His expression sobered. “Of course.” He began moving, and I followed, drifting throughout the building with him. “Anything.”
“Last night after we left the party, a ghost attacked my sister and a friend.”
“Is your sister all right?”
I loved him for asking about Lark first. “Yes, but the ghost claimed that he was there to kill our friend, who had no idea who the ghost was. It was Kevin, the one I told you is a medium.”
Noah’s brow creased. “That’s odd. Most spirits respect mediums, or want to use them as conduits. I’ve never heard of a ghost trying to harm one. The ghost had no attachment to the place or your friend?”
“None. Lark thinks that maybe it was retaliation for what we did to Josiah Bent.”
“And you want to know if I’ve heard anything?”
I twisted my hands together. “Yes. I don’t want to ask you to break any code of loyalty between the ghosts of Haven Crest, but my sister could have been hurt. Our friend could have been killed.”
“I haven’t heard of anything. Nobody’s even muttered Bent’s name since you sent him packing. I think most were happy to be out from under his thumb. But I don’t know everything that goes on here. Did your sister happen to mention what the ghost looked like?”
“She said he looked like he was from the 1960s or ’70s. And that he smelled of patchouli.” I wasn’t terribly certain just what that smelled like, but maybe he would. Being dead since I was born meant that I didn’t have much of an olfactory sense.
He shook his head. “Would you like me to ask around? I don’t know if anyone will confide in me, but I can try.”
Oh, what a relief! “That would be so wonderful of you. Thank you.”
His expression turned flirtatious. “You can thank me with a kiss.” He took my hand and pulled me closer.
I smiled, a sense of intense giddiness washing over me. “Just one?”
Noah’s arms wrapped around me. “We can start with one. It may take more for you to fully express your gratitude.”
I laughed, and then his lips touched mine, and I stopped laughing. I stopped thinking. In fact, I think the entire world just stopped. At least, that’s how it felt.
If Noah found out who the vengeful ghost was, then Lark would have to like him. Kevin, too.
They’d have no choice.
LARK
“Found him!” The words rushed out of me like I’d just won a million dollars.
Ben set his laptop aside and got off my bed to walk over to the desk where I sat. I didn’t always use my desk, but I knew that if I sat on the bed with him while searching the files Gage sent, I wouldn’t get any work done. Ben was just too tempting.
As it was, it had taken me almost two hours of poring over patient intake records to find him. Ten years equaled a lot of new faces at Haven Crest. People were hospitalized for all kinds of reason back then—even people who were mentally challenged were locked up in asylums. I mean, it was a little disturbing just what could get people committed back then. Don’t even get me started on the nineteenth century. It was only for the fact that believing in evolution had been grounds to call someone mad that I hadn’t totally violated my sister’s privacy and tried to find Noah. For all I knew he could have gotten locked up for using the wrong fork at a dinner party.
I had every intention of checking into Noah, it was just that Woodstock—aka Robert Alan Thurbridge, Jr.—was more important at the moment.
Ben leaned over my shoulder. He smelled like cinnamon. “That’s the guy that attacked you and Kevin?”
“Don’t sound so impressed,” I drawled. “He was a lot scarier in Kevin’s driveway, trust me.”
In his admittance photo, Robert Alan Thurbridge, Jr. was obviously stoned out of his ever-loving mind. I wasn’t all that educated in drugs that weren’t prescribed antipsychotics, but I knew what someone looked like when they’d been given some pretty serious shit. Thurbridge looked as though he’d been taking elephant tranquilizers with a side of Xanax.
His long hair was stringy in the photo—not as full and wild as it was as a ghost. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dull, and his face puffy from too many drugs. He was scruffy and looked as though he hadn’t showered in days, which he probably hadn’t.
“Death was an improvement,” I remarked. “He must have gotten at least a little bit healthier at Haven Crest. Physically, anyway.”
Ben kissed my temple before looking back at the screen. “It says he was admitted because of bouts of paranoid schizophrenia.”
I snorted. “Bet the drugs didn’t help.”