Ready & Willing Read Free Page B

case,” Audrey said sarcastically, “he’s sure to listen to every word I say. Then call the guys in the white jackets.”
    Silas Summerfield’s expression turned confused. “What men in white jackets?”
    “It’s a figure of speech,” Audrey told him.
    “Translation?”
    “They’d haul me off to the loony bin.” Then, in case that particular phraseology hadn’t been around in the captain’s time, she clarified, “An insane asylum. Madhouse. Bedlam. The place where they put people who see and hear things that aren’t really there.”
    He smiled at that. “Ah. Then you shall have to phrase your admonition to my grandson about the loss of his soul in a way that sounds logical and credible.”
    “Oh, is that all?” Audrey said. “No problem.”
    “Do whatever you have to do, Mrs. Magill,” the captain told her. “Because tomorrow, Nathaniel will enter into a business liaison with a very dangerous man. A criminal. One who surrendered his own soul quite willingly long ago. And the product of this enterprise will completely sever the tenuous hold the boy has left on his soul. You must speak to him, Mrs. Magill, and you must do it tomorrow. Otherwise, the boy will be lost. Forever.”

Two
    AUDREY AWOKE TO FIND SUNSHINE STREAMING THROUGH the French doors in her bedroom and feeling more exhausted than she’d been before going to bed. It was as if she’d spent the hours between one and six, when she should have been sleeping soundly, partying instead. She even felt a little hungover, even though she hadn’t imbibed anything before bed except Chunky Monkey ice cream.
    Weird.
    And she’d had weird dreams, too, she recalled, especially the one with Captain Summerfield. It had been so vivid at the time, but now she could only remember snippets of it. She hated dreams like that, the ones that felt so real, it was tough to shake them off in the morning. But her house now appeared to be just the way she’d left it, not the masculine domain of a dead riverboat captain. She looked over at the French doors leading to the widow’s walk and noted how the gold voile panels she’d hung there bloomed inward from the morning breeze. Funny but she thought for sure she’d closed those doors the night before. Even though the April nights had been balmy and pleasant, she wasn’t the type to leave anything in her house opened or unlocked after dark.
    The April mornings were surprisingly pleasant, too, she thought further as she rose from bed, so why did she have goose bumps severe enough to make her rub her arms to warm them? After closing and latching the doors, she snagged a hoodie from one of the still-unpacked boxes and thrust her arms into it as she headed downstairs. She tossed a breathless “Good morning, Captain,” to Silas Summerfield as she passed his portrait in the landing, then—
    Then spun around, because Silas Summerfield’s portrait was no longer in the landing. In its place was the Art Deco print she’d taken down in order to hang it there.
    Okay, now that really was weird. She distinctly remembered hanging the painting right there the day before, and she recalled saying good night to the captain as she made her way up to bed.
    Right? Wasn’t that what she’d done?
    She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, trying to remember. Though, granted, that was a risky business before she’d had her coffee . . .
    Maybe she’d hung the portrait in the second-floor landing, she told herself. She had been working awfully hard this week, and she’d been exhausted yesterday. Maybe she’d confused the second-floor landing with the third floor. Hey, it could happen. The house was in such a state of disarray that it was hard to tell one room from another. But when she rounded the stairs onto the second floor landing, there was no sign of Captain Summerfield there, either. Feeling more muddle-headed than ever, Audrey continued down the stairs to the living room. The morning sun streamed through the east-facing