Ghouls Rush In Read online

  Even though I was a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t agree to take on the whole project, I wasn’t that disappointed. On the contrary. I thought I’d actually made leaps and bounds just by getting him to have anything to do with it. Yep, it was definitely better to hope for the best but expect the worst, leaving no room for disappointment—only surprised elation.

  After my taxing day, I retired into my makeshift accommodations with a smile on my face and a Dos Equis in my hand. Relaxing on the upholstered couch, I turned the TV on but couldn’t say my mind was in any way focused on the images blurring before me, or the nondescript sounds of commercials and sitcoms. Instead, my mind hummed with the possibilities regarding my new home. Ryan suggested I spend the next few rainy days hunting for images of home interiors that I liked—something to give him an idea of my taste. I figured I could pay a visit to the bookstore tomorrow where I could look through as many Better Homes and Gardens–type magazines as I could find. For now, though, I just wanted to relax and bathe in the glow of my successful day.

  It was maybe a few hours ago that I’d unloaded my entire wardrobe into the closet, which hadn’t been an easy feat. As part of my “deal” with Ryan, I’d agreed to live in the Omni hotel just until Ryan finished fixing up the guest room and bathroom on the first floor. After they were done, I’d move back into my house. He imagined it wouldn’t take much longer than a week or two to renovate the small bathroom and bedroom. I figured I could handle living at the hotel until then.

  Completely relaxed, I was startled by the sound of a shrill ring. Realizing it was the hotel phone, I reached for it, my heart still hammering away in my ears. “Hello?” I answered.

  “See? I knew you’d be able to pull it off,” Trina laughed into the receiver. “I just spoke with Ryan and forced him to give me all the details. I had all the faith in the world in you, girl!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say it was easy,” I replied with a smile. Downing the last gulp of my beer, I thought about getting another one. “I had to pull out all the stops!”

  “I have to admit, I’m impressed, honey,” Trina continued. “You did good, Peyton, and he wasn’t exactly happy that I put you up to it! Believe me, I got read the riot act!”

  “Well, hopefully he doesn’t think you’re the only reason I pressured him!” I said, concerned that Ryan might think I was just acting on his sister’s behalf. I mean, I valued him too!

  “Nah, he knows he’s good at what he does,” Trina said in a tone that said she was brushing off my worry. “Anyhow, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. This is exactly what that boy needs, Peyton.” She paused for a second or two. “So, I just wanted to call to say thank you.”

  “There’s really no need, Trina,” I started.

  “No need!” she scoffed. “You’ve managed to do the unthinkable! Gettin’ that stubborn man to agree to anything is a feat in and of itself.”

  “Well, he could always back out…”

  “His word is his bond,” Trina answered flatly, as I wondered if I’d offended her. A few seconds later, though, her original enthusiasm was back. “Ryan will come through for you, best believe it!”

  “I hope so!” I laughed, deciding to go for the next beer. “I never did get around to discussing a price with him…”

  “Don’t you worry, my brother is a good man. He’ll give you a fair price.”

  I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. Collapsing into the sofa, I pried the top off the beer bottle and propped one foot over the other on top of the coffee table. “I’m not worried about it. I just wish this rain would let up so he could get started!”

  “Amen to that!” She laughed, then sighed like she was in a hurry. “I gotta run, doll, but you just holler if you need anything at all, you hear me?”

  I laughed. “Loud and clear.”

  “And, thanks again, Peyton. I…I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I owe you one!”

  “Since you’re giving me a free ride here at the hotel, let’s call it even,” I said, finally feeling comfortable that I could somehow repay my debt. I definitely didn’t like feeling indebted to anyone. I never had.

  “Agreed,” Trina said with a small laugh, hanging up as I did the same.

  I sat up with a start, my breath caught in my throat as my heartbeat echoed in my ears. I blinked a few times; the darkness in the room cast everything in navy blue. Glancing around, I vaguely recognized my surroundings—a massive television ahead of me and a four-person dining table to my right. I was still in the hotel suite, and more specifically, the living room of the hotel suite.

  I rubbed my eyes and tried to remember what caused me to wake up in a cold sweat. There was an overall feeling of dread settling in my stomach, as if I’d just witnessed something far beyond frightening, something horrible. The strange thing, though, was that I couldn’t put my finger on just what “it” was. Normally, I could easily recall my dreams, or nightmares, as soon as I woke up; but in this case, there was just a blank void in my head, an empty slate.

  I took a deep breath and tried to allay my fears, to calm the feeling of unease that was still upsetting my stomach.

  It was just a nightmare, Peyton! I reprimanded myself. Stop acting like a child!

  My gaze fell on the two empty beer bottles still sitting on the coffee table, and I wondered if they were the source of my less than refreshing catnap on the sofa. Checking the clock on the wall, I realized it was midnight. Way past my bedtime. I stood up and, using the light of the moon as it streamed in through the French doors, I wandered over to the bedroom, where I tore off my clothes and unceremoniously tossed them on the floor. Heading into the bathroom, I nearly blinded myself when I flipped on the switch. After blinking a few times against the garish light, the first object to catch my attention was a scale lazily leaning against the wall.

  Overwhelming feelings of revulsion and anger welled up inside me and I immediately grabbed the offensive thing, shoving it under the sink cabinet. It certainly didn’t belong to me, which meant it must have been supplied by the hotel. Not that I blamed them. I mean, how could anyone here know how much I detested scales? They couldn’t.

  I shook my head as memories started to plague me, pouring through my head even though I tried my best to ignore them. I sat down on the toilet and cradled my head in my hands, forcing my eyes shut so I could erase the stream of images already unleashing themselves before my eyelids…

  Every week Jonathon subjected me to the same thing…every week he insisted I step on the scale in front of him to ensure I wasn’t even a half pound over one hundred and thirty. And if I was heavier, the ensuing conversation was arduous—was I comfort-eating? And if so, what was wrong with me? Wasn’t I aware of how fortunate I was? Was I pushing myself hard enough at the gym? Didn’t I care about my marriage enough to maintain my figure? Didn’t I understand that there were countless women who would jump at the opportunity to be in my place? Didn’t I realize how lucky I was to be Mrs. Jonathon Graves?

  As soon as we separated and I moved out, I left the scale with Jonathon, telling him all those women who were dying to be weighed in my place could have it! I hadn’t weighed myself in over a month and I never planned to weigh myself again. I could tell I’d put on weight, but I didn’t care. If anything, the five or ten pounds suited me—I had curves again—a butt and boobs that actually made my waist look smaller. And my face was softer, not so angular. I looked younger, or so I thought.… I definitely looked happier.

  I felt tears start in my eyes and blinked them back. I wouldn’t cry. The past was the past and I was firmly rooted in the future, in my own present. That didn’t include Jonathon or any of his head trips. I was my own person now, free to live my life the way I chose to.

  I arrived at my house at eight a.m. sharp on Monday morning. The rain had finally let up, so today would mark the first day of my remodel. To say I was excited was an understatement. In fact, I’d endured a restless night of sleep in my suite at the Omni, my brain too
busy with thoughts of crown molding, colors of paint, stains of hardwood floors, and light fixtures.

  When I pulled up, I noticed there were already two enormous white trucks parked just outside my sprawling home. One of the Ford F350s was actually parked on the roots of an ancient oak tree that spread into the street, causing the concrete sidewalk and the asphalt to crumble away. With the two trucks hogging the street in front of my house, I was forced to park at the top of Prytania Street, where it intersected Eighth Street. Unluckily for me, my house didn’t come with a garage.

  Men strolled in and out of my double front doors, carrying all sorts of tools while they attempted to balance their coffee cups in their free hands. From the looks of it, Ryan was able to find six or so men to make up his crew. Not bad for someone who complained about the task being a difficult one…

  Once I killed the Scout’s engine, I hopped down from the driver’s seat and jogged around to the other side of the truck, opening the passenger door and reaching for my safety helmet and tool belt (already supplied with an impressive array of tools) and then buried my purse behind the passenger seat, underneath my rain jacket.

  Plopping the safety helmet on, I hurriedly fastened the work belt around my waist and smiled at my reflection in the window. The plastic helmet and the leather tool belt were exactly the same shade of bubblegum pink as my lip gloss. The hammer, pliers, utility knife, chalk line, and even the carpenter’s pencil were all a corresponding pink. To break the cloying sweetness of the ensemble, though, was a repeating pattern of black skulls and crossbones on the handles of each tool, and the belt had a checkerboard pattern. The safety helmet also echoed the skull-and-crossbones theme but had a large bow on top of the skull, imbuing it with a girly sort of macabre touch.

  Gripping my cup of coffee, I started up the front walkway, making sure I smiled and said “good morning” to each of the guys who passed me. Granted, most of them looked confused—I wasn’t sure if it was due to my outfit or my being there.

  “I like it!” one of them called out as he eyed me up and down while nodding appreciatively on his way out the front door.

  “Thanks!” I called back as I made my way into the foyer and immediately recognized Ryan standing at the end of it, in conversation with a shorter, older, and chubbier man. Ryan’s back was to me, but the breadth of his shoulders and his golden hair gave him away. At the sound of my voice, he turned around but didn’t say or do anything for the space of three or four seconds as he apparently took stock of me. Feeling slightly squeamish beneath his scrutiny, I smiled sheepishly.

  That was when a scowl took hold of his lips. “Oh, hell no!” he exclaimed, shaking his head as he took a few steps toward me, his eyebrows still arched in surprise.

  “Well, good morning to you too, neighbor!” I answered with a mirror of the puzzled frown he continued to give me.

  “Please tell me it’s Halloween an’ you decided to go as some sort of”—he seemed at a loss for words as he first studied my helmet and then my tool belt—“pirate-themed construction worker?”

  I laughed, taking a swig of my coffee before swallowing and clearing my throat. No, we hadn’t talked about whether or not I could be one of his crew members; and yes, I’d already figured he wouldn’t be exactly pleased when I revealed my intentions. “No, Ryan, it’s not Halloween.”

  “Then why are you wearin’ that ridiculous getup?”

  I pouted, feeling slightly offended that he didn’t find my whole “getup” charming. And, really, “ridiculous” was an exaggeration. “I’m wearing this because I figured no one would appreciate it if I borrowed their tools,” I started, motioning to my belt before fingering the brim of my safety helmet. “And as for this, well, safety first, right?” I smiled wistfully.

  Ryan crossed his arms against his chest, and his lips were tight. “Peyton, we never discussed, and furthermore, I never agreed to havin’ you…here…workin’.”

  “Well, then this is your lucky day because you’ve got one extra crew member and you don’t even have to pay me!” I held my arms out wide and did a funny jig sort of thing with my feet, like I was practicing for vaudeville before finishing the routine with a flash of jazz hands.

  Ryan couldn’t help his smirk, try though he did. It took him a good few seconds to banish the grin from his mouth. “No way,” he said, shaking his head, although it wasn’t lost on me that he was fighting against another smile—I mean, I had used jazz hands on him.… Moments later, apparently when he realized exactly what I was proposing, there was no hint of amusement in his eyes or on his lips at all. “It’s way too dangerous.”

  “I won’t get in the way, I promise,” I started, instantly dropping my previous song and dance. “I really want to be a part of the remodel, though, Ryan.”

  “Bloody hell,” he grumbled as he glanced down at the floor and shook his head again, running a hand through the unruly waves of golden hair. Of course, it did occur to me that he might take extreme exception to having me on the job, after what happened to his wife, but I wasn’t going to let that stand in my way. What happened in the past was the past, and the chances of something similar happening again were next to nil. Besides, I wanted to be involved in my remodel.

  “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” the man Ryan was in conversation with announced before offering me a quick smile.

  “Hi, I’m Peyton,” I said, extending my hand, which he heartily accepted with his own sweaty one.

  “I’m George Tate,” he responded, and his round face, laughing eyes, and red cheeks made him look like he could have been a good Santa Claus.

  “George is the owner of Tate Construction,” Ryan added. “I invited George over to give me his opinion on your remodel. He’s incredibly well known around these parts and very talented.”

  “Said by a true artist,” George answered, patting Ryan on the back before bringing his attention to the room around him and sighing. “You’ve got quite the job here, Kelly, quite the job.”

  Ryan’s eyes met mine when he responded and they didn’t stray. “Unfortunately, sometimes you can’t talk your way out of such things.”

  I frowned, arching one eyebrow to indicate I wasn’t feeling sorry for him. George apparently caught my expression because he laughed. “I can’t recall you ever agreein’ to anything you didn’t want to do,” he said, nudging Ryan in the arm with his plump elbow.

  “I knew it!” I said, grasping the life raft George threw me as I elbowed Ryan’s other side.

  “Ouch! Will both of you stop attackin’ me?” Ryan demanded.

  George and I laughed at the same time while I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, eyeing George with a frown. “Do you know that he gave me a huge guilt trip over agreeing to take on this job?”

  “It appears like it was a war of wills,” George answered matter-of-factly.

  “Some advice, George; never go up against her because you will lose!” Ryan said with the hint of a laugh.

  George just shook his head and smirked at the both of us, like he knew something we didn’t. “Well, I’ve got places to go an’ people to see,” he said as he turned on his heel and started for the front door. Apparently remembering himself, he called over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, Miss Peyton!”

  “You too!” I sang to his retreating figure before bringing my attention back to Ryan, only to find his gaze still on me.

  “You can give me all the crappy jobs,” I continued, pursuing my argument to convince him to hire me, for lack of a better word. “I’ll do coffee runs for the guys, lunch, you name it,” I persisted, starting to sound desperate. I glanced down at my tool belt. “I can hammer stuff, screw stuff in…” I pulled out the measuring tape. “I can even measure!”

  Ryan sighed long and hard while continuing to shake his head, but I could see a twinkle of amusement lighting up his eyes. Before long, a recalcitrant smirk captured the ends of his lips, forcing them upward into something that resembled a smile. “You are gonna be th
e death of me, Peyton Clark,” he grumbled. I didn’t say anything but allowed him to study my helmet before his eyes fell to my waist again, and he seemed to be taking mental stock of my tools.

  “Come on, you like it,” I prodded. He glanced up at me but said nothing, so I continued, “You think I actually look incredibly cute with my matching pink toolwear.”

  “Toolwear?” he asked with a shake of his head.

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I call it. Fashionable tools, you know?”

  He chuckled, his warm eyes settling on mine. “If you must know, Peyton, yes, I do like it. I think you look incredibly”—he looked me up and down—“cute.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  He continued to inspect me, looking as if he were at a loss for words. “Where did you find all that ridiculous stuff, anyhow?”

  I beamed, pleased I’d apparently won the argument over whether or not my ridiculous stuff and I could stay on. Then I glanced down at my fingernails before buffing them against my white button-down shirt and gave him my best smug expression. “Oh, just at the hardware store.”

  He shook his head again and started forward, glancing quickly behind him when I didn’t take his lead. “Are you comin’ or what?”

  “Yessir, boss, sir!” I said in the best serviceman impersonation I could muster as I hopped forward before saluting him.

  “Wrong hand,” he said with the expression of someone unimpressed. “Always salute with your right hand.”

  “Whatever!” I responded with an indifferent wave of my hand as I followed him down the hallway into the guest room, located at the easternmost corner of the house. I could already hear the sounds of demolition, and the air was thick with dust from what, I imagined, was the drywall being torn down.

  “Gotta pair of gloves in that silly getup?” Ryan asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.