid she was having another bout of stomach problems. She's been under the weather a lot lately. And Paavo sends his apologies. He'll join us as soon as he can, but right now he's in the kitchen doing something to a sauce that he doesn't dare leave."

  "Do you think he'll take a meat cleaver to me if I pop in the kitchen and interrupt him?" Kit asked.

  "Anyone else, maybe. But don't stay long."

  * * *

  The gleaming modern kitchen was a marked contrast to Johanna's elegant living room. The air was redolent with a mix of wonderful aromas. Kit could smell herbs, some kind of poultry, a trace of citrus, perhaps a whiff of chocolate. Her mouth watered.

  Then she spotted him. Paavo was as short and round and dark-haired as his sister, Joanna, was tall, trim and blonde. He was standing by the stove slowly stirring something in a stainless steel double boiler.

  "Paavo," she said, hesitantly. "May I interrupt you?"

  A wide smile broke over his broad face. "Kitkat! My little Kitkat. Come, give Uncle Paavo a big hug." He wrapped one muscular arm around her, gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek and never stopped stirring. "I am almost finished here. Let me look at you. Ah, what a beauty you grew into." He grinned. "And not so tall I get a crick in my neck looking at you!"

  "I don't know how I stayed away so long," Kit told him. That was true. Johanna and her brother had given her unqualified acceptance. Never demanding that she achieve anything, they seemed happy with her simple existence.

  "What's that I smell? You sweetheart, you're cooking those little Cornish hens I loved so much."

  "With zesty orange sauce," Paavo admitted with a grin. "That's what I'm stirring now."

  She breathed in the heavenly aroma. She caught sight of Bart hesitating in the doorway.

  "And this is your young man?" Paavo had evidently seen him too. "Well, come join us then."

  Bart moved in from the doorway to the kitchen. "You're sure? I was told to approach you slowly. Joanna suggested you might take your cleaver to some of my favorite parts if I disturbed you when you were creating."

  "I'm finished with the delicate part of this." Paavo moved a couple of saucepans and turned to take Bart's hand. "Paavo Seppanen, Kit's not-quite great-uncle."

  "Bart Thornton, Kit's ..." He almost said, "Kit's not-quite cousin" but he didn't want to re-enforce Kit's notion that they were semi-related. "Ah, we've known each other since we were children. I was told to say that Elsa had arrived."

  "Good timing. Give me a minute to turn this down and I can leave this for a little." Paavo removed his white bibbed apron. "I will go with you for a drink before dinner. Now, you do know not to mention our ghost to Elsa. Talk about the hauntings upsets her."

  "Our ghost..." Kit echoed slowly. "We have a ghost?"

  "Don't worry. He doesn't harm anyone," he hastened to assure her. "More of a nuisance than anything. Disturbed some of the guests, you know. I guess I shouldn't have mentioned him. I thought Johanna would have warned you. No doubt she will tell you about it after Elsa leaves. Now, not a word to Elsa."

  To hear down-to-earth Paavo referring to ghosts as if they were an everyday pest like mice or ants was mind-boggling. Bart looked uneasy at the turn in the conversation. After his and Bret's encounters last summer, Kit understood why he would be unable to take talk of ghosts lightly.

  "Of course. Let's get back to our drinks, then," Bart said, "and greet your aunt."

  Elsa seemed to have shrunk over the years. Her obviously bleached blonde hair was very short and her face was no longer round and ruddy. In fact, Kit would have passed this pale, hollow-cheeked woman on the street without recognizing her. Only Elsa's large pale blue eyes had not changed.

  She narrowed them a little when she saw Kit. She didn't rise from her chair to greet her but she did reach out her hands to be grasped. "Pardon me for not getting up. I haven't been well lately," she said. "My, you do resemble your mother. You're even about the same size. I'd hoped you'd get some of your father's height."

  "Now, Elsa, no criticism of short people allowed." Paavo handed her a crystal wineglass containing a dark red liquid. "Here's your aperitif. How you can drink that bittersweet wine blend is a mystery to me."

  "I can taste it. That's why!" Elsa snapped.

  He raised his glass. "Let's toast a welcome to Kit and Bart. May your visit be a happy and relaxed one."

  Over the next half-hour, the conversation centered mainly on Kit's recuperation from the incident in Miami and renovations past and future to the resort. Joel suggested that the resort really needed an executive-length golf course and went on at some length about how perfectly suited the adjacent piece of land would be for one. No one gave him any argument and the subject dropped.

  Kit was relieved that no one mentioned the violent end to her brief marriage or the possibility that someone else might still be trying to kill her. Of course, none of the guests at the dinner party knew she'd been shot at in Toronto only last night.

  Bart and Johanna's friend, Mike, seemed t
o be hitting it off. From what she could gather of their conversation, Mike had bought the general store when he retired from the RCMP a few years ago. Having been stationed in Ottawa for a number of his years as a Mountie, then as part of CSIS, the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service, Mike had spent a fair amount of time in the same diplomatic circles as Bart had. He had even dealt with some of the same people.

  "Well out of it!" Mike said with a laugh. She heard Bart agree heartily. Did that mean Bart really had done his last "negotiation"?

  The hot red sun was still hovering over the horizon and turning the clouds into vivid jagged strips of red and gold. Kit wandered over to the large wall of windows with her wineglass and was gazing at the sunset when Betsy joined her.

  "Breathtaking, isn't it?" Kit breathed.

  "I never get enough of the sunsets up here," Betsy said, after a moment.

  "Have you lived in Muskoka long?" Kit asked.

  "I accepted a job as assistant manager at one of the big resorts down the road about a year ago. I figured I'd worked in Niagara Falls hotels long enough and thought I'd try Muskoka for a change of pace. I'm glad I did."

  "And now you're working at Spirit Lake?" Kit didn't mean to sound critical but it did sound like a step backward.

  "Not exactly," Betsy said with a tight smile. "I'm doing some consulting work for Johanna."

  "Oh, yes, she mentioned something about changing the image of the resort."

  "What do you think of the idea?" she asked hesitantly.

  "She never did tell me any details." Kit could see Bart heading toward her and Johanna coming out of the kitchen. She expected dinner was about to be served. "Give me a quick summary. I think Johanna's almost ready to announce dinner."

  "Basically, it's about utilizing the acres of maple trees behind the sawmill. Turn it into a real maple sugar bush. Have tours of the operation at sugaring off time. Sell maple syrup, maple candy, fudge, souvenirs, maybe some woodcarvings, paintings." Once she was caught up in selling her plan, Betsy was a different woman. "Have hayrides for kids, turn the sawmill property into a children's playground." She flashed Kit an eager smile. "Maybe a child sized fairytale village. Or even have a petting zoo."

  "Whoa! Too many ideas. Let's take a look at the property and talk tomorrow some time. Will you be here?"

  "Sure, I will. What time?"

  Bart had come up beside them during Betsy's pitch. "Why don't you come along, Bart?" Kit suggested with a wry grin. There was no way he'd let her go alone anyway. "They told me the sawmill property was too dangerous to explore when I was here as a kid so I'm eager to check it out. And I'd like to hear your opinion of its possibilities."

  Betsy didn't seem pleased to have Bart included in their morning jaunt. Maybe she thought Kit would be more easily influenced alone.

  "Oh, please excuse me. Johanna, is giving me the high sign," Betsy said. "With Elsa under the weather, I offered to help her serve dinner."

  Johanna ushered them into the dining room. "I've put out place cards," she said. "Go on in and get yourselves seated. Betsy and I will arrive with the appetizers in a minute.

  On the lace-covered table, silver and crystal gleamed in the light of a dozen slender tapers. Johanna's idea of a "casual dinner" was unusual.

  The appetizer was an attractive plate of shrimp, cracked crabs legs and slender wedges of avocado, melon and lemon on a bed of lettuce. When Kit commented on the delicious creamy dressing, Paavo admitted that it was his own.

  Elsa had been served a mound of jellied consommé and crackers.

  "Are you allergic to shellfish, Elsa?" Joel asked.

  Elsa shuddered dramatically and scowled across at Paavo. "No. I just dislike it intensely. That and fish. We aren't having a fish course, are we? Paavo?"

  Paavo assured her she would be spared fish. Apart from that, the conversation was pleasant as they enjoyed Paavo's meal. The potato leek soup was smooth and delicious. The Rock Cornish hens à l'orange were as delectable as Kit remembered. The chocolate mousse cake was decadently rich. And the coffee was dark and smooth. Around it all the wines flowed. Mike kept an alert eye on the level in the wineglasses and topped them up quite unobtrusively. As the wine went down, the company relaxed.

  All except Elsa, who picked at her food and drank only imported mineral water with it.

  When everyone moved to the living room for coffee and cognac, Kit insisted on helping Johanna to clear. Once in the kitchen, while Kit rinsed plates and Johanna loaded the dishwasher, she decided to be blunt.

  "Elsa looks terrible, Johanna. What's wrong with her?"

  "I should have written you about this but you were in hospital yourself when we found out. She finished chemo for pancreatic cancer two months ago and we thought she was getting better. I don't like this recurrence of the nausea."

  "No wonder she's so thin," Kit said. "What does her doctor say about it?"

  "She won't go. I've tried to convince her that she can't waste any more time but she says this was expected and she has to wait it out. There's no talking to Elsa when she's made up her mind."

  "I'll see if I can talk her into getting some different expert advice. We could fly her anywhere, you know."

  "I wish you'd try. I'm worried sick about her," Johanna said. "Perhaps you could get your Bart to talk to her, too. I've a feeling that man could charm the birds out of the trees."

  "Bart is not my anything." Kit began but she could see by Johanna's expression that she had her own opinion. "By the way, about those 'spooks' you mentioned in your letter..."

  "Oh, that's only nonsense. Not worth discussing." Johanna slammed the door to the dishwasher shut and spun the dial. "We'd better get back to the rest of the company," she said and left Kit standing there drying her hands on a tea towel.

  Loud laughter resounded in the living room. Mike was wiping his eyes. "You're a wicked mimic, Bart," he gasped. "How did the ambassador react?"

  "It was pretty hard for him to be convincingly indignant when we all caught him with his hand up her skirt."

  Bart made room for Kit beside him on the sofa. "Betsy asked if I found the lofty diplomatic set intimidating. I was giving them an example that proved every group has its phonies."

  That was true enough. Kit had married one. "When you were in Ottawa, Mike, you must have seen some things which didn't fit the public image."

  He had. In fact, almost everyone had an anecdote. The conversation continued to be entertaining and animated. Although she couldn't put her finger on exactly why, Kit had a feeling the laughter was a little forced--as if there was some topic that everyone was determined to avoid. Could it be Elsa's illness? Or perhaps it was the ghost.

  Across the room, Kit noticed that Elsa's eyelids were starting to drift down from time to time. She went over to sit on the footstool at her aunt's feet.

  "I'm sorry to hear about your illness, Elsa," she began. "I'm worried about you."

  "No need," Elsa snapped. "I get along fine."

  Well, that certainly didn't do anything for the flow of conversation. Kit let her gaze drift around the room. Both Joel and Betsy were looking in her direction. She couldn't be sure but she thought she saw tears in Betsy's eyes. Elsa must be more welcoming to Betsy's friendly advances than she was to hers.

  "Have you had a second opinion about this setback you're having?" She wasn't going to abandon her plan to help Elsa.

  "You've been talking to Johanna."

  "Just briefly. I really would like to arrange for you to see another specialist. We could make a holiday of it, Elsa." She tried to make it tempting. "We could go to anywhere in the world... Boston, New York or one of the European medical centers. Toronto, if you'd be more comfortable there."

  "Thank you, Kit, but I'm sure I'm getting over this spell. I'll be fine in a day or two. I just need to get home." Elsa got to her feet but would have toppled over if Joel hadn't caught her.

  "Betsy and I thought we'd offer you a ride home, Elsa," he said, steadying her.

 
; "Newlyweds don't need to be bothered with an old lady," she muttered.

  "We'd love to have your company, Elsa," Betsy assured her with a smile. "And we're not newlyweds any more. We've been married over six months."

  "Still newlyweds," Elsa insisted. "Besides, my car..."

  Silently agreeing that Elsa was in no condition to drive, Kit offered, "Leave the key with me. I'd be glad to drop it off at your house tomorrow if you like."

  The departure of Elsa and the Warners signaled the end of the party.

  "We're meeting Betsy here in the morning to have a look at the sawmill property," Kit told Johanna as they left.

  "Now, Kat, you need rest to mend your body. Sleep in. Don't worry about Betsy. She'll be here whenever you arrive. I've stocked your refrigerator with everything you need for breakfast and lunch. We won't start serving three meals a day until next week when the summer help starts to arrive."

  "I'll rest, Johanna." Kit smiled. Her grandmother still treated her like the fifteen-year-old she'd been when she was last at Spirit Lake.

  As they stepped out into the cool moonlit night, Kit shivered. "I should have brought a sweater," she said.

  Bart put his arm around her and drew her close to his side. "Just snuggle up to the Thornton furnace, little lady," he said. "That should keep the frostbite off until we get to the cabin."

  Kit slipped her arm around Bart's waist. "Add a little Schofield heat and it's even better," she said. She only wanted to keep warm, she told herself. Who was she kidding? What she really wanted was to slip her hand into the back pocket of his jeans to feel his heat and let her fingers caress the clenching muscles of his buttocks as he walked. She took a shaky breath. What harm could it do, for the next few minutes, to let herself enjoy the press of his strong arm around her and the sensation of his hard torso against the side of her breast?

  Bart heard her sigh and smiled. Yeah, this was the way it should be. Kit belonged right here, snug against his side. A year ago, this snuggling would not have been a problem. But it sure was now. He wanted her. How he wanted her!