"Ms. Black, your presence was, to put it mildly, unexpected. What would you have me do, explain the whole sorry business to them? 'Ladies, this here is a ghost buster we've hired because my sister is going crazy and we're so afraid for her mental health we'll do any damned thing'? But no, I didn't mind them assuming that's what you're here for, and no, it probably won't hurt the price." He didn't seem at all disconcerted by Cree's scorn.
"What about Lila?"
"Oh, what about Lila?" Ronald's good mood vanished. He turned away, frustrated, striding into the front parlor and then wheeling back to face Cree. "First the woman takes it into her head that she's perishing to live in the old family home – last kid leaves the nest, and suddenly she comes up with the notion that there's going to be some great Southern dynasty reborn here? Hell, she'll be lucky if her kids'll even come visit after college. You see what she's doing? It's not just the empty nest thing, she's got some kind of a… a hole in her life, and decides living in this place is going to fill it. She's suddenly feeling her age, feeling alone, and so she's clinging to some kind of a dream or… fantasy that isn't real, never was. Just how seriously am I supposed to take it? And Jack! Well, we all know^ what Jack – "
"Doesn't she deserve a chance to see if that's what she really wants? Don't dreams deserve a chance to become real?"
Ronald stopped his tirade to drop his chin on his chest as if martyred by Cree's idealism. But when he raised his face, his huff had vanished and his expression was appreciative. "You sure get in deep, quick, don't you? We've only been talking five minutes and look how very philosophical we're getting!" He clicked his tongue, looking at her admiringly, then sobered again. "No, Ms. Black, I am not immune to the idea that dreams deserve a chance. But let's look at what's really happened. Just as my dear sister is giving her dream that chance, all of a sudden she comes up with this big reason not to, doesn't she? See, what you don't know is, there's some history here. We've been having to deal with Lila's fits and starts, grand plans and self-sabotage – have I got the psychobabble right? – since she was fifteen! This time it's ghosts, terrors, I don't know what all, none of you'll tell me. And next time it'll be something else. Who knows where this thing'll end up? You see what shape Lila's in. Can you guarantee you're going to 'cure' her? That you're going to exorcize the… evil spirits she thinks this old place is stuffed with? That when the all dust settles, and you've come and gone, she's still going to want to move in here? You can guarantee that?"
"No."
"Fine. So what's the harm of having backup plans? You know, these old places cost money even when they're sitting empty. You got half a million dollars in antiques gathering dust and getting eaten by moths and mice. You got an acre of roof to keep from leaking. You're paying for security service, pest control, insurance, taxes, yard work, you name it, and all for what? To have something to worry about! Why not see it preserved for posterity, just like little ol' Miz Crawfish said?"
"How much does Lila know about your 'backup plans'?"
Ronald turned away to stride into the front parlor. "Are we done here? You want to help me pull these? Sunlight – they say it'll wreck up these rugs and whatnot." He unhooked the ties and tugged the front drapes together. The room dimmed, taking on one small shade of its former melancholy.
Ronald went to the next window but stopped before yanking the drapes there. Instead he turned back to Cree. "There's another thing. You're a psychologist – tell me how healthy it would be, living where you're afraid to sit down because you might wear out the genuine Louis Quinze upholstery? She going to keep the drapes drawn all the time? Put plastic runners over the rugs, or just never walk on 'em? You gonna tell me that's any way to live?"
"I hear you lost a bundle in the stock market last year. That liquid assets would be nice for you just now."
That stopped him cold, and for a moment anger flared in his eyes. But he got it under control quickly, shaking his head ruefully. "Momma. My dear, loving mother. Why's she telling you this stuff? What on God's green earth does it have to do with what we got you down here for? You want to see my stock portfolio, too? My tax forms?"
Cree shrugged, letting him hang for a moment.
Ron waited, too, and then made a dismissive gesture. He pulled the next drapes shut, bringing back yet another shade of gloom. He walked past Cree, then turned again with an expression she had never seen on his face: a discomfort, an urgency, as if something really did, after all, matter to him. His irritation was only the surface of a deeper disturbance, she sensed, a frustration and confusion. She felt a pang of sympathy for him.
"See, there're things here you don't understand. You've got me pegged now, the bad brother who wants to sell the house out from under his poor sister. Well, believe whatever you care to. But sometimes people don't know what they really want or what they really need. Lila'd be a lot better off leaving the past lie. Getting a new life, not trying to reclaim her old one."
"Why's that?"
"You are one irritating female, you know that? You won't let go of a goddamned thing! I can't even – "
Cree put a hand on his arm, wanting to defuse the antagonism between them. "Ron, you may well be right about what's good for Lila. But to really start a new life you have to make some kind of peace with the old, don't you? If there's anything in particular you think she should 'leave lie,' I'd like to know about it. So I can help her put it behind her."
Ronald brushed away her hand and strode past her to the entrance hall.
Cree followed. "You said Lila had a hole in her life. What's missing?"
"I'm not a headshrinker. You tell me." He opened the front door and fished in his pocket. He pulled out a key ring, pointed it at the Jaguar parked sloppily at the curb, and thumbed the door lock button. The car's lights flashed.
"You said she's been this way since she was fifteen – these fits and starts. Are you saying she was different before then? Did something happen to change her?"
Ron just headed out onto the front gallery without looking back.
Cree felt close to something, but she had no idea what it might be. Suddenly she was desperate to keep him there, to know what he might tell her. "You were very close to her once, weren't you? You loved your sister very much. What changed that?"
That hooked him. Halfway across the gallery, he turned. "'Course I did. And what makes you think anything changed? Where the hell do you get off even asking a question like that?"
"Then why do you hide your best feelings? Why don't you want people to know who you are?"
His eyes rolled in angry disdain, and he turned away again. "Why don't you go to hell, Ms. Black."
So many questions to ask. "Were you also close to Josephine Dupree? As close as Lila was?"
He wheeled on her one more time, his suspicion hardened into dislike now. "Now what the hell's this about? What've you got cooking now?"
His hostility hurt her, as did the vulnerability that hid just behind it. All she could think of was wanting to end the dissonance between them. Ron, truly, I'm not trying to oppose you. I really have no wish to be your enemy, I'm just – "
He shook his head, done with her, and headed on down the steps. "I think it's a little late to worry about that," he tossed over his shoulder.
20
Cree drove toward the Times-Picayune offices, unsettled by the incidents at Beauforte House. A lot to think about but no time. Ronald: so much hidden there, so much to understand. He was obviously motivated to sell the house and self-interested enough to do so in spite of his sister's desires. Could he be a hoaxer, faking a haunting to scare Lila away? The Gaslight scenario – where someone faked supernatural phenomena with the goal of upsetting someone else, making them appear "crazy" – was a possibility any serious paranormal researcher had to consider. But Cree had already encountered Lila's haunt herself, twice, and the damned thing was for certain no living human. No, Ronald was weak and narcissistic and many things she disliked, but he was not a hoaxer so much as an opportunist. And there was something touching about him, something wounded and compelling, perhaps even a grain of real nobility buried beneath the bullshit. The dynamic of hostility between them was so painful and so unnecessary.