Doris Rangel - Marlie's Mystery Man

There was another sneeze, followed by a muttered, “Well, hell.”

“Bless you,” Marlie called out, grinning.

“You can hear me?” a voice asked diffidently.

Aha, Marlie thought. Masculine. One of the supposed maiden ladies still had some energy.

“Yes, and you really ought to take something for that cold. We’d all sleep better.”

“It’s not a cold,” the voice replied. A husky voice, with a hint of drawl. And it didn’t sound like that of an old man, either. It sounded velvety, downright sexy even, if a trifle cranky and stuffed up. One of the dears must have found herself a young stud while she was stargazing.

“It’s allergies,” the voice continued. “I’m allergic to your soap.”

And Marlie could swear that whoever spoke was right beside her. She heard a rustling in the other bed.

With a shriek, she reached out and turned on the light.

Nothing. Even better, no one.

Sinking limply against the pillows, she sighed….

Ker-choo!

And bolted up again.

“If you’d bathe with something besides lavender soap, we’d both be happier,” the voice said.

“Where are you?” Marlie whispered.

“In the bed opposite yours. Don’t get your britches in a knot, lady. I won’t hurt you.”

Throwing back the covers, Marlie bolted for the door, fumbled with the lock, threw the door open and was about to slam it behind her when she realized she heard no pursuit. She paused, uncertain, but stayed poised to immediately run and/or scream, whichever was needed.

Cautiously reaching over, she flipped on the overhead light. How could she describe the intruder to the local badge if she didn’t know what he looked like?

Nothing. No one. Nobody.

“Are…are you there?” she whispered into the seemingly empty room.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“I told you. In the other bed.”

The covers on the bed in question rose and fell as if they’d been given a disgusted shake. Marlie’s heartbeat rose and fell with them.

“I’m…I’m going for the police,” she warned, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

“Go ahead. If you can explain this to someone you’ll be doing a hell of a lot better than I did today. And Fort Davis doesn’t have police. We make do with a sheriff and a couple of deputies.” Ker-choo!

“You’ve got a sneeze like an atomic blast,” Marlie said dryly. “I don’t think I’ll have much trouble explaining things.”

“Have at it,” the whoever or whatever it was responded, and blew his nose.

Once the woman marched her straight-backed, swishy-bottomed little self out the door, Caid got out of bed, went to the closet and retrieved his jeans. If on the off chance someone could finally see him as well as hear him, he wanted to be decent. He wasn’t holding out much hope, however.

Still, for the first time today he’d actually exchanged conversation with someone. Perhaps whatever the heck it was that had happened to him was starting to wear off.

When Marlie returned, she had Ann with her. After hearing the story, the desk clerk had talked her out of going for the sheriff.

Ann looked around the quiet room. “I don’t see anything or hear anything, Ms. Simms. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”

“I hadn’t gone to sleep yet,” Marlie replied shortly. “And I know what I heard. A man talked to me and he sneezed. He said he was allergic to my lavender soap.

“Hey,” she called out to the seemingly empty room, feeling brave now that she had company. “Are you here?”

“I’m here,” the voice answered.

“Where?”

“Standing about three feet in front of you.” Ker-choo!

“There.” Marlie turned to the desk clerk in triumph. “You heard that, didn’t you? I’ll bet people in the next county did, too.”

But Ann merely gazed back at her in confusion. “Ms. Simms, I, uh, didn’t hear anything.”

“Sure you did,” Marlie told the desk clerk bracingly. “That sneeze registered on the Richter scale.”

But by now, even though she wasn’t but a few years older, Ann’s look had turned motherly. She put a comforting arm around Marlie’s shoulders.

“Ms. Simms…Marlie, I think you had too much sunshine and thin mountain air today. You crawl back into bed now, honey, and I’ll bring up a nice cup of herbal tea to help you sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Ker-choo!

“You didn’t hear that?” Marlie asked in a small voice.

“No, sweetie. You get a good night’s rest now and I’ll bet you feel tip-top by tomorrow.”

Marlie sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. But I don’t need any tea. Really. Thanks for coming up, though.”

She walked Ann to the door and was about to shut it behind her when she noticed the bathroom trash basket sitting by the doorway in the hall. In it was her brand-new, used only once, very expensive tablet of lavender soap.

Marlie debated pointing this bit of evidence out to the desk clerk, who was wishing her good-night again, but in the end decided it probably wouldn’t do much good.

After closing the door, she leaned against it to gaze accusingly into her seemingly empty bedroom. “Say something, darn it. I know you’re still here.”

“That makes two of us.”

There was the sound a deep sigh followed by a massive Ker-choo!

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Do you have to keep doing that? Ghosts aren’t supposed to sneeze.”

“I’m not a ghost.”

“Could’ve fooled me. What are you then?”

“Alive, for one thing. For some reason, people just can’t see me, and so far the only person who can hear me is you.” Ker-choo!

“Well aren’t I just the lucky one,” Marlie said nastily. “How delightful that the whole world now thinks I’m crazy.”

“Not the whole world, just Ann Jergin. But she’s a nice girl. She won’t tell anyone.”

“You know her?”

“Of course I know her. We were in the same grade all through school.”

Marlie frowned in the direction of the voice, now coming from the vicinity of the other bed. In fact, the bed looked a little depressed on one side, as if someone were sitting on it.

“Who are you?” she asked slowly.

“I’ll tell you after you shower. Lifebouy, Irish Spring, Dove. Take your pick. Any scent but lavender.”

“How do I know you won’t float into the shower with me? You might be anywhere for all I know.”

“Lock the damn door,” the voice snapped. “I can’t walk through walls. I already tried.”

“You could be lying.”

“Yes, ma’am, I could. You’re just gonna have to trust me now, aren’t you?”

Why should I, Marlie wanted to ask, but didn’t. A ghost with allergies seemed…trustworthy, in a bizarre sort of way.

Good grief! She was certifiably crazy.

But she headed for the bathroom. Just before she closed and locked the door, however, she stuck her head out again. “Where are you?”

“Here,” he replied, his tone one of long suffering, but the sound of his voice came from the bed. “Now get a move on. I’m tired, I’ve got a hell of a headache and I don’t want to stay up all night yakking.”

What a crab.

When she returned, showering in record time, the woman smelled like nothing but cleanliness. Caid had never thought of eau de clean as erotic before, but as he watched her prance across the room, then hop into bed, he had the overwhelming urge to hop into it with her.

Huh, he thought. So she had great legs. The real attraction was probably because he could talk to her. Communication could be a powerful aphrodisiac.

And strangely, though sharing a bed with the woman had strong appeal, going beyond sharing didn’t seem to…suit the moment.

“What’s your name?”

They’d asked the question at the same time.

“You first,” the woman said. “And your story better be good, buster.”

“Or what?” Caid asked, truly curious.

“I’ll think of something. Don’t think I won’t. Now start talking.”

Caid grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” But his story was no laughing matter and he sobered immediately. “I’m Caid Matthews,” he said. “Kincaid Matthews the Fourth, owner of the Rolling M.”

“That’s your feather on the dresser, isn’t it?” she said wonderingly. “I mean, your hat. Your name is inside. I thought it was part of the hotel decor.”

“Only since yesterday. I forgot it when I went back to the ranch.”

He heard a startled little movement in the next bed. “Oh my Lord!” the woman exclaimed. “You’re the rancher who was involved in the accident. The one they took to the hospital last night.”

“No, ma’am. I’m the one who ran into a tree, all right, but I never went to the hospital.”

“But…but when I checked in last night, they said you’d been taken to the hospital. That’s why they gave me the room.”

Caid was beginning to get irritated. Whose story was this? “No, ma’am,” he contradicted stubbornly. “I was right here in this bed last night.”

There was a long silence. “Oh.”

Though it hurt his head to do it, Caid raised up so he could look across the intervening space at the opposite bed, part of which lay in a pool of light cast by the lamp on that side of the table between them.

The woman sat against a bank of pillows, gazing into space and chewing her bottom lip, obviously thinking deeply.

“Do you remember how you got into town?” she asked at last.

Caid could tell she was keeping her tone carefully noncommittal and it riled him no end.

“Yes, I remember how I got into town. Three cowboys from the MT gave me a lift. They found my truck and I hitched a ride into town with them. But my head was killing me, so I let them talk to the sheriff and I came on here.”

Uh-oh. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that “killing me” part. The woman’s own ideas were bad enough.

“But did you actually talk to them?”

She just wasn’t going to leave it alone, was she? “Hell yes, I actually talked to them. Well, some. Maybe not a whole lot, but I told them I’d ride into town with them. Then I crawled into the back of their pickup and we came on to Fort Davis.”

“You told them? They didn’t ask? And they let an injured man ride in the night air in the back of the pickup? That doesn’t sound strange to you?”

“Not particularly,” Caid replied shortly, though come to think of it, it did seem a little harsh even for West Texas cowpokes. Nobody had even offered him a handkerchief to sop up the blood.

“Did you get a good look at your truck?” the woman then asked.

“Yeah, I saw it. What about it?”

“There was blood all over the seat.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. There was blood all over my head and my shirt, too. I probably had a mild concussion, but so what? I’ve had worse. And how do you know there was blood on the seat?”

“Your truck was the sensation of the morning, Mr. Matthews. When I had breakfast, everybody was talking about it at The Drugstore this morning, so I walked down and looked at it, too. You could see the bull’s-eye in the windshield where your head hit. Why in Heaven didn’t you wear your seat belt?”

Caid felt his ears turn red. “I forgot,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I forgot, dammit, just like I forgot my hat and just like I forgot the blasted papers in the first place. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

There was another long silence.

“Something else was being talked about in the restaurant this morning, Mr. Matthews,” she said at last.

“Caid.”

“Um, Caid. People were talking about the latest news from the hospital after the ambulance took you to the emergency room. They said…”