Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER THREE

Light spilled from a room at the end of the hall as Peg nudged the door wider with her knee. She carried Keith to a twin bed with the sheet turned down. She eased him gently between the sheets, then lifted the cover to untie his sneakers, slip them from his feet. He sighed and turned on one side. Dark lashes fluttered on a pale cheek. He was deep sunk in sleep, the soft and yielding abandonment of a child.

Peg lifted his head, edged a corner of the pillow beneath his cheek. She drew up the sheet and a beige wool blanket and a puffy pale blue comforter. “Good night, sleep tight.” She tiptoed softly from the room, joined Gina in the hallway.

I took a moment to be certain Keith was comfortably asleep, then I moved through the closed door into the hall and joined Gina and Peg at the head of the stairs. The calico cat padded from Susan’s room and moved lightly down the stairway.

Gina looked bereft and forlorn. “Do you really think he’s Mitch’s son?”

Peg was impatient. “What are you suggesting instead? Somebody had an extra kid hanging around and they happened to know enough about Susan and the family to insinuate him here? If he isn’t Mitch’s son, how did someone get Mitch’s medals?”

Gina gripped the newel post. “I suppose there’s some reason he was left by himself on the front porch. But why didn’t the person who dropped him off stay and explain?”

Peg turned her hands over in bewilderment. “I have no idea. I suppose we’ll find out. There are always reasons when things happen.” A sudden smile softened her face. “Susan hasn’t been this happy in years and years. I wish she were stronger and could live long enough to watch him grow up. Anyway, we can be sure everything will be sorted out properly. Susan will want everything to be on a legal basis. You know how she is. She crosses every t, dots every i. She’ll tell Wade tomorrow to find out everything about Keith.” Peg’s smile was joyful. “What a wonderful Christmas gift to have Mitch’s little boy come to us.”

“Mitch’s little boy.” Poignant sorrow made Gina look older. She drew in a sharp breath. “Well, it’s time we shared the good news.” Her tone was brittle, her smile brilliant. “I’ll tell you what, cuz. You do the honors. Everyone will hang on each word. It’s going to be a whole new world for Aunt Jake and Tucker and me and Harrison and Charlotte. I guarantee you will upstage Harrison expounding on Lapland.”

At the foot of the stairs, Peg squared her shoulders, moved to the closed door to the living room.

The calico cat looked up, golden eyes gleaming, one paw lifted as if knocking on the door.

Peg reached down, patted the svelte fur. “Ready for a party, Duchess?” Peg reached for the handle.

I went ahead of them. It was nice not to have to wait for doors to be opened, and I always got a thrill out of passing through a wall. I like hovering above things as well. Weightlessness is fun. I will admit that I do like being on the earth, but this time I would not yield to temptation. This time I was going to stay out of public view.

In the living room, I was delighted to find the huge room much as I remembered it: dark-stained wainscot and trim, muted rose silk walls, ornate plasterwork on the ceiling and cornices. The French doors held the same copper foil leaded-glass windows that I remembered. The room was pleasantly warm from the wood fire. An intricately carved rosewood chair sat next to the grand piano. The rose of the upper walls matched the dusty rose of the Oriental rug. On a sideboard stretched an array of tantalizing holiday treats: cheese, fruit, crackers, brownies, cookies, and what might be the remnants of a birthday cake.

I was ravenously hungry. Being on the earth, even when not visible, I needed food and sleep. I found that interesting. I zoomed to the sideboard, eyeing the Brie.

“…stayed in a glass igloo. Charlotte and I could see the Northern lights from our bed. It was my most spectacular birthday to date.” The balding speaker was comfortable in corduroy trousers, a cream turtleneck, and a seasonal red vest. His ruddy complexion suggested a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. He was muscular despite the beginnings of a middle-age paunch. Wrapping paper obviously removed from gifts was neatly folded next to a stack of diverse items: a book by Doris Kearns Goodwin, a bright Christmas tie with green wreaths against a red background, a red-and-black plaid wool hunting cap, a wall calendar for wine lovers, and a Christmas-scene paperweight.

An angular woman with frosty hair and oversize glasses observed him with a dry but fond smile. “Harrison, I doubt anyone is interested in our accommodations.” Her tone was indulgent, not chiding.

Light from the fire reflecting from his bifocals, Harrison grinned. “There speaks a wife who’s heard all of this before. But hey, how many people from Adelaide have spent the night in an igloo and slept on a motored bed, much less dined in an igloo restaurant with ice tables?”

“Motored bed?” A lanky young man with dark curly hair and a stubbled chin—had shaving gone out of fashion?—stretched booted feet lazily toward the fire. He looked exceedingly masculine in a fragile-appearing gilt chair. His Western-style shirt fitted him snugly and his Levi’s were white with age. “Does the bed have spark plugs, Harrison? Maybe fins? A retro motored bed?”

The hall door squeaked.

The older blonde winced. “That hinge needs oil. Tucker, why don’t you see about it?”

The young man’s shrug was indifferent but appealing, as if he’d help if he could but that would take effort and the fire was too entrancing, the conversation too amusing. “I do enough oiling on the ranch, auntie.”

The middle-aged blonde wriggled unhappily. “Don’t call me auntie. It makes me sound like a hillbilly with missing teeth.”

He grinned. “Sorry, Jake. Forever young, that’s our revered aunt. I forgot myself in the emotion of the moment, confronting the possibility of a motored bed and the joys of staying in a glass igloo. Glass sounds more appealing than ice. Isn’t that how igloos are customarily made, with big chunks of ice?” His eyes gleamed with mirth. “Who would have thought as we gathered for Harrison’s birthday that he would share this amazing tidbit of knowledge with us. Obviously, Harrison, you are a connoisseur of Christmas lore. Tell us, what are the Christmas customs in Hawaii?”

Harrison grinned. “You pulled the wrong string, Tucker. I am a walking encyclopedia of Christmas trivia. I always try to learn something new for each birthday. In Hawaii, Santa Claus arrives on a bright red outrigger.”

“Man, that sounds like my idea of Christmas.” Tucker looked toward the door. “Hey, Peg, Gina. What fascinating tidbits about Santa can you share? Me, I like the idea of wassail and lots of it.” He reached out, gripped a poker, and jabbed at a log. Sparks whirled upward.

I am not a fan of apple cider laced with sweet juices, but I was very hungry. I hovered near the buffet. If I were adroit…I glanced around the room. Every eye was on Peg. Though it lacked manners, I decided to forgo a plate. I could easily carry several chunks of cheese and some strawberries and crackers in my hand. I moved fast and no one noticed the tidbits in the air. I dropped far enough behind the sofa that I could eat without notice but still see everyone.

Peg stood stiffly by the opened doors. “I have exciting news.” Her voice was brisk but her face looked strained. The calico cat walked purposefully toward the fireplace and settled on a green silk cushion and began to groom.

The strawberries were succulent. I glanced toward the small bowl of sour cream on the sideboard. That would have been nice, but I wasn’t trying to indulge myself. I was simply building up strength. The crackers snapped as I munched. Fortunately the fire crackled at the same time. Too soon my snack was gone. I was tempted to forage again for food, but instead settled on an empty settee.

Gina skirted around Peg, walked toward the buffet. “We have company.” Her tone was neutral. She took a plate, spread pâté on several crackers.

Tucker looked eager. “A gorgeous redhead maybe?”

Startled, I looked down. Not a trace of my sweater or slacks was visible. I didn’t think I’d appeared. Not, of course, that I see myself as gorgeous. Absolutely not. Truly, I was thinking only in terms of being redheaded. I am definitely redheaded. Flaming copper, to be precise. I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed back a loose curl.

“No such luck for you, bud,” Gina muttered. She pulled an ottoman closer to the fire. She looked at Tucker, legs outstretched from the gilt chair. “Don’t hog the warmth, bro.” She balanced the plate on her lap.

Peg stood a few feet inside the door. She clasped her hands as she spoke. “A little boy arrived here tonight. There was a note with him. He’s Mitch’s son, Keith. Susan told us to put him in the blue room.”

The hiss and crackle of the fire was loud and distinct in sudden silence. No one moved or spoke.

I looked around the room.

Jake’s big blue eyes stared blankly at Peg. A shaky hand clasped at a strand of pearls. She looked like a good-natured pig confronted with an unfathomable reality, an alligator in the kitchen or a crevasse that yawned without warning.

The lanky young man still bent toward the fire, the poker gripped in his hand. The face turned toward Peg was immobile, dark eyebrows slashed over light brown eyes, bony features rigid.

Red-faced Harrison’s bonhomie drained away. He stared, sandy brows drawing down in a frown.

His wife pushed dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, looking as alert as a prairie dog poking out of a burrow and sighting a predatory badger.

Gina stared into the fire, her narrow face somber, her gaze mournful. The crackers on her plate remained untouched.

Peg’s smile was hopeful though her eyes were anxious. “Isn’t this great news? Christmas will be special this year.”

Jake’s head jerked toward the hallway. Her face was suddenly blanched. Her lips quivered. “Susan isn’t well.” Breathing heavily, she came to her feet. “I’ll go and see. This is absurd. Who brought this child? He can’t stay here. Whoever brought him must take him where he lives.”

Peg lifted a hand. “Susan’s gone to bed. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. We don’t know who brought him. He was left on the porch with a note that says Mitch is his father. There’s a birth certificate that lists Mitch as his father.”

Jake held to the back of a chair. “There has to be some mistake.”

Tucker’s face relaxed. He scratched at his bristly chin. “Don’t get in a swivet, Jake. He’s either Mitch’s boy or he isn’t. Susan will find out. Well”—his expression was bemused—“you can’t say we aren’t starting off the holidays with a bang.” He glanced at Gina. “What do you think, sis?”

“We didn’t know what happened to Mitch after he ran away.” Her voice was low and sorrowful. “I guess now we’ll find out.”

Harrison looked like a man whose boat had sprung a leak and there’s no land in sight. “If it’s true”—his words were reluctant—“it would be a great happiness for Susan. Still, this unannounced arrival seems suspicious to me. We may have to step in and protect Susan since she isn’t well.”

His wife lifted a hand as if warning him. “Susan can deal with anything, sick or well. And”—her eyes were thoughtful—“she deserves some happiness.” She looked around the room. “I’m sure you all agree.”

“Oh, of course.” “Certainly.” “Hope this isn’t a disappointment ultimately.” “Wade Farrell will have to be very careful.”

Beyond the flurry of words, I sensed shock and, more, a flash of white-hot fury.

Wiggins had been uneasy on Keith’s behalf.

I looked around a room filled with people who apparently resented his arrival. I had to find out why his existence caused such shock. And dismay.

In the blue room, I tucked the wool blanket around Keith’s shoulders. That should keep him toasty. I stepped to the window, eased it up a bit. Fresh air makes everyone sleep better.

The gathering downstairs had broken up. The distant sound of voices faded. Car engines murmured. The front door closed.

I didn’t know who was staying in the house. I assumed Jake was a resident. She had an aura of proprietorship. I didn’t know if Peg was a guest but she’d promised to stay in the room with Keith so obviously she was to be in the house overnight.

I glanced toward the ceiling. Not that Wiggins would be hovering there, but he was either at the Department of Good Intentions or possibly out checking on his emissaries. Or was I the only one who required close supervision? I preferred to think I was one among many. Certainly I’d done nothing this evening to require his counsel. Surely the brief interlude with Rob and Dil was acceptable. After all, they may have sensed my presence, but I definitely had remained unseen. Here at Pritchard House, I’d worked quietly behind the scenes. I felt a quiet pride.

I sat on the edge of the opposite twin bed. When the house settled for the night, I planned to explore the kitchen. I needed a glass of milk and a roast beef sandwich for energy. As for sleeping accommodations, the chaise longue looked inviting.

I hoped Peg wouldn’t feel crowded with the three of us there. I’d do my best not only to remain silent and invisible, but to contain my natural energy. Bobby Mac claimed I carried energy with me like static electricity.

However, for now, Keith was sleeping soundly, all was well here, and the night was still young. Perhaps I could discover who lived in Pritchard House in addition to Susan and why her grandson’s arrival had caused such consternation.

Downstairs in the living room, Peg and Gina loaded trays with plates and bowls.

Jake paced nervously by the fireplace. The cat lifted her head and gazed with unblinking golden eyes. Jake flung out a hand toward her daughter. “I don’t understand why you didn’t call me. I should have been summoned at once. The idea of a child abandoned on the doorstep is appalling. Someone has been criminally negligent, whoever the child is.”

“Mother”—Peg looked harried but determined—“he came with papers, including his birth certificate.”

“Papers.” Jake’s voice was sharp. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Everyone knows that anything can be faked now. You can’t trust pictures on the Internet. Anything can be put in a picture. Anything at all. The other day I saw a picture of the president signing a wildlife bill and there was a flamingo on one side of his desk and a wolf on the other and they looked real as could be. I mean, they were real but they weren’t in the picture until someone put them there.” She nodded her head for emphasis. “So you see what I mean. What’s a birth certificate? We’ll have to see about those papers. But when he came, you should have told me. I take care of everything about the house. Susan relies on me utterly.” Her face flushed an unbecoming pink. “It was outrageous to take him upstairs to Susan without any kind of checking! Peg, what were you thinking?”

Peg turned, her hands tightly gripping the laden tray. “Mother, I did what I thought best. It happened so suddenly.”

Gina’s gaze was curious. “Hold up, Jake. If Peg had told you, what would you have done differently?”

“I’d have done something.” Jake’s face twisted in frustration. “We could have called Wade, asked him to check into everything, not troubled Susan until everything was certain.”

Peg’s eyes were soft. “Susan wasn’t troubled. It’s the first time since Mitch died that she’s been truly happy. It was wonderful.”

A tic pulled at Jake’s left eye. “How dreadful for Susan is he isn’t Mitch’s son.”

“He is.” Peg spoke with finality. “There are too many papers, too many links to Mitch. He said he was Mitch’s son. How would he know Mitch was a hero unless someone told him?”

Gina added a bowl of nuts to her tray. “Susan intends to talk to Wade tomorrow.”

Jake clasped her hands together and twisted them around and around. “She’s going to call Wade tomorrow? Oh dear, what do you think is going to happen?”

Peg walked to a swinging door. “If Keith is proved to be Mitch’s son, a great many things will change.”

As the door sighed shut behind her, Jake stared at Gina. “What does she mean?”

Gina added a teapot to a tray, gave Jake a measuring glance. “She means the gravy train’s running off the rails.”

“That’s not nice.” Jake’s tone was sharp. “We haven’t taken advantage of Susan. She depends on us.”

Gina gazed at her aunt with a mixture of affection and pity. “You’ll probably come out all right. Susan likes you and somebody has to run the house and take care of the little guy. But for Tucker and me? We’re not related to her. For that matter, neither are you, dear auntie. Face it, Jake, all of our connections to Susan are through Tom. You were married to Tom’s brother. Our mom was your sister. Harrison was a cousin of Tom’s. Sure, Susan’s been great to her husband’s family, but that was when she didn’t have any family of her own.” Gina turned toward the swinging door.

Jake hurried after her, caught at her elbow. “We’ve been her family. A good family. Susan wanted to take care of us. She always said the house will be mine. This is my home.”

Gina’s smile was crooked. “Think about it, Jake. Susan’s always made everything clear, how the property was to be divided, the estate divided equally but you were to have the house and Mitch the ranch. Maybe she’ll leave each of us something and Tucker will likely still run Burnt Creek. The only difference is that it won’t be his ranch. You have to remember that none of us are blood kin to Susan. If this little boy is Mitch’s son, who do you think will inherit?”

A too-tight pink satin housecoat pulled across Jake’s ample bosom. The bedroom was overwarm, but she placed another log on the fire burning in the fireplace. The mesh metal fire screen rattled as she yanked it shut. She stood uncertainly by the mantel, then, with sudden decisiveness, moved to a chintz-covered chair next to a small table. She perched on the cushion and picked up a cell phone.

Quickly she punched numbers. She began without preamble. “Susan’s going to talk to Wade tomorrow.” She twined a bristly strand of too-often-bleached hair around a finger. “That’s easy for you to say.” Heavily penciled brows drew down in a tight frown. “I suppose you’ll get to run the ranch, no matter what happens. And you’re paid a pretty handsome salary.” She tapped a nervous tattoo on the table. “No.” The words came slowly. “I don’t suppose she’ll throw us out and I know she’s generous. But Tucker, we thought everything was going to be ours.” Her eyes widened. “Of course I’m going to be sweet to the little boy. If he turns out to be Mitch’s son, I’ll be the first to be thrilled for Susan. But it all seems peculiar to me, his arriving right before Christmas with nothing but a shabby suitcase and some papers.” She massaged one temple. “I know.” Her voice was dull. “They’ll be able to prove the truth. I suppose he must be Mitch’s son. Everyone knows about DNA. But we’ve all stood by Susan, when there was no family for her. Tucker, maybe you could talk to Susan. She’s always liked you a lot.” She sat up straighter. “I’m not asking you to beg. But it never hurts to be nice.” Her face looked hurt. “I’ve never asked any favors of you and Gina and I made a home for you when your folks died and now if you can help me…Well, if that’s how you feel about it.”

Jake clicked off the cell, sagged against the tufted chair back. She looked around the room, cluttered with mementos ranging from a painted-face coconut shell to a replica of the Matterhorn. “It’s my house. She promised.” There was pathos and despair in her cry. Jake’s eyes brimmed with tears.

Gina stood by an open window, blowing out a plume of cigarette smoke. She didn’t turn when the door opened behind her.

“Susan hates cigarette smoke.” Peg sounded irritated.

Gina took another deep drag. “A: She won’t come in here. B: I have the window open. C: I am blowing the smoke outside. Give it a rest.”

Peg moved to a dresser, opened the drawer. “I don’t mind sharing my room when you’re here between jobs, but I don’t like smoke either.” She pulled out a pair of yellow flannel pajamas with a prancing reindeer pattern.

Gina leaned against the wall. “Where’s the problem? You’re sleeping in the blue room tonight with the little guy. Lucky me, Susan obviously has never noticed my maternal charm.” Her laughter was wry. “You’ll probably be named nanny-in-chief when she writes a new will. You could spend a bunch before he gets to twenty-one, maybe take him to Paris over holidays.”

Peg slammed the drawer shut. She quickly undressed, neatly hanging up a blue sweater and gray wool slacks. “I wish you didn’t sound so bitter.”

“It doesn’t bother you to go from heiress to pauper in the space of one cold December night?” Gina’s voice shook a little. “One minute you’re looking ahead to a couple of million and maybe you get your art history degree and end up with a job in a museum that won’t pay enough to keep a mouse in cheese. The next you’re out in the cold world, the real cold world, like I am. It isn’t easy to get jobs these days. How are you going to pay back your student loans?”

“I’ll manage.” Peg’s gaze was thoughtful. “How are you going to pay off your credit cards? You don’t even have a job.”

“I’m trying to get one. I’ve sent in résumés and stood in lines and filled out applications online until I’m cross-eyed. There’s nothing out there, and I’m down to my last fifty bucks. I got evicted from my apartment and I canceled my cell because I got so many calls from collection agencies. Nasty calls. I’m using a prepaid cell.” Gina gave a last puff, snuffed the cigarette in a potted plant. She flapped a magazine to fan the air, then closed the window. “Speaking of calls, have you buzzed Dave?”

Peg paused as she buttoned the pajama top. “No.”

“Don’t you think he’d like to know the latest? He’s really pumped that Susan’s considering advancing him enough to build a clinic.” Gina strolled to a love seat, dropped onto it.

Peg’s voice was even. “We don’t know the latest. We’ll have to see what Wade says. Besides, Susan knows a good investment when she sees one. The money will be a loan.”

Gina’s expression was sardonic. “A loan he sure couldn’t get from the bank these days. It’s a big gamble to come out of vet school and waltz right into a fancy clinic of his own. Susan used to be a sharp businesswoman, always driving a hard bargain. After all, she’s a Pritchard. She may start making decisions based on what would be best for Keith.”

“The loan to Dave would be a sound business decision.” But Peg’s voice was thin.

Peg snapped off the light, after a last check of the sleeping child. She stepped softly to the other twin bed, slipped beneath the covers. Moonlight gave the room a quality of shimmering water. Peg plumped the pillow behind her. I wasn’t certain but I thought she lay staring into the darkness, perhaps watching the shifting pattern of stark tree limbs against the far wall.

I sat at the end of the chaise longue. I was aware of the deepening chill of the room. Several quilts were stacked atop a wicker chest. I intended to snag one after Peg fell asleep.

She moved restlessly.

Perhaps she sensed my unseen but admittedly impatient presence. I would give her time to relax. I’d promised myself a satisfying sandwich. I decided to make sure everyone was settled for the night and I could have free use of the kitchen.

In Gina’s room, she once again stood by the wide-open window, blowing smoke into the night. Her scarlet robe would have been flattering to her gypsy dark coloring, but her sharp features were drawn in a tight frown.

Jake rested against a bolster and two large pillows. Her faded blond hair was pinned in protuberant tufts. A white mask of night cream covered her face but didn’t hide the droop of her mouth. She held an open book in her hands, but she stared blankly at the page.

Susan sat in her chair by the fake fire, the manila envelope in her lap. She lifted a cup of cocoa, absently sipped. Her patrician features were alight with happiness.

Since everyone was safely upstairs, I turned on every light in the kitchen. Have I mentioned the light in Heaven? You’ll be amazed, bright as gold, lustrous as pearls, clear as a limpid pool of aquamarine water. Electricity can’t compete, but the bright glow in the kitchen was cheerful. I’d grown up in a similar kitchen with a wrought-iron lamp fixture, white-painted wooden cabinets, an old gas range (any cook can tell you that cooking on gas is far superior), hardwood floor, painted wooden spice rack, pots and pans hanging from hooks on one wall, a long wooden table with a half dozen chairs, lace curtains on the window, and a back door with Victorian glass.

The calico cat rose from her cushion and ambled toward me, head lifted in hope.

I dropped down and petted her. “I don’t know where they keep your food but I’ll share some roast beef with you.”

A purr rumbled deep in her throat.

It was not only a homey kitchen, there was plenty of good food. I made a thick sandwich of roast beef on homemade wheat bread. I provided several curls of roast beef to the cat. “Here, Duchess, we’ll both have a feast.” I ended with a dish of chocolate ice cream, then washed up, returning everything to its place.

I was rewarded when I returned to the blue room. Peg’s breathing was even and deep. As I drifted into sleep, I carried with me the memory of Susan Flynn drinking cocoa and looking ahead to happy days with a little towheaded boy.

I love waking up, grasping after the last tendrils of a pleasant dream, welcoming the first silky awareness of a new day. I rolled over on my elbow. My quilt was bunched into a soft heap at the foot of the chaise longue. Sun spilled bright as pirate’s gold through the east windows. I shivered and pulled the quilt higher. The clock on the table between the twin beds read shortly after seven.

Bedsprings creaked. Chestnut brown hair tousled, yawning sleepily, Peg lifted her head from the pillow and looked toward the opposite twin bed.

Stealthily, I drew up the quilt and folded it.

Peg’s gaze shifted as I placed the quilt at the foot of the chaise longue. She gave the quilt a puzzled glance, shook her head, and turned back toward Keith.

The small form beneath the covers lay unmoving, head tucked beneath the pillow.

Easing to her feet, Peg slipped into pink house slippers. She stretched, brushed a hand through her curls, then tiptoed softly toward the door.

As it closed behind her, the covers moved. Cautiously, Keith emerged. He stared at the door, his thin face anxious, his body rigid.

Poor baby. He was scared to pieces.

I darted a look at the door. Peg surely wouldn’t be back immediately. Probably she’d gone to see about Keith’s breakfast.

With a defiant nod Heavenward, I swirled into being. I liked being here. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, hear my footsteps on the wooden floor. The image in the mirror was satisfactory, my green eyes bright and cheerful, my red curls tidy enough. This morning’s turtleneck was white, my wool slacks red, my boots white. I hurried to Keith.

He drew back as far as he could.

I gave him a sharp salute. “Good morning, Keith. I’m Jerrie.” I didn’t think St. Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans, would mind if I used a version of his name. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so we can play. Do you like to sing in the morning?” I didn’t wait for an answer but began to sing “Jingle Bells,” throwing in a few lyrics of my own devising: Keith is here, Keith is here, what fun we’ll have today…

The rigidity eased from his small frame. He began to smile.

“Let’s pick our favorite things to do. I like to giggle and I’ll bet you do, too. Have you ever seen a cross-eyed frog dancing on a stage?”

A tiny smile curved his lips.

“Or an octopus with the hiccups?”

He looked at me uncertainly. “Ogpus?”

“Oh”—I threw up my arms—“you haven’t seen anything funny until you’ve seen an octopus with the hiccups. Octopi—that’s more than one octopus—live in the ocean in caves. They have big sleek heads and lots and lots of arms. An octopus with the hiccups waves his arms every which way.” I flopped my arms. “If an octopus—not having the hiccups, of course—came to see you, do you know what he’d do?”

He watched me with huge eyes.

I sat down on the bed and wrapped my arms gently around him. “That octopus would give you one hug, two, three, and then he’d take his other arms—he has lots of them—and hug and hug and maybe even give a tiny tickle.”

In a minute he was giggling and twisting.

When we stopped to smile at each other, his eyes were shining.

“Now, let’s look in your suitcase and I’ll help you get dressed. I’ll bet Peg has gone to fix you some breakfast. We’ll go downstairs and surprise her.”

I found fresh underwear, a thin long-sleeved shirt dull from many washes, and a pair of jeans that were too short. When he was dressed, I took his hand. “Let’s pretend we are on a breakfast safari. A safari is when…”

I remembered to disappear as we opened the door and started down the dim hallway. I’d enjoyed being there. Invisibility has its advantages but it was nicer to actually be on the ground. When I’m not here, I feel insubstantial.

At the stairs, Keith shook off my hand and started down, one steep step at a time, chubby fingers sliding from baluster to baluster. I was poised to grab him should he misjudge.

A door clicked shut.

I whirled. The hallway behind me was unrevealing, every door closed.

Someone had looked out, seen Keith walk past.

There had been no greeting.

Keith was midway down the stairs. He looked small, his short legs stretching to reach the tread. If he fell…

I shook away a sense of foreboding and hurried after him.

Peg turned in surprise when we reached the kitchen. There was a welcome smell of bacon and eggs. She beamed at Keith. “Aren’t you the big guy to dress all by yourself.”

He shook his head. “Jerrie helped me.” He pointed straight at me, but of course, only he could see me.

Peg slowly nodded. “I see.” Obviously she didn’t. “You have an imaginary friend. That’s very nice.” She turned roughly in my direction and gave a formal bow. “Good morning, Jerrie. I’ll set a place for you, too.”

Peg dished up bacon and toast and scrambled eggs for Jerrie’s plate.

She fixed French toast as well and took time to open a can of tuna fish cat food for the calico. “Here you go, Duchess.” By the time she turned back, Jerrie’s plate was empty.

Peg’s eyes widened. “My goodness, Keith, you are really hungry this morning!”

I smiled at him.

Keith smiled back, an impish, lively, pleased grin.

Footsteps thudded from the hallway. The door burst open. “Can you set an extra place?” Tucker’s grin was disarming. Today he wore a thick red cotton pullover with Levi’s and boots. His cheeks still sported a fuzz of beard. “You remember I promised to pick you guys up first thing? Gina, of course, is taking forever to get dressed.”

I wondered if the house was rarely locked or if he had a key.

Peg licked a smudge of powdered sugar from the back of one hand. “I’d completely forgotten. You and Gina go on without me. I need to take Keith shopping, get him a warm coat. You don’t need my help to pick out the tree.”

I looked from one to the other, puzzled. The Scotch pine in the living room was beautifully decorated. I am partial to taffeta bows on Christmas trees.

“Bacon, eggs, and French toast coming up.” She turned back to the range.

“I’m your man.” He pulled up a chair opposite Keith. “Hey, buckaroo, I brought you something special.”

Keith put down his fork, his thin face eager.

Tucker made an elaborate show of reaching into his pocket and pulling out a soft leather pouch. He held it up. “Can you guess what’s inside?”

His face solemn, Keith shook his head.

Tucker leaned forward, spoke in a stage whisper. “You’ve heard of buried treasure?”

Keith’s dark eyes widened.

“Buckaroo, here is a treasure just for you and you can spend it for special things you want.” Tucker loosed the drawstrings, upended the bag. Plastic gold coins tumbled free, creating a pile that looked for all the world like a pirate’s hoard. “Now, here’s what you do. You think about things you’d like to have—maybe a Matchbox car or a spyglass or a cowboy hat—and you tell Cousin Tuck. I’ll find whatever it is or the next best thing and you can give me however many coins you think it’s worth.” Tucker held out a big hand. “Is that a deal, buckaroo?”

Laughing, Peg set a filled plate before Tucker. “It sounds like you’re trying to turn Keith into a little trader.”

Tucker finished a piece of bacon. “It’s in the blood. It didn’t matter what we were trading, comic books or girls’ phone numbers, Mitch always won.”

Duchess walked majestically to the kitchen door, meowed, lifted a paw.

Peg laughed. “Coming, Your Majesty.” She hurried to the back door.

Tucker gave Keith a swift glance. “Looks like it’s happened again.” His voice was low. His expression as he stared at Keith was suddenly bleak.

The door creaked and Peg didn’t hear his words. Cold air flowed inside.

In the imperious way of cats, Duchess remained in place, tail flicking.

“Come on, Duchess.” Peg tried to shoo the calico forward.

Duchess gave her a gimlet stare, then stepped outside.

The door clicked shut.

I remembered the earlier sound of a closing door in the upper hallway. I’d watched a little boy at the top of steep stairs and felt a rush of fear. In this warm and cheerful kitchen, Keith seemed utterly safe.

It was my job to be certain he remained safe.