As the Crow Flies, page 28
“A very charming and convincing one,” Gwen said, “but it’s not dying before you that frightens me…it’s living long enough to see the day that you no longer find me attractive.”
Sam didn’t respond right away. She stared at her with sleepy eyes and ran her fingers through Gwen’s disheveled hair.
“My hair must be an awful mess.”
“A wild and wonderful mess. It looks great.” Sam smiled and played with it some more. “You know, either of us could go to several dating sites and find plenty of women in our respective age groups…but there’s no guarantee of any chemistry, sexually or otherwise.”
Gwen gathered her in her arms and sighed, and she rested her head on Gwen’s breast. “I hate to admit it to myself, Sam, but I’ve never experienced chemistry quite like this.”
“It was there that first day we met. I couldn’t say anything then, but I was struck with this strange sensation of déjà vu…like I’d known you before…like we weren’t meeting for the first time but returning to each other from another place in time.” Sam’s hand moved in soft circles over Gwen’s stomach. “That chemical attraction was strong. We mix well together. We even smell good together.”
“Sam!” She gave her arm a playful slap.
“But it’s true. We do.”
Gwen sighed, squeezed her tight, and put her nose to Sam’s hair. “Yes…our scents do mingle well,” she said, and felt Sam smiling against her breast.
Sam buried her face in Gwen’s skin and mumbled, “…love stokes its raging fire…as the heady fragrance of desire…fills the room like sweet perfume…”
“Mmm…are you poetizing?”
“I am.”
“Did you just think that up?”
“I did. You’re a source of spontaneous inspiration.”
“It’s wonderful. I told you once before, you should try your hand at poetry.” Gwen kissed her head. “Maybe one day you’ll write a poem for me.”
“Maybe I will,” Sam said, and cuddled close.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In that place between sleep and wakefulness, Samantha couldn’t tell if the tingling in her legs was coming from a dream or waking her from one. Her eyes sprang open, and she was acutely aware of a heaviness below her knees, a deadening pressure pinning her ankles. Gwen was sound asleep, tangled in her arms, and Samantha’s first thought was that the weight was coming from Gwen’s legs stretched across her own. The moisture from their lovemaking seemed to have dried and sealed them together during the night, and she tried to lift her head as much as she could without waking Gwen. In the early dawn, the room was still dark, but something darker than the room itself lay at the foot of the bed. And unless her eyes were playing tricks, the round and indistinct shape seemed to be rhythmically heaving.
The sight of it, the physical pressure of its presence on her feet sent her into a quiet panic. She fought back a scream, yanking her legs from under it and jerking her feet until she kicked them out from the covers.
“Sam? What’s wrong?” Gwen said, awoken by the commotion.
“Something’s in bed with us!”
“What?” Gwen peeled herself off Samantha’s body and quickly reached for the lamp.
Samantha jumped out of bed, shaking one foot and then the other until the feeling in them returned.
Gwen sat up, a hand held to her chest, and looked around the empty room. “You scared me to half to death. I thought there was an intruder.”
“It was an intruder. I don’t think it was alive, though.”
“A ghost?”
Samantha nodded. The hair on her arms stood on end, and she crossed them, rubbing her shoulders until the sudden chill passed. “At the foot of the bed…something heavy was on my legs. It made my feet fall asleep.” She might not have been so forthcoming with anyone else, but Gwen would believe her. After all, neither of them would ever again dismiss the reality of ghosts.
Gwen patted the bed. Samantha crawled back in and snuggled close but kept her eyes on the foot of the bed. “Do you think the Waldorf has ghosts?”
“Considering the hotel has been world renowned since the nineteen thirties, I’m sure a few expired guests and employees are wandering the hallways.”
Samantha was quiet for a minute. “Do they allow pets?”
“The Waldorf has always pampered pets of the rich and famous.” Gwen stroked Samantha’s arm as she spoke, calming and lulling her back to sleep. “Is that what you think you saw…an animal?”
“Could have been…I’d prefer an animal to some long-dead bellboy on my legs.”
“I’m sure you know this from your own research, but one of the most commonly reported ghostly encounters is the feeling of something at the foot of the bed, kneading or pulling the blankets.”
“I know. I didn’t feel movement, just my feet trapped. It reminded me of…” Samantha’s words trailed off as she lost herself in a memory.
“Tell me,” Gwen said.
“The last time I felt something like that was when I slept with a dog. Did I ever mention Arthur, my Weimaraner?”
“You did. Arthur the ghost runner, who followed the scent of flowers…”
“Yeah. He always had to sleep with part of his body touching mine. Arthur was a big boy, and sometimes I’d wake up to that same feeling of being pinned down. And there he’d be, his long legs draped across my ankles, his heavy paws and chin resting on my shin. That’s what this felt like. God, that was so creepy.”
“You don’t think it was him.”
“Of course not. Arthur crossed the Rainbow Bridge more than twenty years ago. And if his spirit were still around, I don’t think he’d come looking for me at the Waldorf.”
Gwen’s soft laugh came as a murmur, and Samantha touched the hand that was stroking her. She rolled onto her back and gathered Gwen in her arms.
They were quiet then and must have fallen back to sleep, because the next time Samantha opened her eyes the room was bright and cheerful, the sun having chased away the night-loving spooks. Samantha heard the water running and then the shower cut off. She stretched and glanced at the clock. Almost nine. She would need to keep Gwen occupied until two o’clock.
“Good morning, darling,” Gwen said as she came out of the bathroom in a robe and sat on the bed beside her. “I ordered coffee. We can have breakfast downstairs.”
Samantha touched her face. “What are your plans for the day, birthday girl?”
“Well, I had intended to see a Picasso exhibit at the Met, but when I read that Woman with a Crow is there, I decided I should see it with you.”
“What time is your surprise dinner tonight?”
“I should turn my phone on and call my brother. I think reservations are for seven. I’ll be fine as long as I’m home by five.”
That would keep guests waiting for over two hours. Isabel wanted her there at four, and with Carol out of the picture, the responsibility of ensuring a timely arrival was on Samantha. “How long is the exhibit running?”
“Through August.”
“Could we save it for next week?”
“We could.”
“Why don’t we do that? I have to leave town this coming Wednesday for a few days. I have signings in DC on Thursday, Baltimore on Friday, Philly at noon on Saturday, and then I drive home. Pick a day after that and we’ll go.” She rubbed her hand up and down Gwen’s arm. “I haven’t been to the Met in years. It would be nice to take our time, have dinner out…turn it into a date.”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Hmm…I like the idea of more dates with you.”
“The other thing,” Samantha said, fibbing as she went along, “is that I didn’t exactly plan on bumping into you yesterday. A friend of mine had to leave her car in the shop, and I promised I’d give her a lift back before three this afternoon.”
“That’s fine,” Gwen said. Someone knocked at the door just then. “Coffee’s here.”
“Do I have time for a quick shower?”
“Of course.”
As soon as Gwen went to the door, Samantha got up, grabbed her phone, and made a beeline for the bathroom.
“There’s a toothbrush for you in there, Sam, and—”
“Ah. So you were that confident you’d get me up to your hotel room and seduce me?”
“Reasonably confident, yes.”
Samantha shook her head. “I’m such a cheap date. Shameless, too,” she mumbled.
“And help yourself to whatever else I have in there.”
“Thanks.” Samantha closed the door and turned on her phone. Five missed calls from Liz and Isabel. She dialed Liz and turned on the shower to drown out her voice.
“Sam! Why is Gwen’s phone off? Do you still have her?”
“I have her.”
“Did you have her?”
“I did. And she had me. More than once.”
“Damn. I’m jealous. No action here. Not that I expected any. Are you taking a shower with her?”
“No. I’m running the water so she can’t hear me. I can’t talk. We have to check out soon. I’ll get her to come home with me and won’t let her leave until two. That’ll get her there by four. I’ll call when she leaves. I won’t make it for the surprise, obviously.”
Samantha hung up and showered quickly, helped herself to toothpaste, deodorant, and powder, then wrapped herself in a towel. When she came out she spotted a coffee pot on a tray in the sitting area, The New York Times beside it. Gwen sat on a love seat reading the Arts and Leisure section, which she quickly discarded when she saw Samantha. “Mmm…come here to me,” she said.
Samantha went and sat beside her, kissed her softly.
Gwen played with the strands of damp hair hanging down over Samantha’s forehead. “I’d take you back to bed if we didn’t have to leave.”
“And I’d let you.” Sam kissed her again, then turned to pour coffee, but it was there waiting for her.
“I think I know how you take your coffee by now.”
“I think you know how I take more than just my coffee.” Samantha cradled the cup in two hands and curled up next to her. “How are you getting home?”
“I have my car.”
“Then I have an idea. Instead of breakfast here, why don’t you drive me home, and I’ll make us breakfast there. I’m always at your place, and I feel like you have no…no context for me.”
Gwen pursed her lips and thought. “I’d love that, yes. Then I get to see where you write.”
“You will. And it’ll put you an hour closer to home.”
Samantha had no choice but to put back on her suit, and Gwen sported a short-sleeve shirt and tight, stretchy white jeans that had Samantha walking behind her just to admire the view until they got into Gwen’s white Mercedes.
Traffic wasn’t too bad getting out of the city, and they made it into Westchester just before eleven. Gwen dropped her off in the train station’s parking lot, then followed her a short distance to the tiny Tudor nestled at the end of a quiet, overgrown street.
Samantha was glad she’d shopped and cleaned the other day, glad she’d changed the sheets before she’d left for the city yesterday. With any luck she’d lure Gwen into them and keep her occupied until two o’clock.
She unlocked the door and held it for Gwen. “Welcome to Dark Shadows.”
The Tudor’s original stained-glass windows were beautiful but didn’t allow sunlight to filter through. Not that there was ever much sun; the house itself faced northwest and was completely shaded by the canopies of enormous oak trees lining the block. When the autumn leaves fell there would be more light. The house was always brightest in winter.
“It’s charming. The perfect abode for a writer of paranormal mysteries, if you ask me,” Gwen said as she walked in and looked around. “I’ve always loved Tudors, both English and Spanish. The window art is magnificent.”
“You know it’s not mine. I guess it’s sort of pathetic that I’m living in someone else’s house, furnishings and all. Only the bed and what’s in the study belong to me—and that.” She pointed to a freestanding perch. “I figured I’d leave it in case Bertha decides to move back home.”
Gwen gave a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry she’s not here with you.”
“Don’t be. The Laraway estate offers more attractive living options. I’d have made the same choice.”
“It’s not the place. It’s what she’s found there—other crows.”
“I can’t compete. So it’s just me for now, until I find the inspiration to house-hunt.”
“In Westchester?”
“Who knows. Now that I’m retired from my first career and writing full-time, I’m not tied to a location. I can write from anywhere. I just don’t know where anywhere is yet. I’d even thought of moving back to Texas to be closer to my father.”
Gwen smiled, but her smile seemed forced. “Is that your plan?”
Samantha put her hands around Gwen’s waist. “I actually love New England, and I’ve grown especially fond of a particular woman who lives there. So, no, it’s not my plan.” Samantha smiled. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Anything you want. Bacon and eggs, pancakes, French toast…or my signature breakfast, a spinach and feta-cheese omelet with fresh farmers’ bread.”
“Mmm…your signature dish sounds delicious. I’ll help you, although I’m not too good in the kitchen. I’ve never really had to cook. And I certainly didn’t peg you for the culinary type.”
“I love to cook. I just don’t do it much because I have no one to cook for.” She gave Gwen a quick kiss. “Any messages from your brother?”
“I still haven’t checked. It would help if I turned on my phone.”
Samantha let go of her. “Why don’t you do that? I’ll make coffee and start breakfast.”
Gwen settled on the couch, and Samantha went into the dining room, turning on lights as she walked into the small kitchen. She got coffee going, poured orange juice, and took a glass out to Gwen.
“Ten voice mails, probably birthday messages…one missed call from Bill…and five missed calls from Isabel,” she said.
Samantha turned on some chill music and set the volume low. “You better call Isabel. I’m just running upstairs to get out of these clothes. I’ll have breakfast ready in twenty minutes.”
Gwen was on the phone when she came back down in shorts and a tee, and by the time she was off the phone, breakfast was cooking and the table was set with brightly colored plates and several burning jar candles.
“Well, I was thoroughly chastised for having my phone off all night,” Gwen said as she came in. “But I was right. Reservations are for seven.” She looked at the table and around the room. “It’s very cozy in here. I feel like we’re in one of those dark and haunted taverns you like so much.”
Samantha laughed. “Maybe that’s why I picked this house. It’s conducive to writing what I write about,” she said, going back and forth to the kitchen to bring out coffee, their omelets, and the fresh bread she’d sliced and heated in the oven. “There’s just something about the dark, you know? Just like there’s something about a woman in black.”
“I’ll take the woman in black,” Gwen said, and began eating once Samantha joined her at the table. “This is delectable. My compliments to the chef.”
They relaxed after they ate, talking, lingering at the table over a third cup of coffee. Samantha kept careful track of the time. She needed to keep her for an hour and a half, no more, no less. “You said you wanted to see where I write.”
“I would absolutely love to,” Gwen said, and started to clear the table.
“Leave it, birthday girl. I’ll take care of the dishes later.” She got up and gestured for Gwen to follow.
Up the narrow staircase they went, turning right on the landing and into the room she’d made her study. Gwen stopped, her face lighting with amusement at the life-size skeleton donning a velvet top hat and bowtie. A large horseshoe-shaped desk faced out to the room, and the skeleton sat in a chair on the other side of the desk, as though Samantha were in the habit of regularly conversing with it. “I know that man!” Gwen said, pointing with surprised delight. “It’s Professor Crowley, Detective Candice Crowley’s great-great-uncle. I so enjoy him crawling out of bed—out of his grave, as it were—to walk the cemetery with Candice and speculate on unsolved cases. And it’s nice that he thinks to collect worms for Bertha.”
“Well, he appreciates having something to occupy his time and thoughts. It eases the monotony of eternity.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Uncle Felix.” Gwen curtsied to the skeleton. “Your conjectures are brilliant.” And then she nonchalantly made her way around the desk, stopping to examine the assorted piles of papers there: printed chapters of a manuscript, research papers, copies of Gwen’s published articles, and a book that looked brand-new. She tapped the cover with a fingernail as she passed it. “Philosophy for Dummies? Hmm…giving yourself a crash course, are you?”
Samantha felt a little embarrassed. “Well, you see, my new girlfriend’s a philosopher. I’m trying my best to impress her.”
“She’s very impressed, in case you haven’t noticed.” Gwen sat in the high-back office chair, pulled the chain on a banker’s lamp, and looked all around the room.
Samantha knew exactly what she was looking for. She walked to the barrister bookcases across from the desk and turned on a tiny spotlight overhead. It lit the Rookwood bookends.
