by Amy Boyles
I poked the air with the fork. “Is that before or after you teach me to bake bread.”
He grinned. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever seen in my life. His golden eyes sparked with mischief, his tan skin glowed in the morning light and not one hair on his head was out of place.
It made me think that my own untidy tresses were a wreck. I pawed at my hair, throwing it over one shoulder.
“So why violet?” He said.
“You got the color right.”
“It’s not purple.”
“Violet.”
He took his last bite and leaned back. “So why violet?”
I hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know. I like it.” I gulped down the mug of coffee he’d laid beside my plate. “It’s different.”
“Very different. Makes you easy to spot.”
“I thought it made me easier to melt into a crowd.”
He raked his fingers down his face. “Are you always so darned difficult to have a friendly conversation with?”
Only with hot guys I want to pounce on. “No. I just like sarcasm. It’s my weapon.”
“I’m not holding a spear.”
Really dirty thoughts hit my brain. I eased them away. “I know.” I sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I recently lost my dad. It’s been rough.”
He studied me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He was sick. I knew it was going to happen. He was pretty much all I had.”
Roan picked up the plates and took them to the sink. “More coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He topped off my cup. “I could get used to this.”
He smirked. “What about your mother?”
“I never knew my real mother and father.”
He settled the pot on the burner and rested his hips on the lip of the counter. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I grew up in an orphanage until I was ten. My father found and adopted me. I miss him, that’s all. He taught me to fish, to shoot a gun, plant a garden, that sort of stuff. He was a great dad.”
A tear sprang to my eye. I knuckled it away and heaved a shaky breath. I would not let my emotions get the better of me, which meant it was best to change the subject.
“Oh, I owe you money,” I said. “I need to pay for the room.”
Perfect. There was nothing like talking about money that killed any hint of romance in a conversation.
I punched my hand in my jacket pocket to fish out my wallet. “Holy shiznit!”
That stupid smile coiled on Roan's face again. “Is that a word?”
I rose and searched my other pockets. “I don’t like to cuss. It’s a thing with me.”
“Really? You look like the kind of girl who could tongue lash a sailor in a cussing contest.”
“Very funny. I make up words. It kills anyone’s idea that I’m not a lady.” I’d felt all the pockets. It was gone. Where the heck was it?
Roan chuckled. “Right. Because shiznit is so ladylike.”
“It is compared to the alternative. Son of a poopmonger! That little sneak. The boy at the bookstore. I bet he stole it.”
“What boy? Do I need to call the police?”
I waved him off. “No. The ghost boy. The one who lives there.”
Roan crossed to me and felt my forehead with the back of his hand. A jolt of lightning fissured down my spine. His gaze locked on mine, snapping my heart to the back of my spine.
My breath hitched. It wouldn’t come. Not forward nor backward. Never in my life had I experienced anything like that from a person’s touch.
“What are you doing?”
He was so close I could smell the musky scent beneath his aftershave. Gold flecked the brown in his eyes. Roan was like a force of gravity. I felt myself falling into him.
“Just making sure you don’t have a fever,” he said in low, gravelly voice.
I bristled. “Why would I have a fever?”
“You mentioned a ghost boy.”
“Oh, right. The man who doesn’t believe in ghosts would obviously have a hard time accepting that the bookshop has a spirit that steals things from people. I’m pretty sure the whole town knows about it.”
His expression darkened. “Look. I…” Roan exhaled and glanced away, breaking the trance that tied us together. “Never mind. Anyway. Maybe there is a ghost who stole your wallet.”
“Either way, I need my wallet if I’m going to pay you and not be cleaning rooms to settle up for my stay here.”
“I already have a housekeeper.”
I zipped my jacket. “Well then I’m pretty much up crap creek, aren’t I?” I glanced at the breakfast I’d decimated. “Thanks for the pancakes. I owe you one.”
“Blissful.” The sound of my name on his lips made electricity shoot straight up my back.
“Yeah?”
Roan shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
I reached Blustery Books a few minutes later. Luckily the kid hadn’t stolen my keys. He’d be in huge trouble then. Not that he wasn’t already.
I hadn’t seen Susan in a while. Though it was nice to have some ghost-free moments, I sort of found myself missing her company.
It wasn’t like I was worried or anything. It isn’t as if she’d been murdered. The woman was already dead. She would show up eventually.
It was a crisp morning in Haunted Hollow. A breeze prickled my skin. I pulled my jacket tight around my neck. I suddenly wished I’d brought a scarf. I walked up the steps to the shop and pushed open the door.
“All right. Where is he? Where’s the little twerp?”
The few shoppers in the room stopped and stared at me. You know, sometimes I forget that people can’t see spirits like I can. It would make my life a lot easier if they did. Then I wouldn’t walk around having what looked like conversations with invisible friends, nor would I be a potential inmate at the county mental health facility.
Mr. Hodges appeared from the back. He wore a heather-gray V-neck sweater and plaid shirt underneath. He had the whole laid-back-prof thing going on. His spectacles helped with it.
“I’m sorry, what little twerp are you looking for?”
“Ricky.” I glanced away uneasily. “He stole my wallet.”
Mr. Hodges stopped. “Ricky usually returns the things he steals.”
“Well he didn’t return this, but he can now.” I brushed past Hodges. “Where are you, Ricky? Bring me my wallet or you’ll see the light, whether you want to or not.”
“Sometimes he’s shy,” Mr. Hodges said.
“Shy my lily rear end.” I peeked in the corners. “Come on, Ricky. I need my wallet.”
The door swung open. I turned around and saw Truck enter. “What’s he doing here?” I mumbled.
Mr. Hodges left me and crossed to Truck. “Truck, I’m so sorry. I heard about Xavier. How are you?”
Truck brushed away what looked like a tear. That was a change from yesterday, when he looked like he wanted to punch Xavier in the face.
“I’m hanging in there. It’s been hard. I’ve got some things of Xavier’s that I meant to get back to him. I’d borrowed some stuff. Now I guess there’s no need.”
A man I hadn’t seen walked up. “I guess there won’t be any more Ghost Wranglers, huh?”
Truck pinched the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as if he damming up his tears. “We might stay on. The movie company that had contracted Xavier already called this morning.”
“That worked out well for you.” Literally the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
The men stopped and stared at me. I shrugged. “Ricky,” I said loudly, desperately trying to cover, “that worked out well for you—taking my wallet, huh?”
I turned back to the wall and peered around the shelves. Truck talked to the men for a few more minutes while I played back the conversation in my head. Truck sai
d he had some things of Xavier’s. Was one of those things Xavier’s computer?
It would be worth a look. The men finished up their conversation and Truck left.
My patience was threadbare. I glared around the shop. “Come on, Ricky. I don’t have all day.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Hodges said, coming up behind me, “if you were a bit nicer, the spirit would comply.”
“Nah,” I said. “They obey commands better than asking nicely.” I fisted my hands. “If you give me my wallet right now, I’ll bring back a treat from the candy store.”
I waited for something. “All right,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to tell the spirit at Soul Food and Spirits where to find you.”
I smirked and headed toward the door. If that didn’t do it, I didn’t know what would.
Plop.
I turned around. Lying on the floor was my wallet, not a scratch on it. I picked it up and shook it toward Hodges.
“See? I told you being nice doesn’t work.”
I shoved it in my pocket and smiled. With that, I headed out of the store and on to find Alice and Ruth. We had work to do.
THIRTEEN
It wasn’t hard to figure out which shop was Alice and Ruth’s. There was a large sheet ghost hanging on the awning with the words GHOST CATCHERS inked in black beneath it.
“Looks like the place,” I said.
I pushed the door bar and walked inside. A row of baby booties in the shape of ghosts greeted me.
“Nice,” I said. “Are those for sale?”
“It’s how we make our money,” Ruth said. “Alice makes the booties. I sell them.”
I traced my finger over the white crocheted delight. “And how much ghost catching do you do?”
“None,” Alice said, popping in from the back. “At least not yet. But we will. Soon.”
I nodded. Several thoughts hit me at once. I needed to find Lucky Strike, but I also needed to get Xavier’s computer. If I caught Lucky, I’d be back on the team but would still have to deal with Anita. If I had proof in the form of e-mail that she wanted to get rid of me, I could get her tush booted from the director’s chair and take the job.
Or at the least get her booted.
But I couldn’t drag these two women into this with me. My problems required solutions along the lines of breaking into houses—namely Truck’s. Alice and Ruth were responsible members of society.
Me, I was just an outsider. I was nothing more than a traveler. Here today, gone tomorrow.
So my mind was made up. They could help me find Lucky, but I was on my own with everything else.
That’s how it was going to be.
I cleared my throat and puffed up my chest, ready to talk about their equipment, when the door opened.
In sauntered Sheriff Kency Blount. She tossed strands of long red hair over her shoulder and gave me the stink eye to end all stink eyes.
“I didn’t see you in my office this morning, Miss Breneaux.”
Shoe-butts. I’d forgotten. I snapped my fingers and put on my wow-that-totally-escaped-my-mind expression. “Sorry. I woke up late. There was a plate of apple pancakes that made every thought vanish from my brain.”
She quirked a brow. “Oh? Roan making you his apple-pancake special?”
Ew, looked like I struck a nerve. Now how to get out of this without really ticking her off? No clue.
“No. I actually found a plate sitting on the table at the B and B. I have no idea who left them.”
“Cute,” she said, clearly not buying it. She crossed her arms and slowly stepped inside the room. “Anyway, what happened to you last night?”
“It was like I said, I got scared and ran back to the B and B.”
“So you don’t know what happened to Xavier Bibb?”
I opened and shut my mouth as if I were void of words. “No. I’m not sure. I didn’t even know he was dead until you told us. That’s so horrible. Who would do that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Her gaze darted around the room as she slowly circled me. Not creepy at all. No. I didn’t feel like a caged animal. No way.
“I hear you talked to a spirit yesterday,” she said.
“Wow, word around this town sure gets mutilated. No, I didn’t talk to a spirit. Apparently I was having lunch at Soul Food and Spirits when one sat down across from me. I didn’t see it, but a bunch of other people did.”
She clapped her hands. “And you became an instant celebrity.”
“Yeah, Hollywood’s calling. My phone’s ringing off the hook.”
Kency rested a hand on her waist. “Maybe they’re not yet, but with Bibb gone it’s a possibility.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. I showed up, saw a spirit, got invited by Xavier to hunt the spirit and then killed him so I could get his movie deals. That’s exactly what happened. Do they pay you in cheese, too?”
“Watch it.”
I changed my tone. “You know, I brought a laptop with me to the investigation. Has a sticker of a skull and crossbones on it. I went by the restaurant this morning but didn’t see it anywhere. Have you come across it?”
Kency shook her head. “Nothing like that springs to mind.”
“Not in Xavier’s van? I thought maybe I left it there.”
“Not that I can remember.”
I sighed. “Okay. I guess I’ll just have to keep looking.”
Ruth’s and Alice’s eyes widened to saucers. I guess no one spoke to their precious Sheriff Blount like that. Well, she wasn’t my sheriff, and I was about to be out of this town.
“Well,” she said, rubbing her hands together, “now that I’ve got your unofficial statement, I need something from the three of you.”
“What’s that?” Ruth said.
“Need us to catch a ghost?” Alice said hopefully.
“No,” Kency said. “I need your fingerprints. There was a slew found at Xavier’s house. A window was also broken. Just trying to narrow down the suspect field.”
My stomach plummeted to the floor. Shoot a boot. Had I left any fingerprints? I thought I’d wiped everything clean, but there was the possibility that I’d missed a surface. I wanted to scrape my fingers down my face, but instead I smiled cheerfully.
“Sure. I’ll give you some prints. Need me to come to the station?”
Kency pulled an inkpad and slips of paper from her purse. “No. We’ll do them right here.”
Alice and Ruth exchanged a panicked look. We had no choice but to comply.
Ten minutes later Kency Blount was leaving the shop with all the evidence she needed to slap me with an arrest warrant.
Ruth rubbed her long fingers over her mouth. “We’re in trouble now, Alice. I forgot to wear my gloves.”
“But Kency already knew y’all were there. She found your business card,” I said.
“I might’ve cut myself on a shard of broken window,” Alice said, revealing a bandaged thumb. “We’re in for it now, Ruth.”
The playing field had now changed. Before, I hadn’t wanted to drag them with me. But now we needed each other.
“We’re all in trouble,” I said. “Or have you forgotten that I was there, too. The sheriff finds our prints at the scene and we’ll be hauled in.” I tapped a fist on my leg. “I wonder if they’ve found the murder weapon.”
“They haven’t,” Alice said.
I cocked my eyebrows. “And you know this how?”
Alice glanced guiltily to Ruth. “Oh, just tell her,” Ruth said.
“The Baptist Women’s League. The president is the retired sheriff’s wife. She told me. Said Kency called last night to get his advice. She made a big point to say they hadn’t found the weapon. See, Kency got the job because no one else wanted it. Half the town’s waiting for her to fail; the other half want her to succeed.”
“And once they discover she’s calling the retired sheriff for advice?”
“Oh no one will find out about that besides us,” Ruth said. “We keep our lips zipped
about these things.”
“So no murder weapon and a long list of suspects—and fingerprints from three of us who have no business being at the victim’s house.”
Ruth’s face crumbled. “It looks like we’re in bad shape.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. “I’ll help us get out of this.”
“How?” Alice said, her face full of questions. “How will we get out of it? It looks like sooner rather than later we’ll be dragged in there.”
I crossed my arms. “We know Xavier’s computer is missing and it wasn’t found by the police. My guess is someone killed Xavier and stole his computer. He’s dead, maybe because of a piece of information on it. We find the laptop, we’ll be zeroing in on the murderer.”
Alice pulled off her glasses and cleaned them with her floral dress. “What are you going to do?”
“Not me,” I said, “us. What’re we going to do? Because the way I see it, the three of us look fairly guilty.” I raised my hand. “I don’t want anyone to get in trouble, but I need your help. I can’t go stalking around people’s houses by myself searching for evidence, but with the two of you, I’d at least have a cover.”
“What’s the cover?” Alice said.
Ruth rubbed the tired from the wells of her eyes. “Ghost Catchers, you moron. She wants us all to go out and pretend to be looking for ghosts.”
A slow smile curled on my lips. “That’s exactly right. Now. The three of us suit up or whatever it is you do and we pretend to be investigating a haunting. It’s the perfect cover.”
“Only no one’s ever hired us,” Alice said.
I opened my arms. “Now they have. We’ll say we’ve been hired and you brought me along to teach me the ropes.”
“We’ll be the laughingstock in town,” Alice complained.
Seriously? Weren’t they already?
Ruth snapped her fingers. “It’s perfect. We can walk around; Blissful can actually see ghosts. You can help us catch one.”
“Whoa. There I won’t go. I don’t catch ghosts. Well, that’s not exactly true. I want to catch Lucky Strike, but that’s it. Normally my job is to push them over to the other side.”
