Really Something by Shirley Jump Page A

now?”
    â€œA little.” But neither of them meant by the sun. That had long gone away, hidden by the clouds, the storm moving in, whipping the wind into a vortex. Her skirt, forgotten when Duncan had touched her, skated upward, over her hips, exposing her pink, lacy panties to a quick glance, then just as quickly dropped again. Duncan’s eyes widened and he inhaled.
    â€œI should—” But then, the clouds opened up, releasing the rain in a fast patter, soaking them in an instant.
    Duncan grabbed her hand. “We need to get inside.” Before she could protest—or drown in the sudden downpour—they ran the rest of the way up to the house.
    Duncan flung open the unlocked door, then paused, letting her cross the threshold first. Once inside, Allie shook off the worst of the water. She smoothed down her hair, gaining her bearings, taking a moment to remind herself she wasn’t supposed to be attracted to Duncan.
    That wasn’t the plan. Resurrecting old feelings. Acting on them was a no-no. She had to remember not to touch the candy in the forbidden jar.
    Be tempted by it—and maybe tempt it back—sure, but never, ever let it pass her own lips.
    Duncan flicked on a light switch. Allie bit back a hallelujah when she spied the house’s interior. Creepy, dusty, drafty. And oh-so-horrific.
    She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setting if she tried. The rooms were large, but dated, as if someone had stuck them in the Victorian era and left them there. The long hallway had the perfect mix of shadow and light for a good chase scene. The parlor on her right had high ceilings and an ornate fireplace, ideal for the first murder scene.
    Long strips of wallpaper curled and dropped to the floor, revealing the original plaster and lathe below. The woodwork was dark, probably highly polished at one time. Cobwebs bridged the doorways, the windows. Sheets covered the furniture, giving the rooms an ethereal look. The script of Sorority Slumber Party Slaughter ran through Allie’s mind, the scenes mentally filmed within these walls.
    The house wasn’t just perfect. It was a job promotion and a box-office hit, all wrapped up in a three-thousand square-foot bow. Allie resisted the urge to zip off a few more pics to Jerry. Secure the permission first, then get the pictures.
    â€œHoly cow. This house is cool. It’s going to be perfect.”
    The words killed the mood as fast as the rain. Duncan stepped away from her, any hint of attraction gone with the last hints of the summer sun. “It’s not going to be anything. I don’t want strangers tramping all over this place just to plop it on two thousand screens nationwide.”
    She decided to try a new conversation direction. “How is it that a weatherman owns a place like this?”
    â€œBy default. It belonged to my aunt. She died. I inherited.”
    Harsh, sharp words—back to square one. Duncan had shut the door on the location discussion again. “It’s chilly in here.” She rubbed at her arms. “Do you have some coffee?”
    â€œSure.”
    She followed him down a narrow hall, her shoes making little noise on the thick, faded Oriental-style runner. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was stuck in a time warp, a blending of linoleum and chrome that spoke of an update fifty years ago. Duncan searched through the cabinets, finally finding a box of Lipton tea bags in the back, behind a few Corelle bowls. “Tea okay?”
    She nodded.
    â€œNo milk or honey, sorry.”
    â€œThat’s okay. I’m a plain tea kind of gal.”
    He grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”
    A heart she knew too well. A heart she’d drawn a thousand times in high school, her name centered with his, hiding the words in the back of her notebook back then, so afraid that if he found out, he’d stop asking her for help with his math homework. Stop talking to her before