Just pals.

And making him chew over it was exactly what his brothers intended when they’d started poking at him.

He told himself to put it away, forget it, but was grateful for the knock on the door of Reception for distracting him.

He went out, passed the kitchen area, saw Clare and the boys through the door—which he opened with a flourish.

“Welcome to Inn BoonsBoro. Do you have a reservation?”

“We have a personal invitation from the owner.”

“In that case—” He stepped back, gave a sweeping gesture that made the boys laugh.

“You said to come to this door, right? I’m so used to—Oh, the tiles are just great! It’s all right to walk on them?”

“Here, and through the kitchen and down the hall. Lobby’s off-limits. They’ll grout that tomorrow.”

“It looks so big. Don’t touch anything,” she added quickly. “Remember? And stay with me. We can only go where Beckett says we can go.”

“Do you really own this whole place?” Liam asked him.

“My family does.” There was that word again. “This is where people will come in, check in. Hope’s going to sit right there.”

“There’s no place to sit.”

“There will be,” he told Harry. “Chairs for people to sit, too, in front of the fireplace.”

“Mom wishes she had a fireplace.” Murphy looked up at him. “You build stuff, so you could make her one.”

“How come you got all those old bricks?” Harry poked at them. “Where’s the wall for the inside?”

“That is the wall for the inside. They’ve been there a really long time, so we wanted people to see them. It shows respect for the building. Down here’s the kitchen.” He glanced at Clare. “They’re going to start installing the cabinets soon. That’ll be another big corner turned.”

“I’ll say. See, guys? This is where Hope’s going to fix breakfast.”

“Don’t walk past the tape, Harry.” Beckett started down to where Harry stood at the edge of the completed tile.

“I’m not. What’re all those little things sticking up?”

“Spacers. See how straight all the lines are between the tiles?” He started explaining grout, then wondered if he was too technical.

“Why are there smaller pieces?”

“At that edge there? They have to cut the tiles to fit.” So the kid was interested. “They have a special tool for that.”

“Where?”

“I’ll show you before we go.”

“The tile rug.” Clare kept a firm hand on Murphy, just in case. “It’s fabulous.”

“What rug?”

So Beckett explained about tile rugs before taking them around to the dining room.

“You’ve started on the ceiling!”

“We wanted to see if the plan worked,” Beckett told her. “And with it done, there’ll be less chance of messing up the hardwood when that’s installed.”

Harry pointed at the arch of stone in the wall. “Is that stone for respect?”

“That’s right. This was the first stone building in town. It’s important.”

“My mom’s bookstore place is old. The stairs creak.”

“That’ll happen.”

“If it’s old, how come you got a new porch?”

“Someone took the one that used to be here away a long time ago. We put one back.” Beckett went out, opened the door. “It’s not exactly the way it used to be, but I think the building likes it. I have copies of old pictures Mr. Bast gave us. I’ll show you sometime.”

“He has a furniture store and a museum.” Liam danced out on the porch. “He has all kinds of stuff in the museum. But he doesn’t have any mummies.”

“Maybe he can work on that.”

“It’s beautiful from this angle, too.” Clare stepped out, looked over to Vesta, down to her own shop. “Everyone who came in the bookstore today talked about it. I must’ve walked out on my own porch a half dozen times to look over and—Murphy!”

She whipped back inside in time to see him halfway up the stairs. “Come down here. I told you not to go upstairs alone.”

“I was just going to talk to the lady.” He looked up, smiled that angel’s smile. “Okay, ’bye.”

“What lady? Who are you talking to?” Clare rushed in, scooped him right off the steps and into her arms.

“The lady upstairs. She said hi, and she guessed my name.”

“Beckett, if there’s someone upstairs—”

“I’ll go up.” But he already knew.

For Clare’s peace of mind, he did a quick walk-through.

“Nobody here,” he said when he came back down.

“I guess she had to go to the party. Is she gonna live here with Hope?” Murphy wondered.

“Maybe.” Speculating, Beckett glanced back up. “She was going to a party?”

“I guess. She had a long dress. Ladies wear long dresses to parties sometimes. Can we see upstairs now?”

“Sure. Okay?” Beckett said to Clare.

“Fine, but . . . we’ll talk about things later. Murphy, you stay with me.”

Since she wouldn’t let the boys out of her sight, he had to wait until they went for pizza. Getting her alone, more or less, at that point came easy. All it took was a pocketful of quarters.

“Okay, I get you don’t want to talk about it in front of them, but we could be talking about a plague of two-headed frogs and they wouldn’t cop to it now. That was something else.”

“I don’t know what happened, or what this is. All I know is whatever it is had my little boy going upstairs, by himself, to... whatever it is.”

“She’s not dangerous.”

“There is no she,” Clare insisted. “And how can you be sure, if there were, she isn’t dangerous?”

“We’re all over that place every day.”

“Grown men.”

“I’ve been in there countless times on my own. Just today she and I had this little negotiation about leaving the porch door open.”

“Maybe because she wanted to push you over the rail.”

He would’ve laughed, but clearly this wasn’t a joke to her. “Why would she?”

“How do I know why?” Irritation bubbled in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. We’re sitting here talking about a ghost. For God’s sake, Beckett.” She grabbed the glass of soda the minute the waitress set it down.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Heather.” Beckett sent her an easy smile. “Thanks.”

He waited until Heather moved off again. “We’re having the conversation because you’re upset about it. Murphy wasn’t scared.”

“He’s a child.”

“Yeah, and I figure that’s why he actually saw her. They say, don’t they, kids are more open to stuff like this.”

“How do I know? I don’t—didn’t—don’t—believe in stuff like this. It’s crazy.”

Gauging her mood, he tried to lighten it. “You can be Scully and I can be Mulder. Maybe I do want to believe, but the fact is Murphy saw her. Hair like yours, he said, so she’s a blonde. Wearing a long dress. I’d say she’s from back when women wore long dresses. Eighteenth or nineteenth century.”

“God.”

Now he put a hand over hers, held it firm. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, to them, to you. Clare, if I thought for a second Lizzy wanted to hurt anyone, I’d find a way to—I don’t know—exorcise her. I guess it’s exorcism. Here’s the thing.” He shifted forward a little. “You’re thinking she’s all Blair Witch or Poltergeist. Because you dig on horror novels. So you think ghost equals evil.”

“Ghosts aren’t always evil in fiction.”

“There you go.”

“In fiction. I’ve never dealt with one in reality. It scared me, seeing Murphy going up those stairs, smiling up at thin air.”

“I have a theory. Quick version before the quarters run out, and the pizza gets here. She likes what we’re doing, likes that we’re fixing the building. Bringing it back to life, you could say. I think she likes having people around.”

“Now you want to believe you not only have a ghost, but a sociable ghost.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, so many reasons.”

“Try this, Agent Scully. The more we do over there, the more she comes out. When we first went through, I got nothing. But later, when we started taking measurements, when I started doing some sketches, I got this sense. Like being watched. Now that was spooky. As things progressed, I started smelling honeysuckle. Not every time, but more and more often. Now today, we take the tarp down, and that’s a big deal. We have this.”

“I don’t want her screwing around with my kids.”

“Who?” Murphy crawled into her lap.

“Anybody.” Clare wrapped her arms around him, nuzzled his neck until he laughed. “Nobody messes with the Brewster boys.”

And that, Beckett thought as the pie arrived, was that.

After she took the boys home, Beckett went back over. He had the pleasure of walking over the stretch of finished floor, thinking about the permanent steps that would go in before much longer.

And waited to see what might happen.

Nothing.

Maybe they hurt her feelings, he thought. Dead or alive, women could be pretty damn touchy.

“You scared her. Her kids are number one with her, and Murphy’s the baby on top of it. So she’s a little freaked out, that’s all.”

Still nothing.

“I don’t know why I’m getting the silent treatment. I didn’t do anything. And you ought to cut her a break. Most people get a little freaked out. I’m used to you, and I still get jumpy sometimes.”

And again, he thought, nothing.

“You should give her a little time to adjust, especially since she’ll probably be around a lot while we’re working on the place, after we finish.

“One of her friends is going to run the inn. Hope’ll be living up on three, so Clare and Avery are bound to hang around. Once we finish, and Hope’s living here, you won’t have to be alone.”

The door to the porch in E&D opened, and Beckett realized it was a little disconcerting at night without the crew around.

“Sure, a little fresh air’d be good.”

He walked out, smelled the honeysuckle.

“You’ll like her when you get to know her. She’s great. She was afraid you might hurt the boy, so—”

He broke off when the door slammed.

“Whoa. Temper.” He opened the door again. “I didn’t say I thought it. Look, maybe she’s a little overprotective. Her husband was killed. Damn, stupid war. He never got to meet Murphy. So, the way she sees it, she’s all they’ve got, and she needs to make sure they’re safe. Who can argue with that?”

The door opened another inch, and he took it as a sign of apology or understanding.

“Just give her some time. I’ve got some work to do over at my place.” He gestured across the street. “It’s going to be busy around here tomorrow when they start tiling the bathrooms. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He walked in, shut the door, considered.

“You’ve really got to keep the door closed.”

He waited a moment, then, satisfied, went down, walked out, and locked up.

Across the street he stopped and turned to look, and thought he saw, just for a moment, the shadowy form of a woman at the porch rail.