Patti Shenberger

Where There's Smoke

"Actually, it started while I was sulking on the couch.” Cassie jumped up and paced back and forth. “It’s all David’s fault. If he hadn’t proposed to Tiffany, this never would have happened. He was supposed to come here tonight. I was making him a special meal. Now look at this place. It’s a mess.”

“Let me get this straight,” the fireman interrupted. “The fire was caused by a guy who wasn’t even here?”

House Calls

Every time he moved, her heart beat a little faster at the way his jeans hugged his backside. Polly shook her head to clear away her distracted thoughts. Checking out his butt was not on the agenda. Getting the roof fixed and the water stopped was. But then again, a nice view did tend to make the day go by faster.

Be My Valentine

What was wrong with her? Here she was about to spend time conferring with her daughter’s teacher, talking about a school party, and yet all she could think about were his blue eyes and the warmth of his hand when it covered hers. Mentally cursing herself, she patted a few loose strands of hair back in place and reached for the entry door. Sam rose as she walked toward the table.

“Wow. Very impressive.” The granite statue felt warm and almost lifelike beneath her touch as she caressed the contours of the piece. A tingling sensation started at her fingertips and worked its way up her arm. The feeling continued as though someone were running their hands over Meg’s body, touching her everywhere. She backed away, but continued to stare at the statue. The broad forehead and high cheekbones of the statue gave way to a square, determined jaw. Obviously, a man accustomed to getting his own way. But it was the eyes that drew her attention. Although carved from stone, Meg had the distinct impression that they seemed to follow her movements about the room.

“That’s Captain London.” A voice behind her softly intoned.

Meg jumped and whirled around. Mrs. Boone stood just inside the front door, peeking nervously around the corner. “Captain London?”

Mrs. Boone nodded. “He owned the house back in the 1800’s. He had it built for when he retired from the sea, but alas never returned from the sea to live here. His ship went down in a terrible storm, and now he walks the corridors of Heron House. It’s in the will that the statue must remain in the house, passing from buyer to buyer.”

“Really, I wonder why?” With a last lingering look at the statue, Meg shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Boone, but surely even you must know there’s no such thing as ghosts. Simply one’s overactive imagination at work. Now, where can we sign the papers? I’d like to get settled.”