by Traci Wilton
“He did? See, serious about his image. Did you tell her about his mom, and his real name?”
“Shoot! I forgot.” And there was no way she was going to call for a fifth time.
“Forgot what?” Celeste asked, trailed by Tommy and Joey. Asher wasn’t with them.
Charlene glared at Jack, who grinned.
“Nothing. Bad habit of talking to myself since my husband died. Apps are about ready if you want to wait in the other room. We’re doing Asian tonight.”
“Can we help?”
Celeste was a real sweet young lady—who was dipping her toe into the dark side, tasting blood with Asher. Asher had worn a vampire costume at the witch ball and maybe was into the scene more than he’d admitted. “No, thank you.”
“I’ll run up and get Asher.” Celeste bolted back toward the main staircase.
“He doesn’t need you to fetch him,” Tommy grumbled as he and Joey shuffled off toward the living room.
“Trouble in paradise,” Jack remarked. “Tommy probably thought he had Celeste for the taking until Asher showed up on the scene. Who would you choose, Charlene? The dark-haired bartender or the dreamy-eyed loner?”
“Neither.” With that, Charlene brought the appetizers to the sideboard for her guests. She’d set out saki and plum wine, glasses, as well as bottles of water, and she perused her selection to see if there was anything else. Wontons, soy sauce, slaw . . . It was the last happy hour with this particular group and she wanted it to be special.
“What’s this?” Chloe asked. “Salem Confidential. How intriguing.”
Charlene had placed her new book on the coffee table to read later and now Chloe held it up. “Salem is all about the witches, but pirates are so cool too. Is this good, Charlene?”
“Don’t know yet—you can borrow it after I finish.” Charlene stepped away from the buffet. “Should be done tonight.”
Tommy finished reading the long title over Chloe’s shoulder. “Secret Societies. Rum Smugglers. Hidden Tunnels. ”
Celeste, who’d returned with Asher on her heels, brought her clasped hands to her heart. “I love Salem. It’s amazing.”
Tommy, Joey, and Asher clustered around Celeste.
“Awesome!” Joey said. “What’s it about? I know Seattle has an entire section of city preserved from where the new part of town was built over it.”
“I’ve been there,” Asher said. “Cool music scene in Seattle.”
“Grunge is old news,” Tommy scoffed. “LA is fresh again.”
“Like you know!” Celeste laughed, clearly enjoying the tension between the young men over her. “Jersey City isn’t a music mecca, that’s for sure.”
“Is there a city below us, Charlene?” Joey asked.
“I don’t know. Just picked that book up today.” At Celeste’s questioning glance, she explained. “I’m interested in all things local to Salem, and I hadn’t heard about the smuggling or tunnels before. It’s sure to be informative.”
“Where’d you hear about it?” Asher slung his arm over Celeste’s shoulders.
“Hmm. I can’t say.” She shrugged. That was honest, anyway. For some reason the police were keeping the news of Orpheus’s death out of the paper so she really couldn’t admit to being there.
“My favorite kind of history is the haunted history like Salem has,” Tommy said.
Charlene eyed the sepia cover with an outline of Salem on the front. A ship’s mast. “I hope it’s not too dark. I don’t like being scared before bed.”
“Me either!” Malena agreed. She and Judd walked full plates to their armchairs before the fireplace.
Emma loaded up a dish from the sideboard and handed it to her hubby, in step behind her. “Us too, Tommy. We love the haunted tours in New Orleans. All of the tombs and voodoo magic. Zombies. Vampires. Ghosts.”
“I’ve never been to New Orleans,” Celeste said. “I’d love to go.”
“The haunted tours are silly ways to scare people,” Asher declared. “It’s stuff not on the map that are the real deal. I can take you to the most haunted places in New Orleans. Ten times more thrilling than here.”
“I’ll go,” Tommy said.
Joey elbowed him. “Don’t think you and me are invited. I think it’s a Celeste-only invitation.”
Tommy’s expression fell while Celeste peeked up at Asher.
Asher rubbed his jaw and hid a smirk.
Emma brought her plate to the sofa next to Gabriel. “I liked them in New Orleans just fine. We’ve done the haunted city tours in every major city that we’ve traveled to, Tommy. You get interesting tidbits. Key West, Savannah, New York.”
Charlene handed Tommy and Joey plates and ushered them in the line for food. “I have a friend who claims to see ghosts around Old Burying Point cemetery. Even captured orbs on film.”
“No way.” Tommy added slaw next to his egg rolls.
“That I’d like to see!” Asher showed enthusiasm for the first time all night, knocked out of his studied ennui.
“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Chloe asked.
Jack appeared with a shivery laugh. “Go ahead and answer that one, Charlene.”
She averted her eyes, not wanting to lie. “Well, I heard about the white lady at Old Burying Point and a crying child in the Hawthorne . . . but I honestly never saw a ghost in either place.”
“I don’t know what I’d do,” Chloe sighed. “Probably faint.”
“Not like you, Charlene,” Jack said. “You were determined that I was a bad dream. Remember?”
She ignored Jack and reached for the bottle of plum wine to top off her guests’ glasses. “Now, where is everyone going for dinner tonight?”
Jack’s laugh echoed around the room and Silva sauntered in, tail high. She stalked toward Jack before the fireplace and swatted at his leg.
“Do you have a window open, Charlene?” Celeste asked. “I just felt a chill.”
“Let me check.” She glared at Jack, but he’d disappeared—which was very smart of him. He’d gotten her a couple of times already today.
She fussed with the windowsill and turned back to her guests. “There. Now, do you need any suggestions?”
“We’ve loved everything that you’ve recommended,” Emma said. “I’m so glad that we stayed the full week to see everything.”
“Us too,” Olivia agreed. “Three days wouldn’t be enough.”
“This was the most exciting Halloween I’ve ever had,” Celeste said.
“A dead guy at the same party as us,” Emma said. “Sad. Gruesome. I sure hope they find out who did it. Will you let us know, Charlene?”
“Of course.” Not that she wanted her B and B to be remembered for a dead vampire. She’d pour on the customer service so it wouldn’t be what they recalled first.
Asher nodded at Charlene before he left. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I’ve patched things up with my roomie so I’ll be back at the house.”
Celeste lowered her eyes. Joey gave Tommy’s arm a hopeful shove. Maybe this meant the hookup was over and Celeste would be back with her friends until they flew home to Jersey City in the morning.
“You’re welcome.”
After her guests all left and she’d loaded the dishwasher, Charlene sat down with a glass of wine before the fireplace, without Jack, and opened the book. The maps were in bold colors but vague, hinting at secrets in Salem.
Silva curled up next to her and purred her contentment. Charlene scratched the cat’s chin.
The pages were easy to read in larger print with images every new chapter. Charlene loved the author’s humorous style.
Lucas had been right that it made Salem seem scandalous. Brothels, gambling, smuggling not just molasses, but slaves. Jewels. The ship owners would unload certain items to be taxed and stored, and hide others to keep from paying a fortune on their cargo.
Charlene skimmed each of the ten chapters and was done in two hours, just about the time she expected her guests to return.
> She had more questions than answers. Where exactly did the tunnels go?
On a hunch, she looked Patrick Steel up in the Salem directory.
To her surprise, his phone number was listed, so she called before she talked herself out of it, or imagined Sam telling her to mind her own business.
“Hello?” a gruff older voice answered.
“Hi . . . I’d like to speak with Patrick Steel.”
“Who’s asking?”
“Charlene Morris. I live here in Salem and I just finished your book. Salem Confidential.”
“Yes?” His tone lifted from wary to jovial.
“I loved it.”
“You did? Wonderful!” She remembered his booming voice as a pirate in costume. “Where’d you get a copy? Online?”
“Actually, Evergreen Bookstore. Brick-and-mortar.” Charlene laughed. “Lucas recommended it.”
“He’s a good guy, that one.”
“I agree.” She waited for a few seconds to see if he’d speak, but he remained quiet. “I had some questions.”
“Oooh?”
Charlene could tell that Patrick would need some more cajoling before talking to her about his hard work. She couldn’t begin to imagine the time it took to organize an entire book, and the man had his doctorate. Intelligent. Creative. Funny. He was probably used to making hundreds, if not more, for his speaking engagements.
“Is it possible for us to meet tomorrow for lunch?” Wednesday her guests would all be checked out by eleven. Avery would come in after school if lunch with Patrick went late.
“Sure . . .”
“My treat, of course.”
“I can do that, I suppose.”
“Sea Level?”
“All right. Anything in particular you want to know?”
“There is so much fascinating information. Lucas said that you were hoping to do tours, but the city said no.”
“It set me back some, don’t mind saying. I hope they’ll come around and when they do, I’ll be ready. I’ve got everything I need to lead an informative tour.”
“I’d love to see the tunnels.”
“You would?” He chuckled.
“What’s funny about that?”
“It’s just that after five years I’ve got interest in the tunnels again. Makes me want to dust off my tour guide license.”
“Who else—”
“See you tomorrow at noon. Bye!”
Well, hell. Who else was interested in the tunnels? Orpheus came to mind. Maybe Orpheus had more to do with Alaric’s death than she’d supposed. Brandy had said that she’d been wrong before too, meaning that Orpheus could be the killer.
She left the book on the stairs for Chloe to browse and went to bed.
CHAPTER 14
Charlene was sorry to see her guests go on Wednesday morning. Everyone said they’d had a wonderful time, which was all she could ask for.
“I’m glad I have this lunch date,” she told Minnie, blinking her eyes clear. “Otherwise I might need a good cry.”
Minnie laughed and patted Charlene’s shoulder. “You care about all your guests, that’s why. They’ll be back, just wait and see.”
Charlene and Jack talked strategy before she left. “Butter him up. Tell him he’s brilliant. I hope he’s not an author snob,” Jack said. “You know the kind.”
“Not personally.” This was her first author that she’d ever met and maybe she was a bit nervous.
Charlene had worn her hair long, curling the ends. She smoothed her dark jeans down her thighs, then adjusted her thin wool turtleneck sweater. “He sounded like a gentleman over the phone, and he knows the waterways and tunnels better than anybody.”
Jack crossed his arms. “What’s your fascination with them?”
“I won’t tell you until I get back. Just in case I’m totally wrong, and then I won’t have to look like a fool in front of anybody but Dr. Steel.” His book had hinted at secrets too volatile to be put in print and she hoped to learn a few.
“You could never look like a fool. How am I supposed to be patient with an exit like that?”
“See what more you can discover about Allan and Melissa Mayar. Still haven’t heard from Sam and I don’t want to bother him. He wants every communication to be through the proper channels.”
“Until the murderer is caught. Do you have your pepper spray?” Jack dangled a wool string in front of Silva, who loved the game, but couldn’t touch him no matter how hard she tried.
“Good idea. Just in case.” Laughing at their antics, she darted into her bedroom, opened her closet, and dug out her pepper spray.
If she happened to drive by Elisabeta’s and Alaric’s house on her way home from Sea Level, well, that was the route she might take if she wanted to pass the Commons. A simple note in Elisabeta’s door to request a call could be construed as neighborly. She didn’t have Brandy’s magick sachet so her pepper spray would have to do.
“Bye!” Charlene ventured into the cold. Instead of rain, a light snow was falling, fluffy flakes that melted as they touched ground. She drove to Sea Level, charging her cell phone on the way to ensure a full battery.
What did poor Nancy Drew do? No cell phones back then, only pay phones in Superman-sized red boxes. Yay, technology.
Ten minutes later, she circled around to find a parking spot. She hadn’t heard from Sam today. What would he think about her lunch with the author of Salem Confidential?
“Well, if the man called to check in, he’d know.” She pulled into a parking spot, feeling lucky.
Sea Level had two floors and she entered on the street. She passed the small reception area and noticed a man next to the window alone, a red wool cap on his head, a full gray beard, weathered hands clasping a cup of coffee. She hardly recognized him without his eye patch and parrot.
She strode to his table. “Dr. Steel?”
“Depends who’s asking.” His deep chuckle sounded like it came from rusty pipes. “Not the FBI or the tax collector, are you?”
She sat down across from him and put out her hand. “I’m Charlene. Thanks for meeting me today.”
“Please, call me Patrick.” He shook her hand. “Nice place here.” His blue-gray eyes were hooded by thick brows that were mostly white.
Charlene gave him a friendly smile. “I run a bed-and-breakfast here in town, so I send a lot of customers this way. It’s one of my favorites.” She unzipped her jacket and shrugged it off. “The clam chowder is wonderful, but then everything is. The oysters are their specialties and can be cooked in various ways. You can’t beat the lobster rolls, served either hot or cold. The seafood pie is filling, and they have fabulous mussels.”
“You’re sure you don’t waitress here, or maybe own the place?” He slurped the last of his coffee and sat back. “My editor treated me to dinner after my book came out five years ago. How ’bout I have what you’re having?”
Charlene placed both menus at the edge of the table and peered at him from behind her bangs. “Deal.” She chuckled. “I worried you were going to be pretentious, but that was way off.”
Patrick boomed a laugh. “Not a pretentious bone in my body.”
“I have to confess that I saw you on Friday night.”
He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, clearly trying to reach back as to the circumstance.
“At the witch ball?” She unrolled her paper napkin. “Your pirate costume was so good. I wanted to vote for you to win but the alien beat you out by two feet of scales. I was a judge.”
He roared with laughter, smacking his palm to the table. “That was some party. You know Lucas?”
She nodded.
“Alien and Aphrodite. Great choice for king and queen.”
“I guess they’re hanging out now.” She shrugged. “Could be a romance brewing.”
“Would you like to hear the specials today?” Their waitress popped over, harried, hand on her slim hip, fuzzy blond hair held back by a pink band. “I’m Maura.”
&
nbsp; Charlene didn’t recognize her. She listened carefully as the young lady spouted off a couple of appetizers and entrées in a rushed pace.
Patrick shrugged. “Sounds fine to me, but Charlene is going to order for us both. Says she sends customers here from her B and B all the time.”
Shelley, a brunette waitress wearing a Sea Level T-shirt, skirted past their table. “Hi, Charlene. This handsome guy one of your guests?”
“No, Patrick Steel is a local writer. I just finished his very scandalous book titled Salem Confidential.” She lowered her tone. “Secret societies, rum smuggling, and secret tunnels.”
“Hidden tunnels,” Patrick corrected. “That last part always trips people up. Publisher’s choice, though. What can you do?”
“That sounds exciting,” Shelley said brightly.
“You can pick up a copy at Evergreen Bookstore—but there are only a few left in stock,” Charlene informed her.
“I pass by the bookstore on my way home.” Shelley grinned at them both. “Nice to meet you, Patrick. Charlene, you having the usual?” She winked at Maura. “Mind if I take this table?”
“Whatever,” the young girl said, moving to where a family of four was being seated.
“Patrick, this is Shelley.” Charlene gestured to the waitress. “She’ll never steer you wrong on what’s the best fish of the day.”
He tipped his head. “Pleasure.”
“Hidden tunnels. Is there one under here?” Shelley bopped her foot to the wooden floor. “We’re so close to the water that I’d hate to have the restaurant collapse.”
“The tunnels have mostly been filled in or reinforced to be used for sewer pipes or utility lines. No point in digging new holes when they’re already there.” Patrick lifted a shoulder. “See the wharves? Only four left and there used to be over fifty at the height of the international sea trade.”
Charlene peered out the window. She’d been to Derby Wharf and the lighthouse many times.
“Imagine each of those man-made strips of land with warehouses on them, some two or more stories high,” Patrick said. “Salem was very prosperous.”
Now the strips were vacant, except for the lighthouse. “What happened?” Shelley asked, pen over her order pad.
“Times change. Travel changed. War, taxes . . .”
