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  Kiss Me Hello

  When Sara Blakemore inherits a haunted mansion on the northern California coast, a ghost forces her to confront problems in her marriage she’s long tried to ignore. She must reconsider what she wants and what she deserves. Sara fights to save her marriage—and discovers the real threat may be to her life.

  There was a mystical power in the bell...

  Sara laughed at herself. A week ago, the only mystical powers in her life were things she read in books. Now she was haunted by a real ghost, a handsome and interesting one at that. A man who was—or had been—thoughtful and kind. This was not good. Every minute she spent thinking about Joss Montague and his finer qualities was time she wasn’t thinking about her husband. Her living, breathing husband.

  She took the bell to the barn and hid it at the bottom of the steamer trunk under the fine clothes and pushed the trunk against the wall. As she picked up the saddle to replace it on top of the trunk, she thought heard a sound from overhead, like a snap, but there was nothing in the rafters but a few extra bundles of vine stakes.

  She hoisted the saddle on top of the trunk and turned to go. Another noise came from overhead, a creepy sound of metal sliding against metal. She looked up to see a several loose steel stakes shooting out of the rafters—and flying straight toward her...

  Kiss Me Hello

  Copyright © 2013 L.K. Rigel

  Published by Beastie Press

  Cover design by eyemaidthis

  Print cover design by TERyvisions

  Cover background stock by wyldraven

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  - 1 - He Pushed Her

  - 2 - Wake Up

  - 3 - Where Are We Going?

  - 4 - A One-Off

  - 5 - Bonnie

  - 6 - Dreaming

  - 7 - Coffee Spot

  - 8 - Skeleton Key

  - 9 - The Journal

  - 10 - Dinner, Dolls, & Dollars

  - 11 - Lullaby

  - 12 - Murder Weapon

  - 13 - Snowdrops In May

  - 14 - Ghost Screamer

  - 15 - Issues Oriented

  - 16 - Whispering

  - 17 - The Opposite of Dying

  - 18 - The Things We Think We Have

  - 19 - This Old House

  - 20 - Corazon

  - 21 - Memorial

  - 22 - We Can Have It All

  - 23 - Intensive Care

  - 24 - Some Rest In Peace

  - 25 - Residual Effects

  - 26 - Song of Songs

  About...

  Kiss Me Hello

  L.K. Rigel

  BEASTIE PRESS, U.S.A

  Prologue

  From the Journal of Joss Montague

  Lahaina, island of Maui, Territory of Hawaii December 6, 1941

  LAST NIGHT I WON MY soul in a game of chance.

  At least that’s what the Chinese fellow tried to tell me. He offered up a broken brass bell as collateral when I raised the bet on a pair of jacks. The pot had swelled to almost three hundred dollars, more than enough to haul my trunk down to the port and go home to Olivia.

  It didn’t hurt that the two boys had three pretty ladies on their arms.

  The Chinese was the only one left in the game. The others—a pineapple plantation overseer and two naval officers over from Pearl Harbor—had folded.

  The pot was mine; all I had to do was refuse the bell. No one would think me a bounder. It was broken, even if it was a pretty thing. But I allowed the bet, not because I’m such a great guy, and not because the Chinese was raving on with a sad story about the rape of Nanking, but because the bell was etched with snowdrops and it reminded me of Turtledove Hill.

  I promised what gods there be that if I won the pot I’d head home the next day. It was time to face Olivia.

  The Chinese had three aces, and he laid them out in gleeful triumph. The poor sucker turned white as a ghost when I turned my three ladies over on the two boys.

  “That bell save your soul,” he said, so woeful I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  “I can always use a life insurance policy,” I told him as I raked in the pot. “Even if it’s just Oriental superstition.”

  “Not save your life. You fool. That bell save your soul one day. You mark my word now.”

  I’ve packed the bell at the bottom of my steamer trunk. Whether or not it saves my soul remains to be seen, but it will make for an interesting story in years to come.

  - 1 -

  He Pushed Her

  “MR. ROCHESTER PUSHED BERTHA Mason, but it wasn’t murder.” The ghostly voice came from Sara Blakemore’s favorite student Mona in the back of the room. “It was temporary insanity.”

  Sara laughed with the rest of the class. She was getting a kick out of the lively debate: The Death of Bertha Mason, Accident—or Murder?

  Murder. Blood. Guts. Subjects sure to intrigue youthful passions while—Sara hoped—something of Jane Eyre’s devastating social commentary seeped through. That was her theory, anyway, and she was sticking to it.

  “It’s stupid.” David rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t the Prometheus guy just divorce the crazy lady in the attic?”

  The Prometheus guy.

  He meant Michael Fassbender, the actor who played Mr. Rochester in the 2011 movie version and who was also in the movie Prometheus.

  “The fabulous Mr. Fassbender notwithstanding,” Sara said, “no screenplay out there is entirely faithful to the novel’s narrative structure.” She cast a dubious eye over the class. “If you rely on a DVD to study for the final, I promise you tears when you get back your grade.”

  “But it was stupid, Ms. Blakemore,” David said. “Why didn’t he just divorce her?”

  “He had morals,” Mona said. “In those days people believed in the sanctity of marriage.”

  Poor Mona. All year she’d been the object of a brutal custody fight in her parents’ divorce.

  There’s a special hell for those who divorce. Dad’s voice popped into Sara’s brain uninvited.

  “But they tricked Rochester into marrying her!” David said.

  “Show of hands.” Sara glanced at the clock. She didn’t want to waste precious minutes on how Rochester was tricked into his marriage. “Who thinks he pushed Bertha off the roof during the fire?”

  Hands shot up from all the boys plus Mona, all stabbing the air with certainty. In the same instant, a chill crawled over the back of Sara’s neck. She felt dizzy and leaned against her desk for support.

  “No?” She raised an eyebrow at the doubting girls, trying to focus on he discussion. “He had motive, and here was his chance. In those days, until death us do part was more than morality—it was the law. Divorce was possible, but so expensive only the very rich could afford it.”

  Her stomach turned with a twinge of nausea, and for only a second she saw Mr. Rochester—her Mr. Rochester—standing in the corner at the back of the room.

  “Rochester was rich,” David said. “He could afford it.”

  “But Bertha was insane.” Sara blinked, and the vision was gone. “And there’s the rub. An insane person couldn’t be divorced. She didn’t have mental capacity to understand the
proceedings so Rochester was stuck with her. The fire at Thornfield Hall offered the perfect opportunity to be rid of the wretch who ruined his life.”

  “But Mr. Rochester is the hero,” David said.

  “He was going to save her, but something inside him clicked,” Mona said. “Bertha tried to kill him before. She’d try again. No one would know. He pushed her.”

  “That’s more believable than the other thing,” David said. “No way Jane Eyre could imagine Mr. Rochester calling her name at the exact moment he’s actually calling her name hundreds of miles away.”

  Sara looked at the corner, but there was nothing there. Yet he’d looked so real—and distressed.

  “Maybe Jane Eyre didn’t imagine those cries,” she said. “Maybe she actually heard them. Her soul connection to Mr. Rochester and to Thornfield Hall is one of the great stories in fiction.”

  Sara understood Jane completely. She felt spiritually connected to a big old gothic house herself. She longed to see Turtledove Hill again, her great aunt’s mansion on the northern California coast. She’d been there once, when she was fourteen, the same age as her students. Only once, but the place had captured her imagination.

  Until now she’d forgotten the other thing—or repressed it. She’d caught a glimpse of Aunt Amelia’s lover in the kitchen. He’d reminded fourteen-year-old Sara of the hero in Jane Eyre, the book she’d just been reading. He was the same man twenty-eight-year-old Sara had just imagined was standing in the corner of her freshman English classroom.

  The so-called bell blasted, as caustic as a penalty buzzer on a game show, and the kids leapt up from the desks with their books and backpacks. “Great discussion today,” Sara said. “I look forward to reading your essays.”

  Across the hall another teacher leaned against her door, a dazed look on her face. Her kids poured out of her room into the hall, and she moved mechanically with the flow of students.

  Sara caught up with her. “Marie, what is it?”

  “Did you check your mail yesterday?” Marie said.

  “Dammit,” Sara said under her breath. She’d forgotten yesterday was the 15th.

  In the teachers’ room, Marie sank into a chair. “I got my final notice.”

  This year everyone in the district with less than five years’ seniority had received Reduction in Forces notices. RIFing season, they called it. Yesterday was the deadline for final layoff letters. Sara poured two cups of coffee and gave one to Marie.

  “I knew you’d escape.” Marie said. “They won’t RIF fourth-years.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Sara said. “I forgot to check the mail.”

  With every year of added seniority, she hoped to escape the RIF. But as the lower rungs were chopped off, every year the ax reached higher up the ladder.

  Marie stirred cream into her coffee. “I knew the cuts would be brutal, but I hoped…”

  Charlotte and Frank came in, laughing over some kids’ antics out in the hall. Both went silent when they saw Marie’s face.

  “She got a final notice,” Sara said.

  “It doesn’t mean you’re out.” Frank pulled out a chair. “There’s the August rehire. They always lay off more than they need to, just to cover their butts.”

  Charlotte slammed the freezer door. “I’m quitting.” She popped her Lean Cuisine into the microwave. “It’s not worth it.”

  “You’ve got ten years’ seniority, Charlotte,” Sara said. “You’re safe.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t stand it anymore. They’re not getting rid of any kids, are they? We need more teachers, not fewer. How big do you think our classes will be next year?

  “I’m up past midnight all the time as it is grading papers,” Frank said. “I swear I’m going to make everything multiple choice.”

  “But what will you do, Charlotte?” Sara said. It was amazing to her someone could decide, just like that, to change her life. Even if she desperately wanted to. Even if she’d felt frozen in the wrong life for a long time.

  “I’m going to be a stay-at-home mom,” Charlotte said. “We want another baby, and John just made partner. We can afford for me to quit.”

  Great work if you can get it, Sara thought. The old pain returned. She and Bram had been married four years and hadn’t had their first child yet. That is, if you didn’t count the miscarriage.

  “All the years of college and student teaching,” Marie said. “You finally get a job and…”

  “You think it’s going to be like Little House on the Prairie,” Frank said.

  The room went silent, and the women stared at Frank. Then they all burst out laughing at the thought of the big, athletic guy loving the Little House books.

  “Frank’s right,” Sara said. “For me, it was Anne of Green Gables. The school at Avonlea.”

  “Children who listen and do the homework and parents who always have your back,” Marie said dreamily.

  They didn’t talk much through the rest of the lunch break. Sara kept thinking about the weird chill she’d felt in class—and Aunt Amelia’s lover. When the warning buzzer blasted, they all winced and Frank said, “There was never a bell like that at Avonlea.”

  Charlotte snorted. “Another beastly thing I won’t miss.”

  “I once rang a fantastic bell,” Sara said. “An old brass thing I found it in my aunt’s barn.” Turtledove Hill was in the air today. She hadn’t thought of that bell in years either.

  She couldn’t actually remember the sound of it, only that it was beautiful—and how ringing it had made Aunt Amelia so angry. Yes, Sara had been snooping where she shouldn’t, but what was the harm? Did it justify banishment from the only place that ever touched her heart—her soul?

  It sounded melodramatic, but Turtledove Hill called to Sara as much as Thornfield Hall ever called to Jane Eyre. She’d tried to reconnect with her aunt during college, even invited herself for a visit, but the old lady wasn’t having it. Don’t come here. Sara could still hear the voice on the telephone. Don’t ever come here.

  The door swung open and the next group of teachers came in for lunch. Sara cleared off her place and headed back to her classroom. She couldn’t shake off the anxious feeling, the sense of impending doom. It was crazy, but she knew something was wrong at Turtledove Hill. Something had happened to Aunt Amelia.

  SINCE SARA’S HUSBAND WAS RIF’d last year, he’d been waiting on tables at a steakhouse at The Fountains. From the beginning their marriage had been difficult, and this last year hadn’t helped. With Sara working days and Bram working nights, everything they did together was at odd hours. Like today, meeting for dinner at four o’clock before his shift started.

  She parked at the restaurant next door to where Bram worked. As she turned off the car, her phone buzzed with a text from him. There was also a voicemail from an area code she didn’t recognize. It must have come in while she was at school and had the sound turned off.

  Babe, Bram’s text said, I will b erl get table, kiss kiss. She smiled and logged on to her voicemail.

  “Hi. I hope this is Sara Lyndon,” said a cheerful unfamiliar voice. Sara stayed in the car to listen. “My name is Bonnie Norquist. I know your great aunt, Amelia Lyndon. Amelia had a fall this morning.”

  Sara froze. Her premonition had been right.

  “She’s fine!” The message went on. “Oh, my god! I should have said that first.”

  You think?

  “Anyway, she broke her ankle pretty bad. Dr. Kasaty admitted her to rehab. I’m calling because you’re listed as next of kin on the paperwork. You might want to give the rehab facility a call.”

  Sara played back the message and wrote down the number the woman left. Her ears burned as she punched it in. You might want to give the rehab a call. As if she hadn’t tried to talk to Aunt Amelia so many times over the years!

  Someone answered, “Pelican Chase Rehab.” The receptionist put the call through to Aunt Amelia’s room.

  “I’ll be fine, dear.” Aunt Amelia didn’t sound fine.
She sounded tired and weak. “I just need therapy on my leg. Bonnie’s made all the arrangements.”

  “Who is Bonnie?” Sara felt like a jealous child. “I’m your flesh and blood. Your closest relative.” Technically that was true; her father, Amelia’s nephew, was in Texas with Sara’s little sister and his new wife. “I’m coming to see you.”

  There was a pause.

  “Aunt Amelia?”

  A longer pause.

  “Are you there?”

  “All right, dear.” There was a world of meaning in that all right. As if a decision had been made, more than mere agreement. There was defeat…and acceptance. “But wait until I’m out of this place. Then you come to Turtledove Hill, Sara, and we’ll have a long talk. It’s time.”

  It’s time.

  Something in Sara broke loose, something deep inside. It broke loose and burst forth and flooded into the light of day from a place long hidden.

  - 2 -

  Wake Up

  Fourteen years earlier

  SARA LYNDON WAITED WHILE an old pickup truck loaded with farm workers drove by on Highway 1. Behind her, rolling vineyards went on forever. She must have walked over a mile from her great aunt’s house, the most wonderful house in the world. She was still steaming because Dad sent her outside before she could see anything but the kitchen.

  She was steaming about other stuff too. Like the fact that her parents made her come with them today. They said she couldn’t be trusted at home by herself—all because she’d watched that movie last night.

  She dashed across the two-lane highway as a red Lexus convertible came around the bend driving way too fast. The car swerved to miss the truck and spun in a half circle, tires squealing. It finally and stopped only yards away from Sara. Her feet wouldn’t move, but her heart pounded like crazy.

  The Lexus driver looked like Kristin Scott Thomas, an actress in the movie Sara wasn’t supposed to see. Sheesh. She was fourteen, but they still treated her like a baby.

  “Asshole!” The driver screamed at the truck. Her wild eyes contorted like a cartoon villain’s. Sara laughed and gasped in shock simultaneously, making a little hiccup sound. The driver didn’t see or hear. She pulled the car back onto the highway, leaned on the horn, and roared away toward Pelican Chase.