Evelyn, on the other hand, didn’t seem too thrilled with Autumn’s decision to work for Mr. Blazevig. “Midnight tours?” she had said, her brow furrowing.
“Only on the weekends,” Autumn explained.
“Is that safe?”
Autumn shrugged off her mother’s worries. She wanted to say, “You should’ve thought of that before you fired me.” But instead she said, “I’ll be fine.”
When Autumn and her mother moved here, Evelyn made a point of taking Autumn to the Hemingway House and the Butterfly Conservatory and Fort Zachary. All the places Evelyn deemed “safe” and “respectable.” Autumn thought it was pretty ridiculous of Evelyn to bring her down here only to show her the touristy stuff. If Key West was going to be her home, then she needed to understand it—even the seedy parts.
“There you are, dear.” Mr. Blazevig pulled Autumn out of her daze. His hands trembled slightly as he aligned the brochures on the table. “We’ll get started in about ten minutes, but first I want to tell you how to register customers, take reservations, and get credit card info for billing.”
“Uh, okay.” Autumn thought she was just giving the tour. She assumed Mr. Blazevig would handle the money and the people. She was only supposed to show up and talk.
Autumn did her best to take mental notes as Mr. Blazevig explained his detailed, if antiquated, system for booking customer reservations and collecting deposits. “I conduct tours every night at seven and nine o’clock, except for the weekends when I do special midnight tours,” he said.
“Every night?” she asked, surprised at how this seventy-year-old man had the energy to walk the streets of Key West, practically giving a performance. It had to be exhausting.
He nodded. “I was thinking of cutting out the midnight tours, but they’re popular.” He related a few other details that Autumn tried hard to remember, but her head spun.
“Do you typically do all this . . . by yourself?”
The old man thumbed through a three-ring binder. “Who else would do this, dear?”
“You never had part-time help?”
“My wife’s nephew worked for me a few years back, but then he moved away. There are not many people I can trust.” He gave a weak smile.
Sadness bloomed in Autumn. Mr. Blazevig was a lonely old man. “Show me how to do the credit card slips again.” Mr. Blazevig gave her a wink and then spent the next few minutes explaining how he kept his books. Autumn found it interesting and even suggested a phone app to help manage the accounts. She wondered why her mother never bothered to do the same thing with the Cayo. Autumn could be more assistance than just cleaning toilets.
After a few moments, Mr. Blazevig glanced up and noticed a small group had gathered in front of the mansion. Autumn watched as he tied a red bandana around his neck and topped his head with an old straw hat. If she squinted, Mr. Blazevig looked like Hemingway in his glory days. She watched the man transform. As if possessed, Mr. Blazevig became someone else—an actor.
“Welcome to the Haunted Ghost Walk of Key West,” he told his audience. For a moment, the sounds of Duval Street hushed. Autumn focused on Mr. Blazevig’s voice. “Tonight, you will hear unbelievable tales of ghosts and legends. Did you all know Key West is one of the ten most haunted cities in America?”
The crowd murmured and some shook their heads.
Mr. Blazevig tipped his hat. “Well, when a city is founded on the skeletons of those who lived here before, it creates a powerful energy that does not leave. Cayo Hueso means Bone Key.” Autumn wished Liam had stuck around for this. But their conversation had gotten awkward, and Autumn couldn’t blame him for distancing himself.
As Mr. Blazevig spoke about the history of Key West, she tried to pay close attention to the details, especially if she would have to recite it next week. He led them across the street and told the audience to take plenty of photos. They were to look for orbs, little balls of light that appear for no reason in their photos. “They say it’s evidence of ghosts.”
Autumn watched the group. Everyone was smiling and listening to Mr. Blazevig’s melodic voice. She had to hand it to the man, he could entertain a crowd. Not to mention weave a good story. If she were going to be a writer, she’d need to do these same things, except in print.
Mr. Blazevig pointed to the second floor window at the Hard Rock Cafe. “You ladies be cautious, you hear? There’s a ghost by the name of Robert, who haunts the women’s bathroom.” Autumn laughed with everyone else and examined the old Victorian house. Her eye caught on the silhouette of a familiar-looking guy. He slouched against the street lamp as he typed into his phone. She searched her memory until she could come up with the name—Randall. She turned her attention back to Mr. Blazevig, who was now leading them down the street on the way to a haunted graveyard.
At one point, the group stood outside an abandoned storefront with large windows taped up with butcher paper. Mr. Blazevig recalled a sad story about children dying in a fire and Autumn shuddered.
Mr. Blazevig asked the tour group to place their hands against the glass. “Some people say they can feel the heat from the flames.” Some of the tourists shook their heads. An older woman crossed herself and spat on the sidewalk. When Mr. Blazevig waved his hands to lead the group toward City Cemetery gates, Autumn saw Randall lurking in the distance, attempting to hide behind another building and doing a terrible job of it. He had his phone out again and was snapping photos.
Autumn considered cornering him, until Mr. Blazevig called her over. “Come, dear, we’re heading to City Cemetery.” Autumn hesitated, but in the end, she followed.
City Cemetery didn’t typically make Autumn’s skin crawl. During the day, the white headstones shone in the sunlight like marbled artifacts of another era. But at night . . . well, that was something else. Even being with a crowd of people, Autumn still felt the little hairs on her arm rise.
In fact, no one in the group made a sound, except for Mr. Blazevig. He lowered his voice as he waved his hands over the locked wrought iron gates. “City Cemetery is famous for its nefarious habitants and peculiar epitaphs.”
Autumn listened to the old man tell a story about a woman poisoned by her husband’s mistress. As the tour group proceeded, Autumn hung back. She pressed her cheek against a cool gravestone and listened. Footsteps. The sound of shuffling feet. And tapping. Her stomach dropped. Especially when she lost sight of the tour group.
Her heartbeat quickened until she heard the beeping. Wait a minute. She moved alongside the fence before clamping her hand down on Randall’s shoulder. His scream could be heard in Miami.
“Gotcha,” she said.
Randall slammed against the metal fence and clutched his chest. “You scared the crap out of me!”
His cell phone dropped to the ground. Autumn bent down to retrieve it, but something on the screen caught her eye—a photo of the tour. She wiped away dust that covered the screen. She held the phone in front of his face. “You’re spying on us!”
Randall shrugged her off. “Just getting a few ideas.”
“You’re stealing Blazevig’s tour. You’ll steal his clients too.”
Randall held out his hands in mock surrender. “Everyone does it. There are a ton of these tour group operations. You think anyone has something original to say?”
Autumn shook her head. “Mr. Blazevig runs a unique business. Does Liam know you’re doing this?”
Randall smiled then. “Liam’s my boy. He’ll be cool with it.”
Autumn hoped he was wrong.
“Besides, Blazevig doesn’t have many more years doing this stuff. He’ll need to leave it to the young guys.”
“Yeah. Go tell that to Mick Canton.” Autumn pushed off him and handed him back his phone. “Go home, Randall. You’ll never hold a candle to men like Mr. Blazevig.”
Randall smoothed down his T-shirt. “Whatever, Jersey girl. I can see why Victoria doesn’t like you.”
Autumn shrugged. “And you can see why I don’t care.”
“Later,” Randall called to her as he headed along the side street.
Autumn ran to catch up to Mr. Blazevig, who smiled and joked, “Ghost slow you down?”
Autumn watched Randall slink out of sight. “More like a ghoul.”
#
Liam woke the following morning to find a text message waiting for him from Autumn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before scanning the screen.
Your friend Randall is a spy. Followed me on my ghost tour and took notes.
Liam breathed out a heavy sigh and leaned against his headboard. He’d have to talk to Randall. It was one thing to try and take a cut of Mick Canton’s lucrative business, but he didn’t want to steal clients from old Mr. Blazevig. The man was harmless, not to mention, an old army buddy of Pops. Also, a ghost tour on scooters seemed kind of stupid. What is Randall doing?
His phone vibrated with another text message from Autumn.
Mom wants to know if you can come in early. She has an errand for you. Sorry.
“Sure, why not?” Liam said to no one in particular. If anything, he’d get paid a little more, and he could see Autumn again. It didn’t sound so bad. That is until he arrived at the Cayo Hueso.
Evelyn barely let him say hello to Autumn, before she shoved a long piece of paper into his hands. Liam cocked his head to the side and peered around Evelyn’s pinched face, hoping to catch a glimpse of Autumn. He could see she was wearing a yellow tank top and white shorts. Her ponytail swung as she swept the patio. She looked beautiful.
Evelyn cleared her throat and nodded at the slip of paper. “It’s a list of provisions for Fantasy Fest. We’re booked for the entire ten days, so I’m going to need you to go out and pick up everything that I’ve written on that list.”
Liam glanced at the paper and perked up. This could take a while. A few hours alone with Autumn was something he’d arrange for free. Evelyn was paying him to hang out with her daughter.
Evelyn dangled a set of keys from her fingers. “You and Timothy can take my car. It has adequate trunk space.”
“Hold up,” said Liam. “You want me to go with Timothy?”
Timothy ducked his head out of Evelyn’s office and pursed his lips. “It’s no picnic for me either, sugar.”
“No offense,” said Liam. “It’s just, are you sure you can spare him? I just thought I could go with Autumn.” Liam knew what Evelyn’s reaction would be the minute the words left his mouth.
She narrowed her eyes. “Autumn will help me here. You go with Timothy.”
Liam took the car keys and blew out a breath. Timothy came around the reception desk. He smoothed his white button shirt and adjusted his bowtie in the mirror. “Come on, lover boy. Let’s get this over with.”
Liam and Timothy emerged into the daylight and approached a blue Prius with Jersey plates parked along the curb. Liam held out the keys. “You want to drive?”
Timothy vigorously shook his head. “I don’t drive.”
Liam’s eyes widened. “What about a scooter?”
“Never learned.”
How do you get around?”
“I ride my bike,” he said simply.
Liam went around to the driver’s side and opened the door. He didn’t understand how Timothy, who always looked so polished and put together without an ounce of sweat staining his impeccable wardrobe, rode his bicycle in the wretched humidity.
Timothy climbed into the passenger’s side and buckled his seatbelt. “I know what you’re thinking, and, baby, all I can tell you is it’s my Bahamian blood. I adapt well to heat.”
Liam started the engine. “So, basically, you don’t sweat like the rest of us because of your Bahamian blood?”
“That’s right.”
Liam put the car in drive. “I guess you could say it’s because you were born that way.”
Timothy rolled his eyes at the Lady Gaga reference. “Ha ha, lover boy. Now drive to the market. We’ve got plenty to do.”
#
Liam stood on the back of the shopping cart and coasted down the aisle like he used to do when he was a kid. He skidded to a stop in the produce department where Timothy had spent nearly a quarter of an hour inspecting bananas.
“Seriously, dude,” Liam said. “Pick out yellow ones.”
“Again, your wit is to be admired,” Timothy said. “My mother wants these bananas for muffins but they need to be overripe.”
Liam picked up a bunch of bananas developing a brown tinge on the skin. He thrust them at Timothy. “Get these.”
“Too ripe. By the time the guests arrive, these won’t be fit for a dog.” He made a big point of glancing at Liam as he said this.
Liam exhaled. “This is taking forever.”
Timothy clucked his tongue. “Be thankful you’re out of the Cayo for an afternoon, and you don’t have Evelyn breathing down your neck.”
It never occurred to Liam that Timothy would find Evelyn overbearing. He thought she just had it out for him. “Does she bug you too?”
Timothy plucked a bunch of bananas that were neither green nor beginning to brown, and put them in the cart. “She’s been on my case all week to get that website done. But she wants to be made aware of every change I make. I can’t be micromanaged like that.” He glanced at Liam. “Of course, in your case, she’s just being a mama grizzly with you.”
Liam picked up three apples from a nearby table and juggled them. “What does that mean?”
“It means Evelyn sees how you ogle Autumn. She’s protecting her baby.”
Liam caught the apples in rapid succession. “I don’t ogle Autumn. I just like her is all.”
“A lot.”
“Yeah, a lot. So?” Liam put the apples back down on the table.
“So, lover boy, Ms. Evelyn just got out of a long marriage to a man who cheated on her. My guess is she hates all men, myself excluded, right now. Besides, isn’t Miss Autumn going to college in New Jersey next year?”
“Well, you never know. She might stick around.”
Timothy made a check mark on the shopping list and then gave Liam a pointed look. “Please. The girl may sweat you a little, but don’t be thinking she’s going to give up her dream of returning home for your bony ass.”
Liam clutched his chest and feigned hurt. “Thanks.”
“Just sayin’.” Timothy nodded toward the meat department. “Come on. We’ve got a ton more to buy and my mama ain’t getting any younger.”
Liam followed Timothy with the cart. But his childlike antics had dissipated, and he couldn’t get Timothy’s words out of his head.
Don’t be thinking she’s going to give up her dream of returning home for you.
That was just Liam’s luck with women, wasn’t it? He was never good enough for them to stick around.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Autumn sat at her desk in her bedroom and tapped the pen against the notebook. It was hard to focus on her AP History homework when she wanted to focus on Liam instead. Autumn had to admit that there was no Liam Breyer in New Jersey. She would definitely miss not seeing him every day when she started college next fall.
Lunch had been stressful, if uneventful. Cora served up the fish Bahamian style. Mrs. Paulson complained as much as she always did. The knife was dirty. Her water had specks floating in it. The dinner was served too late. But she couldn’t complain about the delicious food.
Mr. Fletcher, on other hand, voiced nothing but compliments. Autumn could tell the man hadn’t been taken care of in a long time. She wondered when he had last eaten a vegetable. Autumn’s mother visibly relaxed in front of Mr. Fletcher and tensed up whenever Mrs. Paulson so much as cleared her throat. It was enough to drive anyone over the edge. But then Autumn thought back to her afternoon at the pier with Liam, and a sly smile crept up on her face.
Autumn shook her head in an attempt to focus on her schoolwork. Goosebumps erupted on her arm.
“Ugh, homework,” Katie said, appearing from nowhere. “That’s one thing I do
n’t miss about being alive. But seeing that dreamy look on your face tells me you weren’t thinking about homework just then.” Katie wagged her brows. “You want to make out with Liam, don’t you?”
“Seriously?” asked Autumn.
Katie’s lips curved into a pout. “What? You’re not going to confide in me? Don’t you think he’s groovy?”
Suddenly, Autumn’s cell phone buzzed. She swiped it off the desk, assuming it was Natasha giving her a play-by-play of Homecoming events. Her friend had been texting more often ever since Autumn sent an email about Liam.
Whatcha up to? Liam texted.
Autumn smiled, a rosy glow erupting on her cheeks. She wrote back, Homework. You?
Definitely not homework. Going to see Randall tomorrow.
Give him hell for me.
You know I will.
Katie read over Autumn’s shoulder and squealed, “You’re flirting! Reminds me of letters passed around at school. Do people do that anymore?”
Autumn nodded as she typed. “Some do.”
There was a moment before Liam responded. Night, Autumn. She wrote back good night, before setting down the phone.
“He’s totally into you,” said Katie. “I bet he’s a good kisser.”
Autumn felt the heat rise to her cheeks.
Katie squealed. “Ooh! I knew it. You kissed him. Tell me everything.”
“No way.”
“Who am I going to blab to?”
“Fair enough.” She turned to Katie. “Well—” But then the phone buzzed again. Autumn picked it up and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Katie asked.
Autumn held up the cell phone’s screen so Katie could read the message.
Send my love to the pretty blonde ghost.
Katie grinned and glowed brighter than she had in days. “Autumn, don’t mess this up.”
Dead and Breakfast Page 13
