How could they not see her? Hear her? She looked so damned real. So ... alive.
He was pretty sure he could touch her again if he tried. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I’m, er, sorry,” he said to the decorator and his aunt, though he kept his gaze on Mary Anna. “I was thinking about something else.”
“So you do want to continue?” Ms. Buchanan looked torn between walking out in a huff and staying to collect her sizable fee.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He stabbed a finger at the table, trying to look interested. “How about that paper there? The one with the birds and vines? And maybe we could use some red with it? I, uh, I like red.”
Mary Anna smiled in satisfaction.
Ms. Buchanan pursed her thin mouth. “That is a possibility, I suppose.”
“No yellow,” Mary Anna said.
“No yellow,” Dean repeated obediently.
“No yellow,” Ms. Buchanan agreed with a sigh.
Mary Anna looked quite pleased with herself.
“As for the front sitting room,” Ms. Buchanan began, clearly trying to salvage her expert control of the meeting. “I was thinking perhaps hunter-green walls with bright white trim and paisley rugs. We’ll have to get rid of that dark wood paneling and heavy crown molding, of course.”
Mary Anna gasped. “Over my dead...er...well, you know. Don’t let her touch my father’s walls or molding, Dean. My mother said he loved that wood!”
“We’re not tearing out the paneling,” Dean said in resignation. “Or the crown molding.”
Ms. Buchanan looked seriously irked at having her judgment questioned so often. “And just what is your preference, Mr. Gates?” she asked, her tone chilly enough to frost grapes.
Dean looked ironically at Mary Anna. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
Mary Anna smiled. “Do you think this will take much longer? I’d like to speak to you, in private.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Must it be now?”
“No, Dean, of course we don’t have to make any final decisions now,” Mae said before Mary Anna could answer. “But we should decide soon so Ms. Buchanan can place the order.”
“I, uh, sorry, Aunt Mae, what did you say?”
“You really are out of it,” she scolded, peering at him through her glittery red glasses. “Maybe we should call it a day and let you get some rest. I think you’ve given Ms. Buchanan a clearer idea of your taste now. Perhaps next time we meet, shell have some new drawings and samples to show us.”
“Why do you need her, anyway?” Mary Anna asked curiously. “Anyone can choose paint and wallpaper. It’s not really all that difficult. And if you’re trying to put everything back the way it was, I can tell you exactly what it looked like when my mother last decorated it.”
Dean attempted to ignore the helpful ghost as he ushered Ms. Buchanan out of the inn with more haste than grace.
“Dean, whatever is the matter with you?” his aunt asked in exasperation, her hands on her ample hips. “You were quite rude to Ms. Buchanan. She may never come back now.”
“I didn’t like her, anyway,” Mary Anna piped in. “She seemed awfully high in the instep to me. Who does she think she is, coming in here and trying to vandalize my inn?”
Dean glared at her. “Might I remind you that it’s my inn?”
Mae’s chin quivered. “I’m well aware of that, Dean. I was only trying to...”
Now he really felt like a heel. He placed an arm around his aunt’s plump shoulders and gave the ghost a look of reproof.
“Aunt Mae, I’m sorry,” he said. “Please don’t be upset. I’m afraid I’m not myself
today. I got very little sleep last night and it’s made me surly.”