Dying For You Read Free Page A

them to Karl so he could move her car out of the way of the van, and whoknew where he’d put them? Karl was an engineer, so you’d think he was reliable, but the fact was, he was infamous for losing his checkbook, his keys, his contact lens case. What had she been thinking, letting him take her keys?
    She’d looked everywhere. Everywhere. If she didn’t find them soon, she was calling Karl, and never mind how late it was. He was probably up, anyway, playing another marathon session of War Craft.
    She started going through the kitchen drawers again, which was stupid because she
knew
they weren’t there. Then, oddly, she heard a familiar jingle. She turned…and froze in place as her keys bumped down the back stairs and slid across the floor, stopping two inches from her left big toe.
    She was tired.
    She was tired, and it had been a long day—a day not over yet—and she was very, very tired. And, apparently, the proud new owner of a haunted house.
    “No I’m not,” she said aloud. “I’m just tired. They were probably there all the time and I-I made a little mind movie to explain how they got there.”
    The keys, resting beside her foot, suddenly raised themselves up two inches and shook, jangling merrily.
    She ran out the back door, but not before she bent and scooped them up.
    “Ken! Ken, let me in!” She hammered on the door until her fist went numb. “Ken, I’ve got to come in!”
    He opened the door and blinked at her, swaying slightly.She could smell the beer before he even opened his mouth. “Say, Cathy, hey-hey. Whatchoo doing here?”
    She bulled past him and stood in his kitchen, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. “I—something weird happened and—I’m sorry to bother you so late. It’s just I don’t know anybody in the neighborhood except you and I-I didn’t know what to do.”
    “Thass okay.” He was shirtless, and pantsless, splendidly arrayed in navy blue boxers. No tool belt this time. His hairy legs, she wasn’t too rattled to note, were long, lean, and smoothly muscled. “M’glad you came over.” He lurched toward her and clumsily pawed for her breasts, but due to his extreme inebriation, and her extreme shortness, he groped her shoulders instead. “Less go upstairs? Hmmm?”
    “On second thought,” she said, removing his hand, “I will take my chances with the ghost. Good night.” She managed to evade his drunken gropings and soon found herself back in her house. Her haunted house.
    “Okay,” she said out loud. “Let’s think about this.” Going to Ken had been a stupid mistake—a stupid, hysterical, childish mistake. For God’s sake. She was a grown woman and what had she done? Run away like a coward and shaken like a puppy in a stranger’s kitchen, a stranger she was beginning to really dislike. Because her keys had moved by themselves. Stupid, stupid!
    “It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing,” she continued aloud. “The keys showed up, right?”
    A definitive rap, as if unseen knuckles had knocked on the ceiling.
    “Okay,” she said again, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Are you one of my friends playing a joke? I promise I won’t get mad.”
    Two raps.
    “This was your house?”
    One rap.
    “Well, it’s…it’s my house now,” she said with a firmness she most definitely did not feel. “I mean to say, I will be living here from now on. I-I hope that’s all right.”
    One rap.
    “Good. My name is Cathy. If one rap equals A, and two raps equal B, and three equals C, and so forth, what is your name?”
    J-A-C-K.
    “Well, it’s…it’s nice to meet you,” she said, feeling foolish. Part of her could hardly believe this was happening. It
had
to be a joke. Because otherwise, her beloved pink Victorian was haunted, and did she really want to share living space with the dead?
    No. She did not.
    “I’m…I’m going out now. To get groceries. Will you be here when I get back?”
    Nothing.
    “Hello?”
    Nothing.
    Feeling both disappointed