wasn’t any unfinished business. What if some poor ghost hasn’t a clue why he’s here?
Elinor continued, “But, if I were locked in the Tower and heard chains rattling, say from the Armory, I’d never go and investigate. I’ve watched every cheap horror film made and learned one absolute rule. If you hear a creepy sound, never, ever investigate. Downstairs or upstairs, it’s always the same. The downstairs invariably leads to the crypts. The upstairs is worse. It always overflows with secret chambers and usually headless apparitions.”
He rolled his eyes at her take on typical ghost behavior. In his six hundred years, he’d yet to meet one who enjoyed hanging around crypts. As to spirits walking around headless, well, of course, a few did, but not all the time. Out of boredom, some of the spirits frightened mortals that way as a joke. He’d considered the same once or twice, when certain people aggravated him. Mortals never seemed to find it funny.
Basil moved a bit closer to Elinor.
She rubbed her arms several times and checked the counter around her. She stepped down and pivoted in a slow circle. “Do you see a bug on me?”
“No, why?” Lucy asked.
“I had this ticklish feeling, like something was on me.”
Guy brought his open palm close to Lucy’s neck and grinned at Basil.
“Ugh.” Lucy brushed at the back of her neck with her hands. “Now, you’ve got me feeling the creepy-crawlies.”
Guy moved his hand away.
Lucy stopped swiping at her neck. “Maybe your grandma is haunting you, invisibly tickling you,” she whispered in a spooky voice along with fey finger movements.
“Don’t be an idiot. My gran isn’t haunting me. Although, I still walk into a room sometimes and expect to hear her talking to herself.” Elinor looked thoughtful for a moment and smiled. “She’d be jabbering away and in quite colorful language too. At times her chatter was so animated it sounded like one side of an actual conversation.”
Elinor leaned against the sink. “Back to your dishy ghost, I hate to break it to you Luce, but I seriously doubt Galahad’s ghost is anywhere nearby. I doubt many look like Sean Connery either. If only.”
Lucy looked over the kitchen. “This is such a big place. I know you loved Theresa. But because she left you the house doesn’t mean you have to keep it. Have you considered selling?”
“No.” Elinor gazed out the kitchen window. “I’ll never sell. I love this house. I love my view of Ashenwyck Castle, or what’s left of it anyway. When I was little, I fantasized I lived in a castle where knights walked, and jousted, and rode huge destriers.” She turned back to Lucy. “I want to raise my children here. I want to marry a man who loves the area as much as I do. I want my little girl to look out at the castle and dream of gallant knights too, just like I did.”
Lucy gave an unladylike snort of derision. “You’re such a die-hard romantic.”
“So? There are worse things to be, and when did you become such a pessimist about love?”
“When I started dating. I think it’s incurable,” Lucy said, drawing a heart pattern on the table with her finger.
Elinor nodded. “Dating does have that effect. I give men the chocolate cake test. I ask myself, would I rather be at home in my robe with chocolate cake and the telly, or making small talk with this guy? The cake wins ninety percent of the time.”
“I’m convinced dating is the Black Plague of the twentieth century. If you’re done, can we go?” Lucy stood. “All this talk about romance or more specifically lack thereof is making me hungry. I’m ready for lunch.”
Elinor grabbed her purse. “Sounds good to me. I’m famished. Since the pub doesn’t carry Ghost Food Cake, for dessert I’m ordering Angel Food Cake with strawberries.”
“He didn’t look angelic. That was part of the attraction. He was devilishly handsome,” Lucy said.
“Of course, silly me. Who wants a sweet-faced