Free Better Homes and Hauntings by Molly Harper Page A

it.”
    “Well, at least they’re solving their own problems now,” Deacon said. “They’re a little loud about it, but it’s still progress.”
    Nina had her hand over her mouth to suppress the laughing fit the whole scene had caused. Deacon tugged at her wrist gently, pulling her fingers away from her lips, but before Nina could comment, Jake’s head snapped up, a curious expression on his face. “Did you hear something?”
    “The sound of the waves?” Nina suggested, glancing toward the house.
    “The wind?” Deacon added.
    Jake shook his head. “No, for a second there, I thought I heard someone calling my name.”
    Cindy turned toward the house. “Maybe someone on the construction crew?”
    “No, it was a woman’s voice.”
    “Isn’t this how Clue starts out?” Nina asked. “And House on Haunted Hill ? And The Haunting ?”
    Deacon said, “I think The Haunting was more about sleep-deprivation psychosis.”
    “Well, that’s comforting,” Cindy muttered.
    Nina stared at Deacon, eyebrows raised. “ The Haunting ? Really?
    “I like movies!” he said, his tone more than a little defensive. “And I heard that crack about a tiny posable Liam Neeson the other day. You stay away from my action figures.”
    Nina gave a grin that could be construed as sassy—saucy, even. “I make no promises.”
    Jake stared at a small figure circling the corner of the house, his eyes wide. “Uh, Whit?”
    Deacon’s normally composed visage slipped into a more natural irritated expression as he followed Jake’s line of sight.
    The group turned in unison as a penny-bright voice called over the expanse of lawn. “Yoo-hoo! Jake! Deacon! Didn’t you hear me calling?”
    A tall, willowy woman in enormous tortoiseshell sunglasses and a hair-camouflaging, rainbow-streaked scarf was standing at the edge of the gardens. She made a surprising sprint over the grass, apparently unfazed by skintight jeans and worn red cowboy boots. Nina had never before thought of the word scampering to describe the movements of a human being, but there was no other word for the lithe, hyper steps that propelled her across the grass. She was hopping up and down despite her multitude of bags, waving her arms and grinning like a mad jackrabbit as she ran.
    “Deacon!” she shouted. “I’m here!”
    Deacon ground his teeth and glared at Jake, who threw up his hands in a not me posture. “Hey, I told her not to come.”
    Nina and Cindy perched on the lip of the fountain to watch this new development play out. Who on God’s green earth was this person, and why did Deacon have that pinched look, as if he’d just swallowed licorice jelly beans?
    “Maybe she’s an illegitimate fortune-seeking half sister?” Nina suggested.
    “Crazy-ex-girlfriend-slash-disgraced-Victoria’s-Secretunderwear-model?” Cindy countered quietly.
    Nina tried again. “Or maybe a perfectly nice but very eager Mary Kay sales rep.”
    “Hi!” The mystery woman dropped her bags—everything from an old army duffel to a classic Louis Vuitton suitcase—to the ground with a thump . “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
    Deacon scowled. Nina and Cindy exchanged uncomfortable glances. Should they all suddenly find something else to do so their employer could tactfully eject the newcomer from the island? Nina moved closer to Deacon, feeling the urge to soothe his clearly jangled nerves.
    “Trust me, Flower Power, don’t get in the middle of it,” Jake muttered, pulling her closer to Cindy. Engrossed by the unfolding scene, Cindy didn’t think to step away from him.
    “How did you get here, Dotty? I thought I bribed every boat captain between here and New York not to give you a rental or a ride out to the island.”
    “Deacon Francis Whitney!” the woman, who seemed to be both Dotty by name and dotty by nature, shot back. “You always say that! And what sort of greeting is this for your favorite cousin!”
    Cindy snickered, murmuring Deacon’s middle name under her