Love Overboard Part 9

"How about someone local?"

"I don't know many people. You'd be my only suspect. This house was in your family for generations. Maybe you want it back-at a lowered price."

He slouched in his chair. "Sorry, it's not me. I'm broke. I couldn't buy it back at any price."

Stephanie watched him, waiting for an explanation, but he didn't offer any. How could he be broke? He'd just sold a house that probably didn't even have a mortgage on it. He had a successful cruise business. He wasn't supporting a wife and kids.

He stood and took his gla.s.s to the dishwasher. "You know, it really bothers me that we couldn't find the corpse. Melody and Lucy were in the kitchen. You and I were in the bathroom. And in the s.p.a.ce of ten minutes, someone got that body out of the house."

Stephanie agreed. "There's something else that bothers me. Whoever locked the body in my closet knew about the skeleton key. Do you have any secret pa.s.sages in this house? Any long-lost deranged relatives living in concealed rooms?"

"You've been watching too many movies."

She pushed back in her chair. "Lucy called every mortuary within a forty-mile radius, and no one was missing an old man in a gray suit. I can't believe we've hit a dead end on this. What have we overlooked?"

He pulled her to her feet and hooked his arm around her waist. "And you thought Maine was going to be dull." He nestled her against him, pleased at the feel of her in his arms.

"Tell me the truth, do you mind that I've turned Haben into a bed-and-breakfast inn?"

A small, tight, humorless smile curved his mouth. "You think I'm behind all of this, don't you?"

Stephanie smiled back at him-a broad, brash, teasing smile. "Let's just say you're not above suspicion."

Chapter 7.

Eileen Platz was a small woman in her early fifties. She was rail thin with short jet-black hair and sharp, dark eyes. Her husband had the large frame of an athlete and the soft paunch of a man gone sedentary. They stood on Haben's newly reconstructed front porch and looked at the ground, which was covered with leaves, then looked at the bare trees and briefly exchanged glares.

"I told you we should have come last week," Eileen Platz said, her mouth pressed into a mean little line.

"Don't start, Eileen. It wasn't my idea to drive fourteen hours to see a bunch of dying leaves."

Lucy watched them from the front window. "What do you think? Do you think we should let them slug it out, or should we invite them in?"

"I need the money," Stephanie told her. "Let's haul them in here and feed them some sparkling cider and crackers and cheese." She opened the door, introduced herself, and was pleased to see their att.i.tude change once they were inside the house.

"This is lovely," Eileen Platz said. "This is like living in a museum. It's absolutely beautiful."

"Eileen's a big history buff," her husband explained. "And she's a real antique hound."

"Then I'm sure you'll enjoy Haben." Stephanie gave them a room key and directed them to the master bedroom. "When you're settled in, you can come downstairs for cheese and cider."

Melody swept into the foyer and stopped short at coming face-to-face with Mr. and Mrs. Platz. She was dressed entirely in black: short black boots, black tights, short black skirt, black leather jacket, and big, dangly black earrings. Her face was pancake white with her usual racc.o.o.n eye makeup, and her hair was brilliant orange.

Stephanie stifled a gasp at the orange hair and reminded herself that she'd only asked Melody to make her hair all one color. Probably she should be more specific after this. Probably Melody thought this would be appropriate since Halloween was coming up.

"Melody, this is Mr. and Mrs. Platz. They're going to be staying in the master bedroom. Would you mind helping them with their bags?"

"No sweat. Just call me Cinderella." She hefted a suitcase and smiled at Mrs. Platz. "I like your hair. Is that Clairol Ebony? I had my hair that color in March."

Stephanie turned to Ivan. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I have a nagging premonition of disaster."

"You'll get used to it. This is a lot like running a schooner. For the most part, it's fun. You get to meet a lot of new people, and you get to share a part of the past with them."

"Mmmm, but you never had Melody for a bellhop."

"No. I was blessed with Ace."

Stephanie grinned. "I guess we each have our own cross to bear. You never answered my question last night. Does it bother you to see Haben turned into an inn?"

He slung his arm around her shoulders. It didn't bother him to see Haben turned into an inn, but he wasn't sure about turning Stephanie into an innkeeper. He'd rather see her turned into a wife and mother. Selfish att.i.tude, he told himself. There wasn't any reason why she couldn't be wife, mother, and innkeeper. This was the twentieth-first century. Women wore many hats.

Ivan sighed. Right now, he didn't care about Stephanie's hats. At this particular moment he was more interested in her lingerie. He wondered if that made him a s.e.xist oaf. Probably. Probably he should drag his mind out of the bedroom and keep it in the foyer for a while.

He pushed away all thoughts of lingerie and forced himself to concentrate on her question. "I think it's a great idea. If I'd kept Haben, I might have done the same. Mrs. Platz is right. This is like a museum. It'd be a shame not to share it."

"I know I'm prying, but why did you sell?"

He shrugged. "I needed the money. I offered the house to relatives first, but no one wanted to buy it. It's big and expensive to maintain."

"It must have been difficult for you to part with Haben."

Ivan nodded. "Sometimes you don't fully appreciate something until you've lost it. I have to admit, while I was living here, I considered it to be something of an albatross."

"Have you always lived in this house?"

He shook his head. "I did when I was a kid, but after I graduated from high school, I went away to college. Then, when I quit college, I got my own apartment. Actually, apartment is glorifying it. What I had was a room over Gerty's Bait Shop."

"Why did you quit college?"

"I was in my junior year when my grandfather died and left me the Savage. It was just a forgotten wreck of a ship, dying a slow death in Nantucket, but he owned it, and he willed it to me. As soon as I saw it, I was in love. I was a lot like you. I really didn't know why I was in college, except that was what had been expected of me. Anyway, I quit school and got a job on a trawler to pay for the restoration. Most of it I did myself.

"Two years ago my mother died, and last year my dad died. I gave up my room over Gerty's and moved back into Haben while I straightened out the estate. I love this house, but it's much too big for a bachelor. It was built to hold lots of noisy people. It needs to have kids running around in it, and dogs barking, and it needs a big orange cat curled up in the Queen Anne wing chair."

"You could have managed that. All you had to do was find a wife."

"Seemed like a high price to pay for noise."

Stephanie wondered at the pain that statement caused her. "Mmmm. I suppose pirates aren't very domestic."

Ivan tugged her closer. "Doesn't have anything to do with being domestic. It has to do with finding the right woman."

"Picky, are you?"

"Very. Marriage isn't something a person should rush into."

Stephanie stared at him for a moment. "I can't imagine you rushing into marriage."

He'd choose very carefully, and his marriage would last forever, she thought. If the family photos and paintings on the wall were any indication, he came from a long line of family- oriented Rasmussens. Again, there was the twinge of pain that she preferred not to a.n.a.lyze.

She decided to steer the conversation in a lighter direction, so she wrinkled her nose and teased him. "You seem more like the sort to be dragged to the altar-kicking and screaming."

Ivan stared back at her. He'd always thought so, too. He'd liked his easy bachelor existence. It was amazing how something ridiculous, such as a broken toilet, could change your entire outlook on life. All his plans for the future now included Stephanie. Bachelordom had become a colossal bore.

There was the sound of tires screeching outside the house, and Ivan and Stephanie ran to the window in time to see a car swerve onto the sidewalk and come to a b.u.mpy stop with two wheels on the curb. Its driver rested his head on the steering wheel for a second, took a dis- believing look at Haben, and shook his forehead before slowly driving away.

"Melody must be up on the widow's walk again," Stephanie said. She stormed outside and looked up at Melody. "What are you doing up there? You're a traffic hazard."

"I'm talking to Tess. She doesn't like Mrs. Platz being in her bedroom. She says she doesn't mind making this into an inn, but she doesn't want strangers in her bedroom. Oh yeah, and she wants pineapple upside-down cake for dessert tonight."

Ivan made sure the doors were locked and the windows secure. Stephanie shut off the lights and took the hand Ivan offered when he met her in the foyer.

"So, lady innkeeper, what do you think of this hotel business?"

"I think it will be fun. What do you think?"

Ivan smiled wanly. "I think it will be a pain in the b.u.t.t. I spent the entire evening explaining household artifacts to Mrs. Platz. What I really wanted to do was find a dark corner and make out with you."

Stephanie looked at him. "Do grown-ups make out?"

"Yeah. When grown-ups do it they call it foreplay. And it's pretty hot stuff."

"And Mrs. Platz made me miss it. Will there be another opportunity?"

His hands splayed across her back, and his mouth met hers in a slow, sensuous kiss. "You can't escape it." His lips moved to her temple, then her ear, and he told her some of the details of foreplay.

Stephanie got a rush that went from her heart to her doodah. He was right. It was pretty hot stuff. She rocked back on her heels when he released her. "Wow."

"Play your cards right, and tomorrow I might tell you more. I might even demonstrate."

"Promises, promises."

A promise he was going to enjoy keeping. In fact, he'd like to keep it later in the night. Or even better, he'd like to keep it now. It could take months for her to really learn to love him, he reasoned. He didn't think he could wait months. Maybe he was being greedy. Maybe he should be content with being liked a lot. She already liked him a lot. And he really shouldn't hold off because of her virginity. That would be discrimination. He didn't want to be accused of being a s.e.xual bigot. He almost had himself convinced when the phone rang.

"I have to get this," Stephanie said, moving out of his arms. "It's probably my mother. She always waits for the rates to go down before calling."

Her mother. It might as well have been a call from G.o.d. So much for rationalization. He waved good night and went upstairs, telling himself it was all for the best, but not quite believing it. He had payroll checks to sign and a stack of ledgers to go over. Pretty boring stuff compared to relieving Stephanie of her virginity.

Half an hour later Stephanie crept up the stairs and got undressed in the privacy of her room. She dropped a warm nightgown over her head, checked her closet, and looked under her bed before creeping under the big down quilt. The wind had picked up since the afternoon, whistling in the eaves and roaring through the oak tree just outside her window. She was glad she'd had Ivan remove the screens and put the storm windows in place. The heating bill was going to be prohibitive if they had this much wind throughout the winter.

She switched off her bedside light and was thankful for the quiet. Obviously Eileen Platz hadn't found any dead people in her closet. There would have been a scream by now. She wondered if Lucy and Melody were having trouble sleeping. Probably not. They hadn't seemed too upset about the corpse. Of course, they hadn't seen him. He hadn't crashed down onto their feet. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but there were too many things rolling through her mind-mostly thoughts of Ivan.

She slid out of bed, temporarily giving up on sleep, and went to the window. She'd chosen this bedroom because, like the master bedroom, it was at the back of the house and overlooked the harbor. She raised the shade and pulled the sheer curtain aside. It was a dark night, but she could see the outlines of the tall ships against the black water. One of them was the Savage, she thought, feeling a surge of pride and affection.

She slumped onto the chintz-covered window seat and looked into the night with unfocused eyes. She wondered if Ivan was already asleep in the bedroom across the hall and felt a vague discontent that they were separated. They weren't married or engaged. They weren't even lovers. There was no justification for the loneliness and frustration she felt, but she felt it all the same. Some of it was s.e.xual. As Ace would put it, she was a hotbed of raging hormones. Thanks to Ivan Rasmussen.

She was musing about the pleasures of love when a gust of wind shook the house, and the dead man in the gray suit swung past her window.

It happened so fast, Stephanie thought she'd imagined it. When he swung by a second time, she stifled a scream and jumped from the window seat in astonishment. It took a moment for her to gather her wits and shake away the initial horror. There was an explanation for this, and she was going to find out what it was.

She moved toward the window when another blast of wind buffeted Haben, and the dead man crashed through the window, feet- first. His eyes were closed in eternal slumber, and his hands were innocently clasped across his chest. He smashed into the wooden window frame, and his feet flew up from the impact, almost kicking Stephanie in the head.

She instinctively jumped back, losing her balance and sprawling on the rug amid a shower of broken gla.s.s. By the time she'd scrambled to her feet, the man was gone. She stood helpless, inches from the window seat, afraid to move in her bare feet.

"Ivan!"

He was at her door even before she'd called. "What was that crash?" He looked at the window and at the gla.s.s surrounding her.

"It was the guy in the suit," Stephanie said. "He was flying around past my window. Next thing I knew, he'd crashed right through. Never moved a muscle. Had his eyes closed the whole time."

Ivan grimaced. "Steph, the man's been embalmed. You didn't expect him to open his eyes and say howdy, did you?"

"No, but then I didn't expect him to crash through my window either."

He walked across the room and looked out the window. He scooped Stephanie into his arms and crunched over the gla.s.s shards to the door. "Stay here," he said, setting her on her feet. "Don't move from this spot. I'm going outside to investigate, and I don't want you running around the house in your nightgown."

Five minutes later he was back. "I couldn't find anything. I'm calling the police."

Stephanie grabbed him by the shirtfront. "No! You can't do that. No one will ever stay here again. What am I going to say to Eileen Platz? She's not going to understand about some old guy in a gray suit turning up in closets and crashing through windows. It'll get in the newspapers. They'll say the house is possessed. I'm in enough freakin' trouble with Melody up there on the widow's walk."

The line of his mouth tightened. "Okay, but you can't sleep here, and I'm not leaving you alone. This dead guy has a definite preference for your room."

He hooked his hand behind her knees and lifted her into his arms. He quietly closed the door and carried her across the hall. "You can stay with me tonight." It was a sign, he decided, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek- and much more potent than a phone call from her mother. It would be wrong to ignore a definite sign such as this. "We could see if tab A fits into slot B."

"Are you kidding me? How can you think of tabs and slots at a time like this? There's a dead guy running around out there! And why are you dressed? You don't even have your shoes off."

"I had business to attend to." Shoe factory business, he thought with distaste. I wasn't cut out for the shoe business. Hopefully, sometime soon he could close that chapter of his life. He kissed her lightly on the lips. "And you're still suspicious of me, aren't you?"

"I don't know. I think my nerves are shot. Too many years of being a cop. Too many days of living with Melody."

He pulled her into his room and locked the door. "You need to relax," he said, smiling wolfishly. And he needed to relax. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd met her.

Relax? In his bedroom? In her nightgown? She couldn't remember feeling more unrelaxed. It was funny how just moments ago when she was all alone, she'd thought it would be comfy to spend the night next to Ivan Rasmussen, and now that it was a definite possibility, she felt like jumping out the window.

He had his hands at her hip, and his eyes gazed into hers, seeing the mirror image of his own excitement and his own apprehension. In all seriousness, he'd intended to wait a while longer before making love to her, but there was no way he was going to leave her alone and unprotected-and he knew there was no way he could spend the night with her and not make love. He rubbed his thumb over her panty elastic, enjoying the simple intimacy, and moved his hands up her sides to frame her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He felt her shiver at his touch and saw her face light with pleasure.

"I like this nightgown," he said, his voice soft and seductive. "It's s.e.xy, with its high, ruffled neck and long, ruffled sleeves. It covers you from head to foot, but it clings in all the right places."

She stood absolutely still, barely breathing as he pulled the thin translucent material taut over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He lowered his mouth and kissed her, slowly, and her doodah started to hum a little tune.