Betrayal - By Lee Nichols Page 0,44

again, molding Play-Doh.

I was crimping the edges when Natalie came in. “Oooh, pie! Let’s make little leaves for the top, too.”

Anatole eyed us warily. Don’t let her overwork ze dough. It will become flat and lifeless.

I passed this info on to Natalie, and she burbled something French that made Anatole’s mustache waggle.

What’d she say? I asked Celeste.

Celeste blushed—at least, as much as a ghost could blush. Nothing that ze proper young lady need hear.

We carefully rolled the scraps of dough and used sharp knives to cut leaves. After carving a few amoebas, we got the hang of it. We dumped the apples Anatole had prepared into the crust and laid the leaves on top.

Natalie clapped when we finished. “It’s like Martha Stewart made it.”

“Except her leaves would be botanically correct,” I said.

Then we helped Celeste set the table. There were like eighteen pieces to each place setting: goblets and water glasses; aperitif, salad, and dinner plates; and soup bowls.

“Wait, why are there five settings?” I asked when we finished. “Me, Natalie, Lukas, Simon. Four.”

Master Bennett, Celeste said.

My heart did a loop-the-loop. “Oh, is he coming?” I asked coolly, setting down some silverware.

“Is who coming?” Natalie asked. “And that’s a soup spoon.”

I looked at the spoon in my hand. “So?”

“So you just put one where the wineglass goes.”

I ignored her and asked Celeste, What makes you think he’ll be here?

She gave her Gallic shrug. He’s always home for Thanksgiving.

“Have you heard from him?” I asked Natalie, carefully not dancing around the room.

“Who?”

“You know who!”

“Bennett?” She shook her head. “No, not in a while.”

That didn’t mean he wasn’t coming. Setting the table was suddenly my favorite thing to do. The glasses, the silver, the plates. I loved every one of them. I loved the chairs, the tablecloth, the salt and pepper shakers. The napkins were perfect.

“You’re humming,” Natalie said.

“I am not!”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, but before she could torment me further, Lukas and Simon burst into the dining room, their arms and coat pockets filled with large red and green apples.

Simon struck a pose and intoned, “ ‘Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.’ Martin Luther. He had a point.”

“Where did those come from?” Natalie asked.

Lukas grinned. “Thatcher.”

“Simon, you stole apples from Thatcher?” I said. “What kind of role model are you?”

He gave a wicked grin. “An absentminded one.”

“Well, you’re too late for a pie,” Natalie said. “We already made one.”

“Hmm.” Lukas glanced at Simon. “We hadn’t thought what we’d do with them all.”

Miss, Celeste said. If I may suggest … a centerpiece? She reached into the sideboard for a silver bowl with scalloped edges and a fluted stand.

“Voilà,” I said, and helped them arrange the apples in the bowl. “Now that’s Martha Stewart.”

We sat down to dinner an hour later. I’d wanted to wait, because Bennett hadn’t arrived yet, but Anatole claimed if we waited, the mashed potatoes “will be like ze gluey paste.” So I was overruled.

I sat beside Lukas, with Simon and Natalie across from us, and the place at the head of the table vacant. I didn’t mind if he was late. Just as long as he showed.

In an effort to duplicate my usual holiday, I insisted it was family tradition to go around the table and give thanks for something we were grateful for.

“I’ll start,” Natalie said, entering into the spirit. “I’m grateful to the Knell. I kind of hate them sometimes, but if they hadn’t helped me, I’d be married to some old coot by now and pregnant with my second child.”

“Whoa,” Lukas said, looking shocked.

Natalie flushed and fiddled with her fork, oddly embarrassed by his surprise.

He looked desperate for a moment, then said, “Is it weird that I’m sort of jealous of an old coot?”

She laughed, and my respect for him increased. Nice save.

“My turn,” Simon said. “Although you are ignorant children, you may have noticed I’m not American. Still, I’m willing to play. I suppose I will agree with Natalie.”

Lukas scoffed. “Like you’d have a chance with an old coot. He’d never marry you.”

Simon ignored him. “I’m grateful that at a time when the Knell suffered such a terrible blow, they still found use for me. And I’m grateful that it involves working with three such talented ghostkeepers.”

“Aww,” said Natalie, “who knew you were such a softy?”

“Okay.” Lukas cleared his throat. “I’m grateful that instead of being sent to a home for disturbed kids for claiming to see ghosts, I’m living