by Amy Boyles
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I glanced at Lucky Strike, who stood behind Billy. Lucky slammed his fists on the desk. Pens jumped, a stapler toppled over, papers flew.
Billy lurched back. “What the…?”
“I’ve brought my friends, Billy. You can’t see them, but they can see you. Tell me who had you do it.”
Billy’s brain must’ve busted because he stared at the desk, his lips trembling and his hands shaking.
“Lucky.” I nodded to him.
Lucky yanked Billy by the T-shirt collar and pulled him toward the glass, toward me until we were eye to eye. The only thing that separated us was an inch-thick layer of plexiglass.
“Who had you do it? What happened?”
He pressed his lips together and exhaled, causing his mouth to flap like a motorboat.
“Billy? Answer me or else I’ll have my friend start breaking things.”
“No! No, okay.”
Lucky released him. Billy straightened. “Somebody called, okay? They called and said to take what was in the room and leave it in the woods or else they’d hurt my mom. They also told me to leave the envelope.”
My gaze flickered to a door behind him. A television was cranked so loud you could probably hear it outside. A woman in her midfifties sat on a recliner. Her knees were swollen, her knuckles enlarged. Looked like a bad case of rheumatoid arthritis.
Billy’s eyes lowered. “So I did what the voice said. Neal Norton was gone. He’d left to make his big announcement, I guess. I left the package and took Neal’s stuff to the woods. I didn’t see who took it, but when I checked on it later, it wasn’t there.”
“Did you open any of it? See what it said?”
“No,” he said sadly. “What did I care? Besides, I was told not to.”
“And the fire?”
He shrugged. “Bad wiring. This place is old. Luckily no one was hurt.”
I still had a hard time believing it was a coincidence that a fire occurred in the same room as Neal had been staying in. I wondered if that was Billy’s interpretation or the fire marshal’s official report.
I rapped the counter. “Thanks, Billy. And listen, stay out of trouble, okay?”
He sniffled. “Okay.”
Lucky Strike followed me to the car. “Good thing I’m keeping an eye on you.”
“Good thing you’re stalking me.” I shut the door and fastened my seatbelt.
“We have an agreement.”
“I know. I know. Stop reminding me.” I glanced at my watch. It was five thirty.
“Crap.”
He sank into the bucket seat beside me. “What is it?”
I frowned. “I have a date.”
FIFTEEN
I raced home and readied myself as quickly as possible. I threw a pair of jeans in a bag along with pajamas, deodorant, face wash and anything else I figured I might need.
Lucky Strike watched me with amazement. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous, Blissful Breneaux.”
I snorted. “I am not nervous.”
He sucked his cigarette. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I ransacked my drawers searching for a cute top to wear. Everything I owned, Roan had seen before. I needed to go shopping in Haunted Hollow, especially since it looked like my stay was getting longer by the day.
I changed into a sweater the color of dried blood and decided it would do. Last thing I did was snatch the packet Anita had sent and shove it in my duffel.
Surely I’d have time to read it in bed while I pined for Roan.
Wait. I didn’t need to get ahead of myself.
I dumped the bag in a chair and locked gazes with Lucky. “There’s something I need you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Watch the house tonight. Anyone tries to break in, let me know. Appear to them like a ghost and stuff—you know, give them a good scare.”
He smiled. I knew mischief and mayhem were right up his alley. “And what should I do then? Hold them until you arrive?”
“You think you could do that?”
He stroked his chin. “I could. We are partners in this, Blissful.”
“Give me a break. We don’t know what we are. All I know is I’m trying to figure stuff out and somehow you suckered me into a promise.”
He started to protest. I raised my hand. “A promise I intend to keep if everything goes my way. But you’ve got to prove to me that you’re on the right side, Lucky.”
“Proof is in the pudding.”
I glanced out my front window and saw Roan pull up. “Right on time.” I turned to Lucky. “I’ll be at the bed-and-breakfast. Anyone tries something funny, you nab them, got it?”
He pulled on his cigarette. “If I can wipe out power across eight states, surely I can keep someone hostage.”
“I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or terrified.”
Lucky smiled wickedly as I disappeared out the front door, my duffel bag and purse hitched over one shoulder.
I practically squished myself against the door in Roan’s G-Wagon. His hand rested absently on the gearshift. I didn’t want it to get any ideas and try to touch me or anything.
“So where are we going for dinner?”
“I’m actually cooking it.” Roan’s gaze slid to me.
My stomach coiled. “You’re making it? Oh, so we’re having dinner with your other guests?”
“Can you believe the inn is empty?”
I swallowed. “So it’ll just be you and me?”
He glanced back at the road. “Yep, unless you want to invite half of town and throw a party.”
I laughed. “No. That’ll be nice. Dinner. What’re you making?”
“My favorite. Meat pie.”
“Did you make the pastry yourself?”
He winked. “Oh, you know it.”
I tapped down the giggle tempting to burst forth. “Great.”
When I arrived inside the inn, I gasped. The lights were low, soft music played in the background and a table had been simply yet nicely set in the dining room.
Roan pulled my jacket off and pegged it by the front door. “I was going to light candles, but you know, fire hazard.”
“Right. Fire hazard. Wow.” I quirked a brow and suddenly remembered all my wits. Every last one of them. “This looks like a date.”
He scoffed as he led me toward the table. “A date? You’ve got to be kidding. This is more of a make-sure-the-good-reverend-doesn’t-try-to-kill-you occasion.”
I laughed as I slid onto a chair. “Okay, not a date. More of a rescue mission.”
He poured red wine into my glass. “Definitely.” Roan poured himself a glass and then retreated into the kitchen to procure the pie, I imagine.
“This meal better be good,” I shouted after him.
“Oh, it will be. You’d better believe it.”
I sipped my wine. I should’ve snacked before having a drink. It wouldn’t take much for me to be bubbly and giddy with an empty stomach and vino.
“I’ve got Lucky Strike watching the house.”
Roan appeared with a tray. A beautiful pastry sat atop. It was brown and shiny and smelled like beef. “I’m going to eat that whole thing.”
He laughed. “Calm down, Killer. One bite at a time.” He sliced a piece and served it. “Who did you say is watching your house?”
“Lucky Strike. He’s a ghost.”
Roan frowned.
“I talk to dead people. Get used to it.”
He served himself a slice and sat. “I’m used to it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why did you frown?”
He sipped his wine. “I don’t know. I guess it’s strange hearing you talk about it so casually.”
“You’re the one with the spirit in your basement.”
“Touché.” He raised his glass. “To spirits.”
I mirrored his gesture. “To spirits. And to pie!”
He laughed.
“And to pie.”
I wasn’t exactly sober, but I wasn’t exactly tipsy by the time dinner finished. Roan cleared the plates away and led me to the living room, where he turned on the television.
“So how’s this Lucky fellow going to let you know if your place is attacked?”
“He’ll pop in and tell me.” Obviously.
“He’ll just pop in?” The razor-sharp sound of disbelief tinged his voice. Roan clearly didn’t believe it.
“Yep, he’ll pop in and tell me. Then you and I will drive over and apprehend whoever it is.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. “And how will the person still be there when we arrive?”
I scoffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because Lucky is going to keep them there.”
“A ghost is going to capture a human being against their will and hold them until you and I arrive?”
I smacked my thigh. “Obviously that’s what’s going to happen. It’s so simple. How else would it occur?”
“I have no idea,” and he sounded like he really didn’t.
We faced each other on the couch while a sitcom played in the background. I planted an elbow on the cushion and tipped my head. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I believe you. A spirit is going to trap a human and then pop over here and tell you that they’ve got someone tied up or something, and then you—and presumably I—will run over and get this human out of the tree or wherever it is they’ve been held. I’m sure their hair will be white by that time because they’ll be scared to death.”
I sighed. “It won’t be that bad. Besides, why’re you so worried? This person will be there because they want to attack me. Maybe kill me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good point.”
Roan’s arm was draped on the back of the couch. Let’s just say I felt frisky when I walked my fingers up his arm. He stared at them.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“This could be dangerous.”
I damned up the smile trying to etch on my lips. “You say there’s a spirit in your basement.”
“That’s right.” He stared at the TV.
“I’ve been wondering if I could go down and see it.”
“No.”
“Not the spirit, the place where it’s held.”
“Same answer, no.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to release it. But I talk to spirits; maybe I can get an idea about what’s going on.”
“No.”
I turned away and watched the show. Since it didn’t look like Mr. Sulky was going to change his mind, I figured I’d probably have to take things into my own hands.
“I need some water.”
“I’ll get it.”
I rose before he had a chance. “Nope. I’ll do it. You served me dinner, Roan, and it was fabulous. I can get my own water. Can I bring anything back for you?”
“No, I’m good.”
I entered the kitchen, grabbed a glass and ran the water. I let it drip slowly, to bide time. A darkly stained wooden door sat on the opposite side of the room. I knew it wasn’t the pantry because that was an open closet in the kitchen.
It could only lead to one place. I palmed the knob. It didn’t feel different from any other knob. I turned and pulled, but the door was locked firmly.
Annoyed at myself for thinking it would be that easy, I flipped the handle on the faucet, wiped my glass down since water had flooded it, and headed back to the living room.
I sat.
Roan turned. “You figured out the door’s locked.”
“I hate you.”
He threw his head back. “I told you it’s off-limits.”
“You can’t blame a woman for trying.”
“Certainly can’t.” He shot me a dark look. “But like I said, you’re not allowed down there.”
“Way to kill my ego.”
He laughed and took my hand. A warm fissure of energy snaked up my arm. He threaded his fingers through mine and stared at me. “The last thing I want to do is kill your ego.”
I pulled my hand away and held my breath, waiting for Roan to kiss me, waiting for his lips to touch mine. He leaned forward and dusted his mouth against my lips as if testing the waters.
Do you want to kiss me? Would I kiss you back? his lips asked.
A bubble of desire ballooned in my chest. I pressed it down. If it exploded, I’d have my arms around Roan’s neck, his chest against mine and my back on the couch cushions.
Not a position I wanted to be in.
But his mouth teased. He spoke as we brushed lips. “You’re like a bottle of dynamite.”
“I thought that came in bricks.”
He chuckled softly. “If it came in liquid form, that would be you. You’re holding back.”
“So are you.”
“Because you’re so explosive.”
It was my turn to laugh. “You could just kiss me and then write a song about it later.”
“Oh, you’re so funny.”
His lips plumbed mine. The kiss was on. We slipped and slid. Heat washed down my neck. I fisted my hands and dug them into my thighs. Roan must’ve sensed my pent-up emotions. He took one of my hands and threaded it in his.
Somehow that strengthened the connection. Made it tangible, like something I could taste deeper than the hint of pie on Roan’s breath. As our link tightened, the kiss became bigger as if a well of emotion was bricked up in me and this single kiss would cause a fissure to form and break the steel barrier I’d placed on my heart.
It was the perfect kiss, and I never wanted it to end. Ever. I could kiss Roan for eternity.
He seemed to read my mind. He wasn’t stopping anytime soon. His fingers squeezed mine. I grabbed a clump of his shirt with my free hand. I wanted to pull him into me.
Yes, I know that was psychotic, but it was the urge burning in me. The problem with that being, of course, that we were both made of flesh and unable to melt into one another.
He palmed the back of my head, and I felt a moan escape my lips. He seemed to smile as he moved closer to me.
Then a pop sounded. I jerked back to find Lucky Strike staring down at me. Mischief filled his eyes.
“Everything okay?” I couldn’t help but notice how breathless Roan sounded.
“Lucky’s here,” I said, annoyed. I smoothed my hair. The fuzz evaporated from my brain as I realized why Lucky had appeared.
I jumped to my feet. “Oh my goodness! Have you caught someone?”
The spirit nodded. “Yes. Come and see.”
SIXTEEN
We reached the house in a few minutes. Lucky sat in the back of Roan’s G-Wagon, puffing on a smoke. I had a feeling I knew what had killed him.
“Where’s the culprit?” I said.
“In the back bushes.” Lucky nodded in that direction. “Got ’em tied good and tight with some rope I found.”
Roan parked. “Stay here.”
“You don’t even know where you’re going,” I said.
“I’ll figure it out.”
I scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? Someone sneaks up to my house in the middle of the night and you want me to stay put? You must think I’m made of daffodils and sunshine.”
“Oh no,” he said drily. “I know you’re made of sugar and spice.”
I almost stuck my tongue out at him.
“Like I said, you don’t know where you’re going.”
He sighed in defeat. “Fine. But stay close. Don’t go off on your own.”
“Fine.”
We reached the rear of the house. It was clear Lucky had captured someone.
I approached with caution. “I hope they’ve got a good reason for being here.”
Lucky threw his smoke to the ground. “I didn’t hear one if they did.”
My heart rate spiked as we approached. Would it be the good pastor come to kill me? Yes, I know it was a long shot, but you never knew abo
ut people, what they were capable of.
Roan held me at arm’s length. “I’m going in.”
He reached into the bushes and dragged a fluffy form from the hedge. “What are you doing? I just came by to say hello.”
Roan stood Alice upright. Sticks and leaves were stuck in her curls. They looked like a deranged halo.
“Alice, what’re you doing here?” I growled. Couldn’t be helped. We were trying to catch a killer, not Alice.
Roan untied her, and Alice stood, stiff-lipped, before me. “Ruth and I fought.”
I directed her toward the house. “About what?”
“She says I’m being ridiculous, hiding from Kency.”
I shrugged.
She fisted her hands to her hips. “Don’t tell me you think so too?”
I unlocked the door and let us inside. Roan, like a pro, walked straight to the kitchen and readied coffee without being asked. I handed Alice a cloth and gave her a few minutes to wash up in the bathroom.
When she appeared, the coffee was ready and Roan and I were waiting for her. Her face was red with embarrassment. Her hair still poked around her head, but it looked limp and sad, as if it was mimicking Alice’s own emotional state. When she slumped into the chair, my heart burst for her.
Ruth and Alice were best friends. The absolute best of friends. Surely that couldn’t be destroyed by a simple argument.
“It’s over,” Alice wailed. “Thirty years of friendship down the drain. I never knew it would come to this!”
Roan rose. “I’ll be in the living room.”
I gripped Alice’s hand. “What happened?”
Tears sailed down her cheeks. “She told me I’m being ridiculous. That I just needed to go home and face it if Kency came. The evidence would speak for itself. That I was innocent and if Kency couldn’t see that, then she was a moron.”
“I agree with Ruth.”
“I said all I needed was one more day. I could get the strength to do it, but all I required was time.” She twisted her dress. “That’s when the real argument began, that I run away from my problems. That Mr. Hodges has asked me out plenty of times, but I’ve never given him a chance. I did. We had one date.”
By her silence I took it that it went horribly wrong. “Was it bad?”
