Page 58 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Silence. I checked to make sure the call was still connected.
"What brought this on?" he finally asked.
"Well, now that I'm a nurse myself, and I'm working at the same hospital where I was born, I just feel the need to know. I'm only twenty-two, and some of the staff here has been around for thirty or forty years. What if I run into someone who was involved with my birth?"
"There's no chance of that." My father's voice sounded grim.
I was sorry for ruining his day by digging up ancient memories, but I needed to know. "Why?"
"Listen, I'll come over tonight. We'll talk about this in person. This isn't a conversation for the phone."
"Okay." The word came out of my throat like a cough.
"I'll see you tonight."
"I get off at seven."
We ended the call, but words that needed to be aired pressed themselves against the phone. I wasn't sure how my ghost knew, but my dad had something to tell me. I both welcomed and dreaded his visit.
* * * * *
Robert Knight, real estate agent, walked up to my house minutes after I arrived home. He wore a tailored gray suit with a black leather satchel strung across the shoulders and only became Dad when I opened the door and my hug broke his professional demeanor.
"Hi, Dad. Thanks for coming."
He kissed the top of my head. With a full coif of short black hair and only a slight pattern of gray above his ears, people often mistook him for ten years younger than he was. His movie star good looks and athletic physique added to the illusion of youth. Growing up, neighborhood women and house-hunting clients were always making excuses to flirt with him, but he never seemed interested. I never really thought about why. As a kid, my innocent mind just assumed he was happy with our family and didn't need another wife.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
He followed me into the kitchen and took a seat on a stool at the island. "Yeah. Scotch, straight up."
I laughed. "Scotch? Sorry, I don't drink the stuff."
"There's some in the cabinet above the fridge."
I stretched to open the little door he motioned toward. I never used that cabinet. Too hard to reach. Sure enough, there was half a bottle of scotch there. I poured him a glass. "Did you store this up there before I moved in?"
"Actually, it was here since before Prudence died. I used to come visit her occasionally. She kept it for me."
Uh-oh. "Dad, please tell me you weren't having an affair with her." Prudence was almost twenty years older than my father. I shuddered to think they were somehow involved.
"No. No, affair. We were just friends."
I squinted in his direction. "Close enough friends that she left you her house when she died, kept your favorite liquor, and had this under her bed." I retrieved the scrapbook from where I'd left it in the island cabinet and flopped it down in front of him.
"What's this?"
"You tell me."
He scrubbed his face with his hands, flashing his Rolex in the process. "Maybe it would be better if I started at the beginning."
"Yeah, I think that would be best."
The way he ran his thumb across his eyebrow and took a swig of scotch before he started told me I needed to sit down for this. I pulled up a stool.
"Your mother and I had tried for years to have a baby. She had some female problem I never really understood. We'd given up entirely by the time you came along. You were a miracle. Such an incredible surprise." He took another drink.
"Go on." I wasn't sure what this had to do with Prudence, but I'd asked him here to tell me about mom's death. I guess he was starting there.
