But...
“Amelia, we’re friends,” Clara said. “We didn’t have time to know each other well, but we’re friends.”
“Think we could have talked about guys and done pedicures together and stuff like that?” Amelia asked her.
“Sure.”
“I should have done things like that,” Amelia murmured.
There was a sharp rap on Clara’s door. “Hey, Clara! It’s Simon!”
“Hang on, two minutes!” she called, hurrying over to her drawer for clothing. “Friend of mine!” she told Amelia, and she paused to smile. “Another friend,” she said softly, and ran quickly back into the bathroom to dress.
When she emerged, however, she didn’t see Amelia. She was glad in a way; she wasn’t sure that she could keep Simon from seeing how weirdly she was behaving if Amelia had remained and kept talking to her.
She opened the door. Simon looked at her expectantly. “I had to pass muster with the guy in the hall,” he told her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Come on in.”
Simon did so.
“Everyone is as jumpy as Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!” he said, finding a perch at the foot of the bed—almost where Amelia had just been. “And you’re worrying me,” he told her.
“I’m worrying you? Why?” Clara asked him.
She had just met Simon when he’d joined the chorus of Les Miz on the Destiny—his first chorus role, one he’d never gotten to perform. He had a really nice voice, good movement, and she’d been thrilled when he’d been cast in Annabelle Lee.
He had a great look—long, lean and thoughtful—which boded well for his career. He was caring, too—he’d taken some major chances trying to save Alexi on the Destiny.
“Well, Amelia Carson was really gorgeous—and I see you that way, too,” he told her.
She smiled. “Thanks. But look around. There are a lot of pretty young women in the area.”
“I don’t know. I mean, we’re associated with all this. It was the day we all thought we were just doing Vacation USA that this all happened.” He sighed deeply. “I guess I’m glad our new girl isn’t here yet,” he murmured. “Long dark hair—cute as a button.”
“Simon, don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry. We were just on a ship with the Archangel killer!”
“Yes, but...that was different.”
“Yeah. We’re not on a ship. Alexi isn’t here. I guess I’m scared because... I don’t know. I was watching television. The reporters caught Misty Blaine coming out of the police station. She’s terrified! She said so. They have cops all over now, though, at the Nordic Lights Hotel. And she’s...she’s kind of a frazzled-looking little thing. Like Marc Kimball’s assistant. Man, someone should tell that guy that slavery and indentured servants went out over a century ago! Jerk, huh?”
“Yes, an amazing jerk,” Clara agreed.
“Good. I was afraid you might be unable to withstand his adoration, and money, power, all that rot.”
“Simon! I’m not that shallow.”
“Shallow? Hell, you endure a guy like Marc Kimball for a year, get a divorce and walk away. Now, I guess that’s shallow. But what good business sense.”
“I have a job—I’m a lucky actress. Not a household name, but working in theater, which I love. I don’t need a fortune.”
“Yes, but...well, anyone could use a fortune, right?”
She shook her head. “Simon, he is a creepy jerk of a man. I will remind you of this conversation when creepy women are after you, okay?”
“How creepy?”
“Argh!”
He grinned. “Well, at least I made you smile. Seriously, though, watch out for that guy.”
“I will. I promise. I don’t trust Marc Kimball at all.”
“Want to have dinner with Ralph and Larry and me and talk about people?”
She grinned at that. “Sure. I’m here until the Feds go back.”
Simon’s smile faded. “Why are you going back? You should be here with us—recuperating, as the bosses see it.”
“I just feel that I can help.”
He bit his lip, lowering his head. “You hang on to the FBI guys with everything you got, okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay, downstairs in an hour?”
“Downstairs in an hour,” she said.
He left; she looked out in the hall. Her officer was still there. He’d gotten a chair, at least. He smiled and waved to her. She smiled and waved, too.
Turning back into her room, she almost walked straight back into Amelia.
“I really like him,” Amelia said. “Wish I could have gotten to know him.”
“Simon is a good guy,” Clara assured her. She wished, however, that Amelia would have stayed gone awhile longer; she needed some private time.
Her wish was going to be fulfilled—the ghost began to fade.
“Oh!” Amelia said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I just... I fade sometimes and I think I sleep and... I really can’t control it yet,” she told Clara.
“Then you need rest,” Clara said.
“I’m a ghost!” Amelia said indignantly.