Molly Harper - Better Homes and Hauntings

Nina smiled at Deacon as he pushed up from the ground and slid his arm around her waist. “Having spent some time in Catherine’s head, I’m sure she would have loved this,” she told him.

“Is it strange that we don’t have a statue for Gerald?” Dotty asked.

Jake said, “I think he would be more pleased that Catherine is finally being seen as a loving wife and their marriage is known for the loving union it was.”

They stood staring at the newly installed plaque. All in all, they had managed to escape the confrontation with Rick relatively unscathed. Nina had a mild concussion and a dislocated shoulder. Jake had some considerable burns on his hands from fighting the fire in the servants’ quarters. And while Anthony had insisted he was fine, Cindy had checked his pulse and found that his poor damaged heart was racing. Deacon had demanded that all of them be checked out at a hospital and had pulled several I donated a bunch of money strings to have them assigned to a private suite.

While the staff quarters had suffered considerable damage, the main house remained untouched. The jewelry, save for the wedding set, which had been put aside for Dotty, had been placed in Deacon’s safety-deposit box.

Dotty hung out in the hospital room all day, reading over Catherine’s last diary and getting some insight into the Whitneys’ final days together. For one thing, there was no second lover in the garden on the night of their first disastrous party. Gerald had asked Catherine about her recent distant behavior. She had insisted that they avoid discussing it until after the party. Gerald had told her he didn’t give a damn about the party if it kept them in this state of limbo for one more moment. A frazzled Catherine had snapped at him for his lack of interest, and the screaming match had grown from there. The last diary entry showed a resolute, saddened Catherine, heading into what would be her final confrontation with Jack.

I have to explain to Gerald. I have to make him understand that Jack must be removed from us immediately and forever. There is no escaping Jack in this house. He knows it too well. There are too many nooks and hiding places for him to spy from. I won’t get a moment’s peace. I am going up to the dock, to wait for Gerald and explain. Everything. My part in it. My lies. Everything. I have been a fool. I let myself be fooled, if only for a moment, and let Jack exploit the weaknesses in my character.

I will never again allow my judgment to be clouded. I will do anything to atone. I will make up for my folly. I will prove to my husband that I can be the wife he deserves. I only pray that his love for me has not changed. Wish me luck, diary.

With Deacon hovering over Nina’s hospital bed, worrying himself into a froth over whether she was comfortable, sleepy, itchy, or otherwise, Dotty had looked up from the diary and said, “So . . . I don’t mean to say I told you so.”

Deacon had snorted, fluffing Nina’s pillow as she batted his hands away. “Of course, you do.”

“At least we know for sure,” Dotty had said, squeezing Deacon’s free hand. “We know what happened to her now. We know that we came from a couple who loved each other deeply, that their lives together would have turned out very differently if Jack hadn’t killed Catherine. They would have been a happy old married couple in a photo album. Of course, Gerald’s fortunes might have suffered anyway, and your parents might still have turned out to be tools. But at least we’d have happier ancestors.”

“Is that better?” he’d asked.

“It makes me feel better.”

“And when Dotty finishes her book—which is awesome, by the way; I’ve read the rough draft—people will know who was really responsible for Catherine’s death and why. Is it wrong that I want to have Rick charged with Catherine’s murder, too?” Cindy had asked, pouring Nina a glass of water.

“No, it’s natural to want someone to pay,” Dotty had told her. “And Rick has been charged with a stunning array of felonies. He’ll pay for the trouble he caused Nina, finally, and that restores the whopping karmic imbalance tilting her way.”

“I don’t know,” Nina had hedged. “Part of me feels sorry for him. He wasn’t in control of himself when he tried to physically hurt me.”

Deacon had pushed her hair back from her face. “When you slapped me out of my strangle mood, didn’t you tell me that the choice to resist was what was important?”

“Strangle mood?” Jake had asked. Dotty had shrugged.

“Yes, but we’re going to have a problem if you remember every conversation we have in detail,” Nina had muttered.

“Rick had a choice,” Deacon had said. “Give in to Jack Donovan’s influence or be a decent human being. He gave in.”

Nina had nudged Deacon with her free arm. “You didn’t.”

“I love you too much to strangle you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.”

NOW DEACON SLUNG his arm around Dotty’s shoulders as the early-autumn sun beat down on their shoulders. Jake and Nina discussed the new “nonsubtext, non-Greek” statuary they were planning. Cindy was reorganizing Anthony’s borrowed tools, because she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m going to miss you, you know,” Deacon whispered into Dotty’s hair. “I’ve gotten used to seeing you every day. I know I give you a hard time sometimes, but, Dotty, I want you to know you can come here anytime you want. I promise. You’ll always have a place here . . . on the weekends . . . when I’m out of town . . . or maybe out of the hemisphere.”

Dotty dug her knuckles into Deacon’s side, making him yelp.

“OK, OK, I give,” he said. “But since we’re talking about spending time here together, what would you think of us unveiling the house on Labor Day? I’d thought about inviting my competitors and the old Newport families for a big open house as sort of a neener-neener. But maybe we should invite my employees and their families instead. We can have one of those old-fashioned lawn parties Catherine had envisioned—plenty of good food, games for the children, and no one being murdered on the roof.”

“That sounds great. I’ll help plan.”

When Deacon snorted, Nina elbowed him in the gut. “What he means to say is, ‘Thank you, Dotty, that would be nice.’ ”

“And we’ll finally be able to tell people the truth about Catherine and Gerald, in the book we have planned, which should go a long way to settling the spirits and clearing up the curse,” Dotty said.

“If the curse ever really existed,” Cindy teased.

“Skeptical Cindy is skeptical.” Dotty sighed, rolling her eyes.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jake said, pulling Cindy into his lap and kissing her neck.

“Is there a chair shortage?” Deacon asked dryly as he took a seat beside Nina and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Yes, it’s tragic, really, that a billionaire wouldn’t anticipate this sort of seating crisis,” Jake said.

“Hey!” Dotty exclaimed. “We’ve talked about that. No PDA. It’s like watching someone make out with your sister.”

“You’re going to have to live with it,” Cindy said. “Because it will be a regular occurrence at family gatherings, holidays, and birthdays.”

“Family gatherings?” Deacon said, his voice cracking with discomfort.

“Sure, you think the five of us will be able to spend Thanksgiving with anyone else?” Dotty said. “Who else will want to sit around and talk about that time Jake almost climbed into bed with a waterlogged ghost?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that. That has to be the memory we all relive over turkey and stuffing?” Jake asked.

“Yes,” the group chorused.