“Maybe,” I said, “but nobody else heard it.”
“It’s a presence,” Emily said. “I can’t describe it. You’ll all have to come over once I move in.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jane said.
“Me, neither,” Marigold said. “I can’t wait to meet your ghost.”
“She seems to show up in whatever part of the house the men are working in,” Emily put in.
“Smart ghost,” Lizzie murmured.
Emily grinned. “Yes. Sometimes their tools get moved. The other day a paint can tipped over, but it was on the tarp, so no damage was done. I don’t know if she wants to observe the work itself or if she just likes watching the men, period.”
“Don’t we all?” Jane said.
Emily winked. “They’re awfully cute.”
“Yes, they are,” Jane said. “When Johnny and Douglas were working on my place, it was hard to ignore them with those tool belts hanging low around their hips and those muscles bulging as they hammered and sawed.”
“Tell me more,” Marigold said, fanning herself.
I laughed. “You’re talking about guys who are like brothers to me.”
“I’m sorry for you, then,” Emily said, “because they’re quite adorable.”
Lizzie carried a bowl of guacamole into the compact dining space. “This is so much nicer than meeting at a restaurant.”
“I agree.” Emily brought a platter of paté, cheese, and crackers to the table. “It might be the last gathering I have in this cozy little place, so I want to enjoy it while I can.”
I raised my glass to her. “I hope you’ll be even happier in your beautiful new home.”
“Oh, yes, absolutely,” she said, clinking her glass against mine. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“The guys are making pretty good time,” I reported, both to Emily and the others. “I think we’re right on schedule.”
“I know you are.” She watched as Lizzie placed a large bowl of pasta with a thick red sauce on the table. “But I don’t want to force you to talk shop tonight.”
Not that I would’ve minded talking shop, but the table was now crammed with food. We all took our seats and I glanced around. “How about if we talk about Jane’s ‘tentative plans’ for tonight?”
They all turned to look at Jane, who shot me an evil glare. “I’ll get you for that.”
“Let me rephrase the question,” I said, laughing. “Jane, are you seeing anyone lately?”
“I figured I couldn’t keep it a secret for long.” She sighed and reached for a marinated olive. “If you must know, I’ve gone out with Stephen Darby twice now. We were supposed to do something tonight, but I canceled.”
“Stephen who?” Emily said.
“Who’s Stephen?” Marigold asked, glancing around the table.
“Darby?” I said. “Ned’s son?”
“Yes,” Jane said, her tone defensive, knowing we were poised to pounce on her every word. “He called and asked me out and I said yes. We’ve gone out twice and I’ve enjoyed myself. He’s very tall. And, um, nice. He likes good food.”
“Ooh, tall,” Lizzie said.
“And nice.” Marigold emphasized the word since Jane hadn’t made it sound very appealing.
“That’s something, isn’t it?” Lizzie glanced around the table, clearly hoping we would support Jane in her quest to find true love. As the self-proclaimed matchmaker of the group, she wanted everyone to be as happy as she was in her marriage. Of course, each of us wanted that for ourselves, too. Eventually. Lizzie wanted it to happen right now.
Marigold gave Jane a smile of encouragement. “Are you having fun, at least?”
Jane groaned. “Oh, God, he tries so hard. He’s become a chef and he loves to eat, so we’ve gone to two fabulous places.”
“Food is good,” Lizzie said firmly. “A man who likes food is a . . . a good man.”
“I thought he was handsome,” Emily said.
Jane buried her face in her hands and laughed at our obvious attempts to make Stephen sound interesting.
I patted her back. “So he doesn’t float your boat. Just enjoy yourself for now and someday you’ll meet someone who knocks your socks off.” And, I added silently, someone I didn’t maybe, sort of, almost suspect of murder. Possibly.
“Someday,” she echoed quietly.
“Nothing wrong with someday,” Emily said.
“True.” Jane waved her hands to put an end to the topic. “Anyway, yes, Stephen is nice, but oh, so boring, poor guy. So, Marigold, how are you these days?”
“Things are pretty quiet in my life,” Marigold said, “unless you count Goofus, Aunt Daisy’s new puppy.”
She passed her phone around and we oohed and aahed at her adorable pictures of little Goofus, a tiny golden retriever whose paws were bigger than his head. The dog was going to be gigantic one of these days.
I glanced up and saw Jane looking right at me, her forehead furrowed. Something was up with her. “What is it?”
“I want to tell them.”