Constance and Michael weren't Nella's last house guests of the day. After she decided the house was satisfactory for the time being, Nella went out onto the gondola which she had set up with a small wrought iron patio set and with a book, enjoyed a well-deserved glass of wine from the bottle she started the day before. A flash of red in the corner of her eyes caught her attention and the blonde looked up from her book to see an approaching elderly woman with shocking red hair.

Nella greeted the woman a "Hello," with obvious question in her voice as she got close enough.

"Hello," the woman greeted back. "I'm Moira, the maid. I was employed by the previous owners of the house."

"Maid?" Nella echoed. Thinking about it, it would be nice to have an extra pair of hands when her business finally started up. Not having to clean up after services would make the work load a lot lighter. And she did mean to hire an assistant to do that very job. Realizing she had been zoning out while staring at the woman, Nella snapped back to reality and waved her hand. "Oh, how rude of me! Come, sit! I'm Nella De Ville. I know, how clichéd for a funeral worker."

The woman did as she was bid, smiling politely at the girl's jab at her name and perched daintily on the iron chair across from the blonde. "I work Mondays through Thursdays, nine till five. I don't clean the basement or the attic—"

"Un, actually," Nella cut the elder woman off. "I'll be honest, I'm not so much in need of a maid as I am of help for my business. You'd be doing most of the same thing, cleaning up after functions. I'm running a funeral home in the house starting next week. So how about you still work four days a week, but Wednesday to Saturday? I know that means weekends, but I'd pay you more for it."

Moira blinked, ruffled by the girl's forwardness. "I don't do well around crowds," she excused.

"Oh, that's fine! You can just come in after the services end. And I'm sure you know more about taking care of an old house better than I do. I'll admit, the idea of owning something this old is a little daunting for me," she offered.

Deciding it was an easy way in, and knowing that she could even use the money the young woman had offered Moira nodded in agreement. "I'll be by on Wednesday then. Thank you for this opportunity, Miss De Ville." And before Nella could get in a word edge wise, the red head was up and making her way around the side of the house.

She took a large gulp of her wine and shrugged, looking back to her book. "A maid," she hummed to herself. "How peculiar."


As it would turn out, putting a funeral home in The Murder House was a great marketing tool all on its own. In the first three weeks of Nella being in business, she actually found herself a little overwhelmed. She was booked to capacity every day she was open (Tuesday through Saturday) and decided she needed more help than what Moira had to offer.

Not to say that Moira wasn't helpful. In honesty, Nella found herself more at ease when the older woman was around and enjoyed friendly conversation with her when they both had a moment. Upon Nella's insistence, Moira divulged everything she knew about the house and what went on inside of it. And Moira was stunned when all Nella said in reaction to the horrible stories was how sad they were. Then again, the woman was professionally surrounded by sad stories.

On the Sunday of her third week, Nella was in the process of writing a help ad to put in the paper. She was slightly startled out of her concentration when she heard the doorbell go off. Frowning and hoping whoever at the door wasn't a potential client (or reporter for that matter), the woman cinched the tie on her robe around her silk nighty and made her way to the front door. Peeking into the peep hole, she saw a young man with dirty blonde hair rocking on his heels.

She pulled the front door open enough to show her face but hide most of her body behind it. The boy gave her a smile Nella quietly admitted to herself was terribly attractive. "Hi," he greeted. "I'm Tate. I'm a friend of Moira's. She told me you were looking for some help."

Despite not being able to remember when she told Moira that she was looking (she was probably just forgetting) Nella pulled the door open. "Um, yes, actually. Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone," she stated, stepping aside to allow him room. "Come in."

Tate made a show of looking around as he stepped into the threshold. He'd only been memorizing the entire layout since she put it this way. And her. He'd been memorizing her too. Like that she only wore that silk night dress on days she got to sleep in. And the way she seemed to sense him (or any of the ghosts for that matter) when they were in the same room. And the way she calmly pretended she couldn't.

He couldn't help but watch her shapely bottom through the thin layers as she led him into the now doored-off kitchen. He'd been working on memorizing that too. "Would you like any tea or coffee?" she asked, pulling him out of his daze and snapping his gaze up.

"No, I'm alright," he said, watching her move around the kitchen to make her own tea. She liked tea. She had over 15 kinds of loose leaf tea.

"If you're sure," Nella replied. He was sort of a strange boy. Hansom, but peculiar. And it seemed to her as though she knew him from somewhere even though she was almost certain she'd never met him before. "Did Moira also tell you what it is I do here? The job's not for everyone," she stated.

"You run a funeral home," he said back.

"Yes, I do," she confirmed with a smile. The notion of being her own boss was new and still got her excited thinking about it. Her cheeks glowed a little with abashed pride. Tate liked that too. She always came off humble somehow. "I just need an assistant really. Your job would be to make coffee for the attendees, assist me in setting up rooms, and greeting people at the door. And on Moira's days off you'll be staying late with me cleaning up. It's only once a week. The pay's good, but you have to be adapt at being both apathetic and empathetic at the same time. You need grit for this kind of work." The smile on Tate's face fell. Really, he should have thought this plan through better. Nella watched the enthusiasm on the boy's face die and she gave a reassuring grin. "If you want, you can do a trial run this Tuesday; see how you like it. We'll talk after."

His dark eyes sparkled curiously and he extended his hand, "Deal."

Tate could have sworn an electric shock coursed through him when her small hand closed around his. Nella herself felt a sort of buzz between them but played it off with a joke. "Burr!" she said with a laugh. "I guess you're a cold hand, warm heart kinda guy."

Tate laughed along. "I guess you could say that. I'll get out of your hair. You clearly weren't expecting visitors," he said, gesturing to her robe that had fallen open enough to reveal her healthy cleavage causing her to flush bright red, pulling it closed hastily. "I'll see myself out."

Nella listed for the door to close behind him, taking a sip of her tea. She blushed and bit down an excited smile. How would she ever get any work done with a good looking guy like that running around all day?