Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart Page B

A fine woman despite all that money. So I’m here to celebrate with you, and the more the merrier, right?” His head swung. He nodded respectfully at Layton’s client. “Morning, Winnie.” In a small town, well-to-do people know each other. He gazed at the watching women, ignored the combative young manwith a sullen face and hunched shoulders. “Hey, where’s Ginny and Carl Morse? I want everybody in on the act.”
    Doug’s gaze was cold, but he kept his voice pleasant. “Carl and Ginny took a villa outside of Florence for a month.” He gestured toward his office. “Come on in.”
    The oilman rocked back on the heels of his boots, looked as immovable as a recalcitrant bull. “I’ll bet Ginny’s bought out the jewelry shops in Florence. Bet she’s a regular at Walter’s Gold and Silver. That’s where Maisie always shops. From what I hear about your ring, Ginny’d want one pronto. But we have a right nice audience without them. I know everybody wants to see that hunk of stone. Right?”
    White-haired Lou’s blue eyes were eager and excited. Megan’s expression was studiously courteous. Anita hunched in her chair as if she scarcely heard the hullabaloo. Sharon’s face was stiff, as if she found the entire scene distasteful. Geraldine gave a whoop, pushed back her chair, bounced to her feet. “This I got to see.” Nancy gave an excited giggle. Keith Porter, hands jammed in his jeans, glared at Doug Graham. Brewster Layton’s brows drew down in a tight frown. Beside him, leaning on her walker, his client, Winifred Kellogg, watched intently, bright dark eyes skittering from Doug to Jack to Brewster.
    The big man savored the moment. “Ladies love romance, right?”
    Geraldine bolted up the hallway, stood a little too near the oilman. “I’ll bet you’re exaggerating, Mr. Sherman. But I’m here and ready to clap.” She lifted her hands high above her head in a flamenco dancer pose, which drew her blouse even tighter across her chest.
    Sherman gave an appreciative whistle.
    Geraldine dropped her arms, grinned. “If you need someone to model the ring, I really like jewelry.” She fluttered her right hand with rings on three fingers.
    Sherman took two big steps to tower over Keith Porter. “And you, young fella. You can see how a man with means snags a rich widow.” He swung around, faced Doug. “Bring Out The Ring.” His tone added the capitals. “Come on, man, haul that ring out here, share the glitter.”
    Doug’s expression was strained. “A time and a pl—”
    â€œWant me to twist your arm? Remember the last time we arm-wrestled? Cost you a thousand. Now I want to see the stone. I hear it’s as big a chunk of ice as Jory Jewelry’s ever had in the store. I’m here, and here I stay until you haul that sucker out.” He glanced down at a massive watch. “I got to hustle out to the rig, but I’m not leaving—”
    Doug pushed his office door wide, stood aside. “Come on in, Jack. I’ll—”
    The jovial oilman passed him with a punch on a shoulder that slightly staggered Graham. Jack Sherman’s big voice was clearly heard. “Where’s the ring? In your desk?” Heavy steps across the room, a squeak as a drawer slid out. “Red velvet!” A whistle. “Man, you know how to celebrate a conquest.” Sherman elbowed past Doug to the hallway. He held up the large ring case, which looked small in his callused palm.
    Doug’s voice was clipped. “That’s enough, Jack.” He thrust out his hand. “You’ve had your fun.”
    Jack flipped open the ring case, whistled. The diamond flashedits brilliance in the stark light from overhead fluorescents. The oilman bellowed, “Ladies, you can tell your grandchildren you saw the ring that Doug Graham will be sliding on the finger