by Jane Hinchey
The ghost drifted in between us and to say it was disconcerting to see right through her was an understatement. I waited for her to speak, shifting from one foot to the other. Then, without uttering a word, she disappeared. I sagged, from relief or disappointment, I wasn’t sure.
“Did she say something and I just didn’t hear it?” I asked, regaining my composure.
Jackson shook his head. “Nope. Sometimes it’s like that. She just came over to check me out, see if I was a threat or not. I’m guessing not since she left without any trouble.”
“They give you trouble?”
“Sometimes. Some are malevolent.”
“What do they do?” I was all ears.
“They can’t physically hurt me, but they can use objects to hurt me.”
“Like what?”
“Strong ones can pick up objects to throw at me. Like chairs.”
“Could they restrain you?”
His green eyes narrowed. “I see where you’re going with this, and no. Even a malevolent spirit can’t tie me to a chair and shove cake in my mouth.”
“Okay, okay, it was just a thought.” The truth was, I was having a hard time believing any of the old witches who were suspects in Bonnie’s murder were physically capable of such a feat. Which left Kristen Lane as my only viable suspect. What if she’d killed her, then called the cops? They wouldn’t suspect her since she claimed to have discovered the body. I was about to question Jackson about it when a voice I thought I’d never hear again called my name.
“Harper! Harper! There you are.” It was as if the world stopped. The entire ballroom went silent, and I was in a bubble with no sound as I slowly turned and watched as Simon made his way toward me. Of course, the ballroom wasn’t really silent. Everything was continuing on as normal, it’s just my ears had stopped listening. Suddenly, it all came back in a deafening rush.
“So glad I finally found you.” He grabbed my shoulders and dropped his head to kiss me. I quickly turned away before he could connect, his lips brushing awkwardly across my cheek as I stepped backward, out of reach.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, proud my voice didn’t tremble.
“Looking for you.” He was dressed in jeans and a blue sweater I hadn’t seen before. It was a stark reminder that this man, my ex-fiancé, had moved on without me. Once upon a time, I’d been intimately aware of every single item of clothing in his wardrobe. Not anymore.
“We have nothing to talk about Simon,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I suggest you leave.”
“Simon?” Jackson cut in, not missing a thing. “As in, cheating ex-fiancé Simon?”
“The one and only,” I replied, voice dripping ice.
“Oh, that’s so mature, Harper.” Simon rolled his eyes. “I would have thought more of you than to slander me to your friends.”
Jackson’s chest puffed out and he wedged himself between us, forcing Simon to step back.
“I’d watch your tone, buddy,” he growled, full-on protective cop mode locked and loaded.
“Who’s this?” Simon sneered, peering at me around Jackson’s bulk. “Your new boyfriend? You didn’t waste any time.”
Oh, the nerve of him.
“This is Detective Jackson Ward of the Whitefall Cove Police Department,” Jackson replied menacingly. “I’d advise you to watch your tone. And no, I’m not her boyfriend.”
Our little encounter was starting to draw attention because suddenly, I was flanked on either side by Jenna and Monica, and Gran was approaching fast. My eyes welled with tears that they had my back, for despite outward appearances, I was shaken that Simon had shown up.
“Is this him?” Jenna asked, eying Simon with distrust, and I nodded.
Simon stepped around Jackson and held his hand out to Jenna. “Simon Lancaster. Harper’s fiancé.”
I gasped at his audacity. Jenna didn’t accept his hand, just stared at him hard. He swallowed before turning his attention to Monica. She took his hand and smiled a smile that was so chilling I shivered. “Simon Lancaster. I’ve heard terrible things about you,” she drawled.
“You have?” This time, it was his turn to squeak and my lips twitched. Good. Squirm, you bastard.
Monica nodded, squeezing his hand, watching as he winced and sweat dotted his forehead. “You’re the cheating bastard who broke Harper’s heart. You don’t get to come to this town, to her home, and claim her as yours.”
“Y-y-you’re right,” he stammered, desperately trying to retrieve his hand, but Monica wasn’t budging, and with her vampire strength keeping his hand trapped in hers, crushing it was effortless. She could do this all night. For once, Simon clued in pretty quickly. “I apologize,” he gasped.
I elbowed her and she released her grip just as Gran arrived.
“This him?” Seemed Simon didn’t need an introduction at all. I nodded. Before I could even guess her intent, Gran pulled her wand from her cleavage and sparks flew as she aimed it at Simon.
Just as I gasped, “Gran,” and tried to stop her, he suddenly yelped. Oh my God, what had she done? I was already in trouble with Drixworths for using magic to harm a human, the last thing I needed was another infraction.
I looked at Simon and couldn’t contain the laugh. He stood there in his tighty-whities and nothing else, hands clasped over his crotch.
“Real mature!” he yelled, face red. “So, what’s next? A wedgie?”
“Nah, I think you’ve got enough stuck up your butt.” Gran tucked her wand away, dusting her hands together.
“Whatever, freak show,” he snapped.
“Simon”—I finally found my voice—“I don’t believe you’ve met my grandmother.”
He shut his mouth with an audible snap.
“Harper, can we please go someplace to talk.” He turned beseeching eyes to me and for a nanosecond, I almost capitulated. Then I remembered my own humiliation, the recollection of another woman’s legs wrapped around him in the cloak closet. The memory of my own pain and humiliation scorched my cheeks and I felt my magic dance across my knuckles. A big hand wrapped around my clenched fist.
“Easy,” Blake said into my ear. He knew. He knew the power that was roiling through me, tumultuous and uncontrollable. I felt it clawing at me for release, to do more to Simon than turn him into another creature, to inflict the pain I’d felt at his hand. Blake’s other hand slid around my neck to rest at my nape, softly stroking, massaging, easing the tension.
It worked. He soothed the savage beast within and I slumped back against his chest. Simon’s beady eyes didn’t miss any of it. He opened his mouth and I braced myself for more vile words, but Blake beat him to it.
“Zip it,” he ordered, his voice ringing with authority. “She doesn’t want to speak with you. She doesn’t want to see you. Take your repulsive pale-skinned body out of here and don’t come back.”
“You can’t speak for her,” Simon spat out, the face I’d once thought handsome, twisted and bitter.
“I’m done, Simon. With you,” I said, my voice level, calm. I was stronger without him than I was with him. “You should leave. Don’t come back. There’s nothing for you here.”
He blinked at me, shocked beyond measure at my rejection. I turned to Gran. “Please return his clothes. I suspect his keys were in his pocket and I’d really like not to give him an excuse to stay.”
“Fair enough, doll.” Gran whipped out her wand and bestowed Simon with his clothes. He tugged at the neckline of his sweater and swept a glance over all of us before hurrying away.
Jenna threaded her fingers with mine and pulled me away. “Come on. There are shots at the bar.”
Chapter Ten
“She did what?” I asked, mouth agape. Standing on the doorstep before me was Blake Tennant dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, and looking more delicious than a man had a right to.
“Alice won me in the bachelor auction”—he grinned—“and gave me to you. Don’t you remember?”
No.
I did not remember. Because I’d gotten shitfaced drunk after Simon left. Jenna and Monica had kept up protective duty around me for the rest of the night. We’d drank, danced, and drank some more. Today, I had the mother of all hangovers to prove it.
“You look better than I expected.” Blake looked me up and down, and I couldn’t even summon the energy to be offended. I was pretty sure I looked as awful as I felt. I’d pulled on a pair of sweat pants and T-shirt, sans bra, and half-suspected last night’s makeup was now smeared over my face since I hadn’t bothered with the whole cleansing routine before flopping into bed.
“Your hair, however, could use some help.” He reached forward and began plucking pins from my locks, apologizing when I winced. “Slept with it like this, huh?” He grinned, finally freeing all the strands and running his fingers through them.
“I guess.” Proof that I was probably still drunk because ordinarily, I would have been mortified to have him see me like this.
“Your Gran said you were moving and could use the muscle power. Are you going to let me in?”
I sighed, pushed the door open so he could enter. “Sure. Why not,” I grumbled, heading down the hallway to the kitchen where I’d been nursing a mug of black coffee and pushing pancakes around my plate with a fork.
“You got something to tell me?” I asked Gran, sliding back into my seat and ignoring the way my stomach was turning at the thought of food.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she said to Blake. “Pancakes?”
“Sure.” He sat opposite me and I glared at the comfortable comradery he had with Gran. Like they were best friends from way back.
“You didn’t tell me about this,” I said to Gran, pointing my fork at Blake.
“Didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind,” she shot back and I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Look.” I gulped down a mouthful of coffee. “While I appreciate the gesture and all”—I gestured to both of them—“I don’t need the help. I have a handful of boxes, that’s it.”
I’d picked up the keys for my new rental yesterday and told Gran of my reservations about moving out given she was on the hook for murder. She’d solved that problem by pretty much kicking me out of the house, telling me she loved me to the moon and back but apparently, I was cramping her style. Seemed she was more than ready to have her house back to herself, and we agreed I’d move today. It was Sunday, I didn’t have to open The Dusty Attic, and it would give me a day to settle in to my new place. I hadn’t expected Gran to buy a bachelor from the auction to assist. Then a thought hit me.
“Who else did you bid on?” I demanded, not remembering the details of last night’s events. I had a vague recollection of doing my own bidding, only to have Jenna and Monica pin my arms to my sides—for my own protection, they’d told me.
“All of them!” She grinned, winking at me.
“Did you win any others?” I pressed, and Blake barked out a laugh before Gran shushed him.
“Don’t tell her. I’d like to leave her stewing for a bit.”
It was all the motivation I needed to finish breakfast and get packed and out of here. If there were going to be a stream of men coming through the front door, I’d prefer not to be here when it happened.
“Ready for my help yet?” Blake asked, and I tossed my napkin on the table in resignation.
“Okay, fine. It’ll be quicker with two of us, we can probably get it done in one trip.” I stood up. “Finish your breakfast,” I told him. “I just have some last-minute stuff to finish packing, then I’m set.”
Rushing upstairs as fast as my hungover body could manage, I could hear the murmur of their voices and wondered again how Blake knew my dad. I’d pressed Gran on it but she’d said this was the first time she’d met Blake and to ask my father. I would if I could. I glanced at my phone for the millionth time. Why couldn’t I get ahold of them? I’d started checking the news every hour for word of plane crashes, but so far, nothing. Maybe it was like Gran had said, they were on a layover somewhere and their phones were dead.
I was packing my toiletries and the last of my clothes into my suitcase when my phone chimed. Finally! Swiping at the screen, expecting to see a text from Mom or Dad, I was somewhat disappointed to see Jackson’s name. I opened the message.
“Need a hand moving today?”
My eyes narrowed. How did he know? Gran. I wondered if she’d bid on him too. I’d seen his name in the list of eligible bachelors and had figured Liliana would have outbid anyone who’d dared to try to win a date with her man.
“Got it covered, thanks.”
Then I remembered I had something I’d wanted to ask him and fired off another message.
“There was a note?”
My phone rang. It was Jackson.
“Who told you that?” he asked without preamble.
“Kristen Lane. She said there was a note from Gladys on top of the egg bowl. It wasn’t there when I—” I paused. I’d been about to say broke in, but hurriedly added, “I didn’t see it when I was there. Do the police have it?”
“When you broke in, you mean.” Jackson chuckled. “Yes we have it, and yes, it was from Gladys, wishing Bonnie good luck in the competition.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what I’d been expecting, that it had been a confession or something. I guess they wouldn’t have arrested Gran if that had been the case. I felt somewhat deflated.
“Harper?” Jackson said, snapping me out of my stupor. “I said, are you sure you don’t need a hand today. Your Gran said you were moving.”
“I’ve got it covered, but thank you.” I smiled, touched that he’d offered.
“You finished packing yet?” Blake said from the doorway and I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Almost. You can start with those boxes.” I pointed to where four boxes sat stacked against the wall.
“Tennant’s there?” Jackson asked, voice sharp.
“Yes. Gran won him in last night’s auction and volunteered him to help with the move,” I explained.
“I would have helped.” He sounded…jealous. But that couldn’t be. Why would Jackson be jealous that Blake was helping me? Men were so damn confusing.
“I really don’t need any help,” I said. “I’ve literally got six boxes and a couple of suitcases. It will take ten minutes, tops. Blake wouldn’t be here if Gran hadn’t interfered.”
“Right.” He sounded weird and I frowned.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you around.” And he hung up.
“Trouble in paradise?” Blake asked, and my frown grew deeper.
“Why would you say that?” I asked, and Blake outright laughed.
“You can’t be that naïve,” he said, hefting two boxes into his arms and heading out the door. “That man has the hots for you. Only he’s too much of a pussy to say so. And he’s too whipped by that girlfriend of his to do anything about it.”
“What?!” I yelled after him, but all I heard was the thumping of his feet on the stairs and his laugh echoing behind him.
All my angst over Jackson and Blake melted away when I turned the key in the lighthouse cottage lock and the door swung open. I was home. Stepping over the threshold with Archie in my arms, I felt the cottage embrace me as if it had been waiting all this time—just for me. Much like The Dusty Attic had.
“Nice place.” Blake followed me inside, his eyes taking in the hardwood floors, white shiplap walls, and beach décor. Through the large living room window stood the lighthouse, majestic in its splendor. No longer in operation, it remained a tourist drawcard in the summer. And now I lived in the old caretaker’s cottage. With a smile on my face, I spun in a circle until Archie meowed and demanded to be put down.
“Sorry, boy!” I lowered him to the floor where he immediately began exploring, sniffing every available surface. The cottage was a simple two-bedroom design. It was cozy, with the living room, kitchen, dining room, and half-bath downstairs, and two bedrooms an
d the main bathroom upstairs. I couldn’t believe my good fortune in not only renting it, but renting it furnished.
Blake had half the boxes in his rental car and half were in mine, so I’d been right, it only took us one trip. What I really wanted to do was start unpacking and possibly lounge on the sofa, but with Blake here, it felt awkward, like I had to entertain him.
“Seriously, Harper, you’ve gotta learn how to school your face,” he drawled, standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back. I did my best to wipe the guilty look from my face but from the way his lips twitched, I could only imagine I wasn’t very successful.
“Thanks for your help today,” I said, trying to be a gracious hostess, “but—”
“But you’d really like me to disappear so you can settle in on your own,” he finished for me.
“Something like that.” I didn’t see the point in lying about it. It wasn’t like I’d invited him here. His presence was thanks to Gran’s interference, nothing more.
“So, you have no interest in sharing this with me then?” he asked, pulling a picnic basket from behind his back. I blinked, lost for words. “I won it in one of the raffles last night,” he explained. “Seems a shame to waste it.”
He held the basket out and I walked over to peer inside. It was filled with wine, a selection of cheeses, grapes, strawberries, and crackers, plus more treats, all buried beneath a checkered cloth.
“I figured we could have a picnic up by the lighthouse.”
Damn it, he knew my weakness. I glanced out the window at the magnificent white structure on the cliff top. I don’t think I’d ever get tired of the view.
“That sounds lovely,” I capitulated without a fight. A girl had to eat, didn’t she? And I was hungry. I hadn’t been able to face food earlier, but my hangover was slowly receding and my stomach growled at the thought of sustenance.
