Sharing my theory with Logan would mean having to tell him about my ability. When he’d left for Bangor two months ago, he’d made it clear he was interested in getting to know me better. I was convinced if he found out about my ability, one I was determined to get rid of, it would ruin any chances of him ever asking me out. Chances that grew slimmer by the minute now that a member of my family was a possible suspect in his case.
“The last time you nearly…” He brushed his hand along my arm. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, okay?”
Surprised by his concern, my throat constricted, hindering any coherent response.
“I’d meant to give this to you before.” He reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved a business card, then handed it to me. “My cell number is on the back.”
“Thanks.” I flipped the card over to see the ink scrawled numbers for myself.
“Logan,” Elliott’s panicked voice echoed from the stairwell. “You might want to get up here.”
“Now what?” Logan snapped and hurried out of the room ahead of me.
Max, Shawna, and Jade were gone. Arlene Durant, Jake’s wife, and Braden Wilkins, his business partner, had arrived during our absence.
“Sheriff Dixon, I insist you arrest Max Spencer immediately.” Arlene stood in the middle of the deck, hands on her hips, her green eyes glaring at Roy. “Everyone knows he killed my poor, sweet Jake.”
Her manicured nails were painted the same dark shade of pink as her tight-fitting floral dress. The only thing brighter than the flush on her cheeks was the crimson red she’d used to color her shoulder-length hair.
Did Arlene even know her husband? The man was neither poor nor sweet. He wasn’t well-liked, at least not by my family, and I couldn’t recall him ever having any close friends other than Braden.
I glanced between Roy and Logan, trying to determine whether or not they believed Arlene and were going to arrest my uncle.
“Come on, Arlene,” Braden said as he wrapped his arm around Arlene’s shoulder, which seemed a little bit more affectionate than supportive. “I’m sure the sheriff will do his job and find the killer.” “Fine.” Arlene let Braden lead her to the ramp, but not before shooting a dirty look in my direction.
“Sorry about that, Rylee.” I hoped the worried look on Roy’s face meant he was ignoring what Arlene had to say.
“No problem,” I said. “Would it be all right if I left now?”
“Sure.” He glanced towards Elliott. “I can have Barnes give you an escort if you like.”
“No, I’m good.” I headed for the ramp; my mind overwhelmed with thoughts.
Not only did I need to find out why Martin was here and help him back to the spirit realm, but with Arlene going around telling everybody she thought Max had murdered her husband, finding the real killer had now become a priority.
Chapter Four
The discussion Jade, Shawna, and I had after leaving Jake’s crime scene lasted as long as it took us to drive to their place and left me with too many unanswered questions about his murder and my current dilemma with Martin.
Since Shawna had to work the dinner shift at the Cumberpatch Cove Cantina and Jade was headed off to have supper with her parents and her brother Bryce, I’d decided to stop by the shop and fill Grams in on what had happened. Or at least whatever she hadn’t already heard via a call from Max.
I hadn’t planned on working, but it turned out that my visit had been timely and great for business. The shop had an influx of customers, most of them locals, who’d heard the rumors about Max’s involvement and were hoping to get an update from my family.
Grams was the gossip in the group, but she was also a shrewd businesswoman. She didn’t have a problem sharing what she knew, which wasn’t much, but not until those who were asking had purchased something first. The tidbits were passed along with large amounts of drama and included the psychic dream she’d had the night before, which she swore predicted a sinister event.
By the time I’d gotten home, it was late, I was exhausted, and the rest I’d needed had been minimal. I’d spent most of the night drifting in and out of sleep wondering who had wanted Jake dead, and realizing it was a long list. I might be able to narrow it down if I could figure out who might want my uncle Max to take the blame for it.
When I’d finally drifted off to the point where I could sleep, my imagination conjured a dream where Jake, not Martin, had returned as a ghost. The man was more insufferable in death than he was in life. Not only did I have to relive being accused of spraying him with a water cannon, but had been informed that he planned to haunt me until I found his murderer.
The fear of being stuck with Jake for any length of time jolted me from my unconscious state. With a groan, I rolled on my side and forced my eyes open, then was greeted by a furry face. “Morning, Barley.” I scratched the head of the Kurilian Bobtail I’d inherited from Jessica, eliciting a rumbling purr.
I’d never had a pet growing up and was proud of how well the small creature and I had adjusted to living together. Barley was a gray and black-striped version of a wild cat minus a tail and always looked like he was having a bad hair day. The furball was also under the impression he was a dog, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.
Our daily routine began as soon as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds in my bedroom. He studied me with slate-gray eyes, patiently giving me an entire minute to get out of bed before pawing my head. When that didn’t work, he moved on to the other parts of my body, the ones not tucked under the comforter.
“Okay, I’m up.” After pushing aside the blanket and chasing Barley off the bed, I enjoyed a leisurely stretch, then padded barefoot out of the bedroom wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and underwear. He’d reached the kitchen first and was pacing along the floor in front of the cabinet where I kept a plastic sealed container filled with his cat food. Gourmet salmon was his favorite, but on days when he wasn’t finicky, he would gladly munch on a beefy buffet.
There was a chill in the air, and the vinyl floor was a little colder than normal. If Barley hadn’t meowed as if his last meal had been weeks ago instead of the night before, I would have rushed back to my room for slippers and a housecoat.
I dumped a scoop of food in Barley’s bowl, then inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, courtesy of an automatic timer I’d set the night before. I opened the cupboard to grab my favorite ceramic mug hoping it wouldn’t take more than one cup of the dark roast elixir to cure my zombie-like state.
I’d barely set the cup on the counter when the air and the floor got a lot cooler.
“Ye 'ave a nice place here, Lass.” The sound of a male voice jump-started my heart. A garbled shriek escaped my lips as I spun around with my arms poised, ready to execute an unpracticed version of a ninja karate chop.
Martin had made himself comfortable on my couch. He’d tucked his arms behind his head and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Fashion wasn’t one of his ghostly concerns. He had on the same hat he’d been wearing the first time I met him, but it clashed with his new T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Martin, what the heck are you doing here?” I crossed my arms and glared at the booted feet resting on top of my coffee table. “You can’t just pop into a person’s home unannounced.”
Actually, he could, but that wasn’t the point. If ever there was a time I wished I’d never opened that darn box and touched the spirit seeker, it was now. Though, if I was being honest, my current predicament wasn’t the magical object’s fault. No, that honor rightfully belonged to Madame Minerva. She owned a magic shop in Florida and had found the seeker at a garage sale, then sold it to my father without bothering to test it first.
Martin lowered his arms and cleared his throat, seemingly bothered that I was upset with him. “Lass, I…”
I held up a hand and huffed, “My name is Rylee, remember?”
“Rylee.” He acquiesced with a bow of his head.
/> “What I meant to say is since we are going to be seeing a lot more of each other, we need to have some ground rules,” I said.
What was I thinking? He was a pirate, someone who’d spent his life on the wrong side of the law, and probably broke every rule imaginable while doing it. There was a good chance he’d ignore anything I had to say and do whatever he wanted anyway.
Instead of the annoyance I’d expected, he smirked and said, “I be listenin'.”
I had a hard time believing he was going to hear anything I said, not with the way he was leering at my bare legs.
I pulled on the hem of my shirt, my growl sounding a lot like Barley’s. “Stay right there.” I turned and hurried along the short hallway and into the bedroom, then grabbed my housecoat off the chair sitting in the corner.
My cat was usually more fascinated with my slippers than with any of the numerous catnip-filled stuffed mice I’d purchased for him. Since one of the furry pink slip-ons was missing, I got down on my hands and knees and searched under the bed for it.
When I returned to the living room, Barley had finished eating and had jumped up on the cushioned chair in the living room to clean his paws. Martin had moved from his spot on the couch to the kitchen and was pouring a cup of coffee, which he handed to me with a smile. “Now, what are these rules ye be speakin' of?”
I took the cup, gripping the warm mug and blowing on the hot liquid. Okay, so maybe having a ghost around, especially one that could move objects, might not be so bad. It still didn’t mean I would succumb to bribery easily or give him permission to pop in and out of my home whenever he wanted.
I walked over to the kitchen table, then pulled out a chair and took a seat. “First off, all rules are non-negotiable, and I can amend them as the need arises.” Other than what I’ve read in history books, I didn’t know enough about Martin to predict what he might do. Having a family who pushed the boundaries of eccentricity taught me that having a backup plan was always best.
He leaned against the refrigerator and scowled. “Yer terms do nah seem quite fair.”
I took a sip of coffee, then paused before speaking. “Yeah, well, this is my place, and I get to make the rules. Plus, I don’t need you showing up at inappropriate moments.”
Martin wiggled his brows. “Would the times ye be speakin' of 'ave anythin' to do with entertainin' yer new beau?”
I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks had flushed a bright red. “What new beau?” I did a poor job of sounding like we both didn’t know that he’d overheard Jade and Shawna teasing me about Logan.
“Are ye sayin' ye 'ave no interest in the detective yer friends mentioned?” Martin asked.
“My relationship with the detective is none of your business.” I tamped down the urge to get even with my friends, then walked over to the table and pulled out a chair.
He snorted. “So, he has caught yer eye.”
Even though Logan was a handsome guy and probably got ogled by all the single females in town, myself included, it was a topic I didn’t want to discuss with Martin. Annoyed, I tapped my short fingernails on the laminated tabletop. “I was talking more about showing up in my bedroom and the bathroom… Times when I’m indisposed or not fully dressed.” Thinking about Martin popping in while I was taking a shower made my cheeks heat even more.
“And just so we’re clear, those two rooms are off-limits. Forever.” It never hurt to cover any possible loopholes. I hoped my friends and I found a way to help Martin move on to his afterlife, sooner rather than later, so I wouldn’t have to worry about future attempts on his part to be sneaky.
“I mean it.” I shook a finger at him like my mother always did to me when she was trying to make a point.
“I be certain ye do.” He flashed me a condescending grin. “I shall do me best to abide by yer wishes.”
I wondered if he was this infuriating when he was alive and, if so, how many people back in his time had experienced the same urge to throttle him.
Now that we’d settled the terms of our hopefully temporary relationship, and the coffee I’d swallowed was finally kicking in, it was time to find out why Martin was here.
“Were you telling me the truth when you said you stayed behind because you didn’t want to spend eternity with your crew?” I got up and stepped around him, so I could refill my mug.
He squinted. “I may 'ave exaggerated a wee bit.”
The last known sighting of Martin and his crew had been nearly three hundred years ago. There’d been some speculation that his ship was lost at sea during a storm. There was a mausoleum in the local cemetery erected in his honor. I was pretty sure his body wasn’t buried there, that the city founders had built it as a tourist attraction to include in the local graveyard tours.
I was curious to find out what had happened to him and what he been doing all this time. “Care to share what the wee part was and why you haven’t moved on?”
“Do ye believe witches are real?” His grin faded, his tone grew somber.
“Up until this summer, I would have said no, but since you’re the second spirit I’ve encountered, I’m trying to have an open mind.” I returned to my chair and got comfortable.
“Since ye 'ave already mentioned me past occupation, then ye be aware that me crew 'n I were quite good at relievin' the wealthy of thar valuables.” Martin placed his hands behind his back and paced the length of the kitchen counter. “Back in the day when I was searchin' fer treasure, I was of the same opinion. I did nah believe the rumors that a coven of the evil enchantresses lived along this coast.”
I didn’t know any witches. Or maybe I did. I hadn’t quite decided if the Haverston sisters fell into that category yet, though I was leaning toward the yes end of the scale.
What worried me more was the curse Martin had mentioned. How long did witches live and was the one he crossed paths with still alive? And if she was, did she still live in Cumberpatch?
The subject of witches had been one of Shawna’s reading favorites. When we were younger, she’d always be toting around at least one book on the topic. I was a non-believer and hadn’t paid much attention when she discussed the contents with Jade and me.
“What changed your mind?” I asked.
Martin stopped to face me again. “Isabella Fernsby.” He sneered, his voice oozing with disdain. “If I had heeded the warnin's about that particular wench, One-eyed Pete 'n I would nah 'ave been cursed when we tried to pilfer her family heirlooms.”
“Cursed.” I stammered, the hand gripping the mug shaking so badly that the coffee sloshed over the side and dripped onto the table. Learning witches existed was one thing, finding out they could actually cast a spell on someone was another.
“Aye, Lass. 'Til yesterday, I was nah able to go anywhere that me saber did nah reside.”
Was it possible I’d broken his curse when I’d taken the sword from Grams? It was another item I needed to add to the growing list of questions I wanted to ask the Haverston sisters.
“Are you saying you were trapped in the blade?” I couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for him, watching the world around him change and unable to be a part of it.
“Nah in it, but near it. I was able to move around, but could nah go far. Nor could anyone see me.”
Even though he used words that I assumed were from his own time, he spoke with others that made him sound as if he’d been born more recently. I remembered him saying he’d watched television, and wondered if that was where he’d picked it up.
It also reminded me of his other ghostly skill, the one Jessica didn’t possess. “How is it you’re able to move objects?” I got up and grabbed the dishcloth draped over the sink, and cleaned up the mess I’d made.
“Spendin' time alone can be mighty borin', 'n I needed somethin' to pass the time.” He smiled, then pulled out a chair and sat down next to me.
“Who is One-eyed Pete?” I asked.
His eyes sparkled at the mention of the man’s name. “He be m
e best mate.”
“If he was also cursed, then why can’t I see him? Why isn’t he here with you now?”
“We were each bound to a different object, a possession we were wearin' when Isabella cast her spell. Mine was me saber, 'n Pete’s was his eye patch.” He stared at the wall behind me as if remembering what had transpired during his encounter with the witch. “Now that I be free, I 'ave started searchin' fer 'im 'n do nah plan to leave this world 'til I find 'im.”
“I guess I’m confused. What are you doing here? I mean in my apartment with me, instead of out looking for Pete?”
He sighed. “The world be a wee bit more complicated than I expected, 'n I 'ave no idea where to look. I was hopin' to gain yer help.”
“If you couldn’t find your friend, then how were you able to find me, to find my home?” It was a question Jessica couldn’t answer because she’d been a new spirit. Since Martin had been around for a while, he might have better information.
“It ain't the same. Ye be like the beacon in a lighthouse. I can sense yer presence no matter where ye go,” Martin said.
I slapped my palm on the table. “I knew it.” So much for Edith and Joyce’s theory that the powers of the spirit seeker would eventually wear off.
Martin wrinkled his nose. “I be sorry, wha' did ye know?”
“Nothing.” I groaned and waved my hand dismissively. “It’s a long story.”
Freeing myself of Martin and helping him get to the spirit realm was important, but was it worth having to deal with a centuries-old witch who probably still held a grudge?
Martin must have guessed what I was thinking. “In exchange fer yer help, I shall offer me services to help ye find whoever ran that bloke through 'n spare yer uncle from bein' shackled.”
I assumed his reference to shackles meant jail. I wasn’t entirely sure how helpful he could be, but keeping him close might minimize the havoc he’d cause by continually popping in and out of places around town on his own. Not that me agreeing to help would keep him from doing that anyway.
Sabers, Sails, and Murder Page 4
