“Well, holy shit, Sonya.” More than stunned, Cleo pushed a hand through her hair. “And here comes another wow.”
“You could think about it, couldn’t you? Just think about it. The village—it’s not Boston by any stretch, but it’s charming, and there are some restaurants, some shops. Have some more wine,” Sonya said, almost desperately now, “and just think about it.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“I’m serious.”
And wanted it more than she’d let herself admit.
“You fell for Collin’s studio during the video tour, and when we just walked through again. It’s yours. Or you could set up anyplace you want, but you know you could work there. And have the space and the time to paint more. You really only paint in the summer now, outside, because your apartment doesn’t have the light or space. You’d have it here.”
Eyes narrowed, Cleo pointed a finger. “You’re playing dirty with that turret space.”
“It’s made for you. You have to at least think about it.”
“It’s hard to think of anything else right now.”
“Good. That’s good.” Bracing herself, Sonya took a long sip of wine. “Because I need to tell you either I’m having some sort of a breakdown, I’ve got a brain tumor, or the manor’s haunted.”
Cleo said nothing for a moment, then picked up her own glass. “Those are words I never expected to hear coming out of my most sensible friend.”
“I know. I know. But—”
Cleo held up a hand. “You’re not having a breakdown, you don’t have a damn brain tumor. And of course the manor’s haunted.”
“I don’t know how to…” As she stared, Sonya’s breath hitched in, hitched out.
“How do you know it’s haunted? They haven’t done anything since you’ve been here.”
“Well, Jesus, Son, because they’re here. Because I felt them the minute I walked in. At least one of my wows was for them.” Cleo angled her head.
“What do they do?”
“They—they—God, I can’t sit down.” She pushed up, paced around the plants. “They open doors, shut them. Move things. Music starts playing on my iPad. Sometimes they open all the kitchen cabinets. They clean out the wood-burning fireplaces and set the logs—I think they bring logs in, too. They make up my bed in the morning, and turn it down at night.”
“Do you thank them?”
Sonya goggled. “Thank them?”
“If someone made up my bed and turned it down for me, I’d thank them.”
“No, I haven’t thanked them, or it, or…”
“Because you didn’t want to believe they exist.”
“Why would I?” Exhausted by the rant, Sonya dropped down again. “Why would anybody want to believe they might be living in a haunted house? Last night…”
She closed her eyes, breathed deep.
“Last night, someone pounded on the door. The front door. It woke me up. And when I looked out the window, I swear, Cleo, there was a blizzard. Snow, howling wind. I went down. I thought someone had an accident or their car broke down. But when I opened the door, there was nothing. No snow, nobody, no howling wind. I didn’t dream it.”
“Okay.” With a nod, Cleo took another sip of wine. “It’ll take me two or three weeks to get everything together and move up here.”
“You—” Sonya covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
“Aw, come on, Son. Come on.” Rising, Cleo shifted seats and wrapped around her friend. “It’s okay. We’ll be roomies again. In really big rooms. You don’t think I’d let you have a haunted house all to yourself.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you right back.”
“You’re sure—not about loving me, but moving here?”
“Absolutely sure. And I hope whoever’s in charge of housekeeping turns down my bed, too.”
“If they don’t, I will.”
With a laugh, Cleo drew back. “We’re going to have some fun. Anyway, if loving my best friend and the ghosts hadn’t done it, that turret studio did. I’ve been obsessed with it since we FaceTimed.”
“Do you want the apartment?”
Laughing, Cleo gave Sonya a little shove. “Do you think I’m giving up the beautiful Bluebird? No possible way. Come on. Let’s go get me unpacked.”
They unpacked, then finished the wine in one of the sitting rooms by the fire. They made canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner—a college-days staple.
Over another bottle of wine, they huddled on the sofa in the front parlor, sharing a bowl of popcorn and making plans.
When they finally went upstairs, Sonya pulled Cleo into her bedroom. “See! Do you see? You know I haven’t been up here. But the fire’s on, the bed’s turned down.”
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you? I—”
“Now let’s go see if I got the same service.”
When Cleo walked in, saw the gas fire glowing, the bed turned down, her reaction was to clap her hands together and laugh.
“All right! That’s so sweet. Thank you!”
“There are parts of you I’ll never fully understand.”
“Born in the bayou,” Cleo sang.
“But you weren’t.”
“My grand-mère was. I’m going to sleep like a queen. See you in the morning.”
Sonya might have shaken her head as she walked back to her room. But when she slipped into bed, she smiled knowing Cleo slept just a few rooms away.
* * *
“Sonya! Wake up!”
With the stage-whisper voice in her ear and the hand shaking her shoulder, Sonya shot from dead asleep to wide awake with a single wild jolt.
“What? What?”
“Ssh! Listen!” Cleo gripped her shoulder now.
The piano music seemed to float upstairs. “Do you hear that?” In the dim light of the fire, Sonya clutched at Cleo with both hands. “Tell me you hear that.”
“Of course I hear it. It’s why I’m waking you up at three in the morning. We have to go check it out.”
“We have to go check it out,” Sonya repeated, struggling against dread as she got out of bed.
“Do you know the song?” Still whispering, Cleo tugged Sonya out of the room. “It sounds familiar. Sort of familiar.”
“I thought I dreamed it.”
“Unless you and I are having the same dream at the same time while we’re walking out of your sitting room, that’s a no.”
As they approached the staircase, the music came clearer.
“Wait.” Sonya dashed into the library, arrowed toward the fireplace. She grabbed the poker.
“Son, I don’t think a piano-playing ghost is looking for a fight. Plus, what are you going to do with that? Kill them?”
Gripping the poker with both hands, Sonya sent Cleo a don’t-argue-with-me glare.
They crept down the stairs, and when they reached the base, Sonya nodded toward the music room. Light flickered there, as if from candles or flames in a hearth.
The song played on as they approached. Then came a long, distinctly human sigh, and it faded away.
Armed with the poker, Sonya rushed the doorway. She saw nothing but shapes and shadows in the dark. Cursing, she groped for the light switch.
Under the glitter of the chandelier, no one sat at the piano. But for the instruments, the furniture, the room was empty.