Free Here I Stay by KATHY

Thank you again, Miss Torgesen."
    The single harmless word hit Andrea like a blow in the diaphragm. Coincidence, she told herself. Pure coincidence. Angels and spirit forms and angelic presences—the conventional jargon of the trade.
    Summoning a smile, she went to speed the parting guests.
    When the van pulled away Andrea returned to the kitchen and dropped limply into a chair. Kevin, who had helped the men load the van, followed her. Grinning, he displayed his spoils.
    "Half a buck. I knew that guy Johnson was a big spender."
    "You should have returned it, with a lordly sneer," Andrea said. "Thanks, Kevin. I owe you."
    "No, you don't. I'm collecting material for my book."
    "Where's Jimmie?" She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes.
    "Out back." Kevin gestured.
    "Not in that old graveyard? Go tell him to come in. We ought to have supper. Though right now I'm too tired to care."
    "We're going for pizza," Kevin said. "No cooking for you tonight, lady."
    "Could you get one for me?" Greenspan's head appeared around the door. "Everything on it except anchovy. I hate anchovies."
    "Me, too," Kevin exclaimed. "I hate anchovies. How about olives? Right. Great. I'll go get Jim."
    Greenspan hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "Come in," Andrea said, reaching for her shoes.
    "Not unless you promise to leave your shoes off and slump to your heart's content. Can I get you anything? Tea, beer, milk, champagne?"
    "But you're my guest, Mr. Greenspan. I should be waiting on you."
    "Make it Martin—please."
    He had a very attractive smile. The austerity of lips almost too narrowly cut was warmed by a crooked tooth and overshadowed by a strong Roman nose as impressive as George Washington's.
    "I didn't realize you wore glasses," she said, looking at the pair he had pushed up onto his balding head.
    "Just for reading. The curse of middle age."
    "Are you hungry? I expected you would have dinner at Reba's."
    "I was afraid I'd run into the Moral Majority."
    "But that's terrible. I can't have my guests inconvenienced because of other guests."
    "For the love of heaven, woman, stop thinking you're responsible for the entire universe," Martin said forcibly. "It won't hurt me to skip a meal. I'm putting on too much weight anyhow."
    Andrea wished he would go away. She sensed that he had something in mind beyond idle conversation, but it was not until the boys had come and gone, heading for the pizza parlor in nearby Frederick, that he got to the point.
    "This is probably a rotten time to bring it up, when the very thought of guests makes you gag, but I've got a proposition to put to you. You can always turn it down."
    "What did you have in mind?" Andrea asked warily.
    "Nothing like that." He smiled.
    "I didn't mean—"
    "No, of course you didn't." He began folding and unfolding the stems of his glasses. "For a professional writer, I am less than glib, aren't I? It's simple enough. My apartment in D.C. is going condo. I've always hated the place anyhow—boring, jerry-built little trap...So I wondered—you see, I've got a book due; I'm already behind schedule, and my publisher swears he'll boil me in oil if it isn't finished by March first..."
    "You don't mean you want to stay here!"
    "What's so surprising about that?"
    "Why—I don't know. It's just that—I don't know."
    Martin continued, more fluently. "This part of the country has always appealed to me. As you can see by my girth, I enjoy regular meals; Peace and Plenty is one of my old hangouts. I hate motels. Your house has a certain atmosphere—"
    "What do you mean by that?" Andrea sat up.
    He gave her a startled look. " Quiet, gracious surroundings, the charm of an old house... What did you think I meant?"
    "You haven't seen anything—felt anything?"
    "Are you trying to tell me, my dear Miss Torgesen, that the house is haunted?"
    They stared at one another in mutual consternation. Andrea was already regretting her impulsive question. If she weren't so tired, and if that stupid old woman