Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 17

"Didn't want to mash any toes. What's more, couldn't see you embracing someone whose business card reads, 'Paranormal investigations and s.p.a.ce clearings.' "

"You're right," I said, irritated at Fran's accuracy and at having to resort to this.

"She has a top-notch list of clients," Fran said cheerfully.

"Who would hire her?"

Before Fran could answer, I added with a resigned exhale, "Besides us? And why?"

"All kinds of folks, mostly on account of strange odors. Foul smells, those are Ca.s.s's bread and b.u.t.ter. Other things, too. Temperature change in a section of the house. Sensation of dread, someone watching them. Areas pets avoid."

"She specializes in haunted houses?"

"Any type of confined s.p.a.ce. Apartments, offices, cubicles, stores, garages. Clears 'em out, good as new."

I gave Fran a penetrating look. "You believe in this?"

"It ain't hocus-pocus. Ca.s.s takes technical readings and measurements, makes calculations."

"What's she use, a Ouija board?"

"Get with the times, Kris. Ca.s.s has twenty grand invested in equipment. Thermometers, motion sensors, Geiger counters, microphones, electromagnetic field detectors, infrared video cameras, nightscopes, digital cameras. Engineer's dream, that stash in the trunk of her nineteen-seventy Cadillac. Has a few old-fas.h.i.+oned tricks up her sleeve, too: rice, flour, dowsing sticks, compa.s.s."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"This gal ain't no night flight. She's dedicated, organized and experienced. Grew up taking trips with her daddy to historic asylums across the East Coast. How many kids you know can claim that Pedigree?"

"None, I hope."

She's worked at it and developed herself into a true professional. Got training and everything."

Where? Spirit University?"

Joke all you want," Fran said, but by her tone I could tell she'd run out of tolerance. "You won't be laughing when Ca.s.s chases an icy blue form off your f.a.n.n.y. She works hard at her trade, no different than you or me. Last week, told me about an a.s.sessment form she created."

"For what?" I said, only slightly interested.

"Uses the form to clarify the client's goals. Showed it to me. It's an impressive, succinct doc.u.ment. Let's say you got a problem in your sunroom. Before Ca.s.s steps foot in your pad, she wants to know the details of the hauntings: times of day, correlation to cycles of the moon, duration of shenanigans, what person or event links to the sensation or smell, past and present uses of the s.p.a.ce."

As Fran spoke, she became more agitated, which gave me an inkling, sans fancy equipment. "I didn't know you had a problem in your sunroom."

"Cigarette smoke," she blurted out.

I smiled broadly when I saw her bl.u.s.tery embarra.s.sment as she rose and paced the room. "You hired Ca.s.s for a clearing!"

"Worked, too," Fran said between militant strides. "Got rid of every plume. Couldn't stand the reminder of Ruth."

"Ruth's not dead, and she's never been in your house," I said blandly.

"Probably sent her decidedly departed mother to haunt me. We showed her. Ca.s.s vamoosed her out in thirty minutes."

I didn't bother to conceal a smile. "How much did this cost?"

"Two hundred and fifty for the initial consult, another hundred for the shove. Worth every penny. We do the same for Bert, she'll thank us in the end."

"Hmm," I said doubtfully.

Compared to Roberta Franklin's skepticism, I imagined mine would rank as trivial, but I authorized Fran to contact Witchy Woman.

How low had I sunk?

Chapter 16.

No lower than Fran Green.

The next morning, she straggled into the office with a tangled nest of hair, bloodshot eyes and cheeks dotted with rash-like splotches. "Hope you're not expecting much work out of me today," she said by way of greeting.

"Another date?" I replied, less than amused.

"Two. On a Monday night, no less." She lowered herself to the couch, inch by inch. "First went so poorly, needed a corrective experience. Followed your advice and called the insurance a.n.a.lyst, Robyn. What a dud. Rushed her home by eight." You and Robyn didn't click?"

Fran stretched out, covered her eyes and moaned. "That's putting it mildly. Took her to dinner, and the tedium began with a thirty-minute reading of the menu. She wanted the chicken if it wasn't stringy, the beef if it wasn't gristly or the fish if it wasn't fishy. The waitress suggested the special, grilled vegetables and cactus fajitas."

"Cactus is edible?"

"Not for this cat. Hold the p.r.i.c.kles, I said, and my dinner companion called my humor juvenile and inappropriate."

"Well..." I said with a shadow of a smile.

"Try snappy and erudite," Fran replied, her voice raspy.

I rolled my eyes.

"After dinner, the broad chewed on me again for unb.u.t.toning the top notch of my pants. Told me the come-on was cra.s.s. Was she smoking something? Furthest thing from s.e.xual. I ate too much, filled up the trousers, was dying for relief."

"Date number two must have been more successful, if you're this debilitated."

"You got it," she said with a l.u.s.tful smile. "Tired from tussling with less.

"The one with the Snoopy stationery and perfect score?"

She nodded, the slightest movement. "Tess Thompson, thirty-something taxidermist."

I shot Fran a look. "Thirty-something?"

She sat up slowly. "Thirty on the nose, but spare me the grief. Age difference is meaningless, according to her."

"Taxidermist?"

"Extraordinaire. She has a deer hanging on the wall, so lifelike it looks like the fella's drinking from a stream."

I winced. "She makes a living at this?"

"Don't scoff. Two hundred for a small bird, couple thou for the big mounts. It's a booming business."

"Her life's work is to help people hang corpses on their walls?"

"It's an elaborate art form," Fran said, animated. "These ain't no rags jammed inside a skin. Anatomically correct eyes, teeth, antlers. Wouldn't believe what she can do with a bullet-riddled carca.s.s. Brings the dead to life. Gives you chills."

Fran rotated her neck, dropping her head to her left shoulder, back to center and to her right shoulder. I'd seen more range of motion m ceramic dolls, and with each micro-movement, she stifled a cry.

"Did looking at all those dead heads give you a sore neck?"

"Tess slept on my shoulder all night, and I couldn't move that side of my body this morning. Had to grab my hair to pick up my head, and there ain't much to clutch. Took a hot shower and been ma.s.saging the muscle on the top of my shoulder."

"Maybe you should see a chiropractor."

"I don't need a cracking. Get plenty of those in s...o...b..arding season. This pinch'll work itself out."

"Dating's painful," I said with mock sympathy.

"Ain't that true! Young Tess pressed another nerve when she made a crack about love at the break of dawn. Too early, I told her, and I didn't mean in the day. She said true love has no timetable. I'm her first, case you can't tell."

"Relations.h.i.+p with a woman?"

"Relations.h.i.+p, period, but she's done her share of reading. Must have memorized Lesbian s.e.x. Quick learner, too. Caught on to the Green tricks, the ones never mentioned in the books."

I shook my head in wonderment. "You have your own methods?"

"Gems. Ought to publish 'em. Nah, take the fun out of it. Tough, really."

"Writing about s.e.x?"

"Being someone's first. It's not that appealing. Last, now that makes you a winner."

"You want to be the last?" I said with a note of concern. "You feel this strongly about Tess?"

"Might. Tell you what, I sure am attracted to the attraction." Aren't you worried about moving too fast? About getting her hopes up. or yours?"

No cares whatsoever," Fran said smugly. "What could go wrong?"

That evening, at the opposite end of the spectrum from Fran Green, round myself involved in the less sensual aspects of love.

Over the course of our relations.h.i.+p, Destiny and I had talked about drawing up wills, adding my name to the deed on the house and merging Ur finances, but we hadn't done any of these.

We kept promising that we'd get around to the details tomorrow.

Tomorrow, the day after today that never came.

I'd decided earlier in the day that there would be no more tomorrows, that I had to talk to Destiny today.

"We need wills," I said as she walked into the bedroom.

She crossed the room to kiss me. "It's a depressing thought, but you're right. Every time I offer the free legal seminar for lesbians, I feel guilty that we haven't done any of the things recommended."

"Sandy and Jan just did everything," I said encouragingly.

"They hated it. They fought for weeks." Destiny sat on the edge of the bed. "We'll have to decide rights of survivors.h.i.+p. What if we die separately? What if we die together? What if the people we designate as heirs die before we do? Do we have to think about all that right now? You know my parents would give you everything, if anything happened to me."

"I'd feel better if we did it legally," I said, grabbing her hands. "Wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"I want my name on the house, too."

She smiled widely. "Done."

"And we need to merge our finances. Completely."

"Finally!" she practically shouted. "I've been begging you to share."

"One checking account."

"Yippee. You'll do the finances? Pay the bills, balance the checkbook, tell me how much money I can take out of the ATM?"

"Yes," I drawled, shooting her a chastising look, because she knew I'd been doing those tasks for her for more than two years.

"Good," she said resolutely. "I'll call Kate, the lawyer we use at the Center."

"Thanks."

Destiny kissed my cheek and stood. "Isn't it a little late to be talking about this?"

"In our third year?"

She glanced at the bedside clock. "At midnight."

"When else can we do it," I said, keeping my tone light, "if this is when you get home?"

Destiny sighed. "These hours won't last forever."