“And a fine man,” Greer said. “I know Connor Endicott. Strong as the Mother Oak herself, but hands like an angel with the animals. You should be proud, Mrs. Hamilton.”
Mom regarded her with shining eyes. “Kelly,” she said. “Call me Kelly. And I am proud . . . of both of my children.” She looked at me. “That was a sweet and incredibly stupid thing you did, young lady.”
I shrugged, “You know me. A real multi-tasker.”
Everyone cracked up at that.
“You gave Lucas a good fright,” Greer said. “We were in Reykjavík when the Mother Oak told him to get to Shevington. The poor man had to jump three portals to make it in time.”
“So you’re a DGI agent, too?” I asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Greer said. “You wouldn’t happen to watch a television program called Scandal would you?”
“Oh my God,” Tori said. “Team Fitz or Team Jake?”
“Please,” Greer said, “Jake might be a sociopath, but I’ll take him any day over that milquetoast nitwit Fitz.”
“Sister friend!” Tori declared, holding out her fist, which Greer bumped on cue.
Grinning, I said, “So you and Lucas fix things like Olivia Pope does?”
“We do,” Greer said, “but Scottish vampire or not, I’m not half as scary as that woman.”
Somehow, I doubted that.
20
A little before 2 o’clock, Beau, Tori and I prepared to walk to the library for Linda’s program, “The Haunting of Briar Hollow: Past and Present.” Technically, we were leaving Gemma and Mom in charge. However, since my folks were huddled together looking at the picture I took of Connor, which had now been emailed to both their phones, Gemma was pretty much on her own.
“Hey, Mom,” Tori said with barely disguised hope, “maybe I should stay and help you with the shop?”
“Maybe you should go to Linda’s lecture like you said you would,” Gemma said. “There haven’t been half a dozen people in here all morning. Don’t worry about it.”
When she asked the next question, Tori’s words were more uncertain. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean . . . about . . . things.”
Gemma sighed. “Honey,” she said, “I really don’t have much choice right now. Your Daddy needs a few days to cool off, and so do I. And it’s good to know someone is keeping an eye on him.”
Tori agreed, but as we stepped out the front door, I saw her cast a worried glance back at her mother.
“Hey, Beau,” I said, “would you mind going ahead? We’ll be right behind you.”
“Of course,” he said, giving us a little bow. “I will reserve seats for you.”
As I watched him walk away, I said to Tori, “How about we take the long way around?”
“Okay,” she said, falling in beside me as we started down the sidewalk past Chase’s shop to the corner.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” I asked, keeping my eyes forward.
I heard Tori swallow hard. “He won’t even talk to me, Jinksy,” she said, her voice breaking. “What if he really does want a divorce? I just can’t imagine us not being a family.”
A lot of people might have offered some platitude about “you’ll always be a family,” but Tori and I shoot straight with each other. If her parents did divorce, nothing in her world would ever be the same again.
“I am so sorry, honey,” I said. “You want to know what I think?”
“Always.”
“I think Scrap is hurt and scared,” I said. “Gemma cut him out of a huge part of her life for a really long time. He doesn’t know anything about magic, and he’s afraid to find out. You remember how I felt when I first found out about my powers?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her nod. “Yeah,” she said. “You were seriously freaked out, but you were willing to learn. Dad won’t even listen.”
“You said yourself those girls were creepy,” I replied.
“No,” Tori corrected me. “I said they were creepy as hell. But if dad had let us, Mom and I could have explained.”
“Could you really, Tori?” I asked. “Because I’m right in the middle of this and I don’t understand how two dead girls rise from the grave and turn into those creatures. How do you know the explanation wouldn’t have just upset your Dad even more?”
“Yeah,” she said, “you have a point.”
We turned and headed down the side of the square where the Stone Hearth Pizzeria was located. As we approached Pete’s door, we both fell silent, not taking up our conversation until we crossed the street.
“We have to find out what’s going on with that guy,” Tori said. “If I don’t get a supreme with anchovies pretty soon, I’m going to expire.”
Truer words were never spoken. Thinking your pizza man is in league with the dark side can put a serious crimp in a girl’s food supply.
“It’s on the to-do list,” I said.
Just before we reached the library, I stopped and caught Tori’s arm. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“No,” she said, with tears in her eyes, “but don’t worry, my head’s in the game.”
“Tori,” I said, “of all the things I’m worried about, your head not being in the game isn’t one of them.”
That had the opposite effect of what I intended. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “That was supposed to make you feel better, not turn the water works on.”
Tori laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It does make me feel better. Lots.”
Linda’s talk drew a standing room only crowd. She took the attendees through the major stops on the weeks’ ghost tours, giving the history of each location, complete with a PowerPoint presentation.
When I first met Linda at the beginning of the summer, she was an incredibly stereotypical librarian complete with a graying bun. However, shortly after she began working with Beau on the festival, she’d turned up sporting a perky pageboy.
Now she was wearing dark jeans and a bright red sweater that made her look years younger. The transformation was remarkable, and I suspected it had something to do with trying to catch Beau’s eye.
From what I could tell, he was oblivious to her interest in him, especially since he still considered himself to be a married man. I honestly didn’t know if dating would even work for Beau given his changeable form, but at the very least, Linda was his first new friend outside our tight little circle. With her extensive knowledge of the Civil War, I think talking to Linda made Beau feel a little less like a man out of time and place.
Even though I hadn’t wanted to attend the lecture, Linda gave an interesting talk. She didn’t come right out and overtly claim any of the local sites she discussed were actually haunted, but she spiced her comments with just enough historical gossip to make a convincing argument for ghostly activity.
At the conclusion of her remarks, Linda said, “Those of you interested in touring the courthouse with us this evening can sign in at the desk. We’ll be investigating the site of Mayor Howard McAlpin’s alleged murder and attempting to make contact with his spirit.”
A hand went up in the back.
“Yes, sir?” Linda said. “Do you have a question?”
“Is it true that Mayor McAlpin’s ghost only appears from the waist down?” he asked.
Linda deflected smoothly. “I haven’t actually seen His Honor since he passed to the other side, so I’m just as excited to discover the answer to that question as you are.”
Another attendee raised her hand.
“Yes?” Linda said.
“Do you think the Confederate officer will appear this evening?” the woman asked excitedly. “I want to see him just as much as I want to see the levitating Twinkies.”
Beside me, Beau cleared his throat in irritation. I couldn’t say that I blamed him. I wouldn’t like being compared to a cream-filled pastry either.
“He doesn’t keep a schedule,” Linda said, “but you’r
e more than welcome to camp out near the monument all week to try to get a glimpse of him.”
“And the Twinkies?” the woman said.
“That incident occurred in the corner grocery,” Linda replied. “The proprietors are hosting an investigation on the premises Thursday night. I hope we’ll see you there.”
“Oh, you will,” the woman said earnestly, making a note on the legal pad in her lap.
Linda wrapped things up, and we went over to congratulate her on the presentation before joining Beau on the sidewalk out front for the walk back to the store.
As we crossed the courthouse lawn, I asked Beau, “Have you been able to coach Howie into a full manifestation yet?”
“His Honor is an amazingly slow study,” Beau said crossly. “At best we have progressed slightly north of his belt buckle.”
Tori snickered but didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to the tour tonight?” I asked him.
“I am,” Beau said, “but in corporeal form. Howard was quite adamant that the courthouse interior is his exclusive territory. I assured him I would not dream of perpetrating an encroachment.”
The way he said that made Tori and I both crack up. Beau made no bones about Howard being a thorn in his side.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Greer told us she had to “keep an appointment in Edinburgh” but would return in a few hours.
“You’re coming back?” I asked.
“I am,” she said. “The DGI higher-ups think it’s a good idea for either Lucas or myself to be on site as much as possible until this issue with the Strigoi is settled.”
Lucas. On site. Meaning he and Chase would likely have to interact. Oh. Joy.
“So does that mean Lucas will be here later, too?” I asked, trying not to sound interested, and failing, judging from the way Greer grinned at me.
“He will.” she said. “But I doubt he will arrive before morning. Do try to avoid getting into too much hot water in the next few hours.”
Yeah. No guarantees on that one.
We had a trickle of customers, probably because a lot of people had jobs to get to on Monday morning. The diehard ghosthunters, on the other hand, seemed to be in town for the duration. The courthouse tour was scheduled to begin just after dark, and the building would stay open until midnight. We planned to keep the store open as well, in case any of the paranormal groupies came out of the ghost hunt with a case of the munchies.
That evening, Beau left a few minutes early to see if Linda needed any help. As he started for the door, I said, “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“Yes,” he said, patting his pocket. “Miss Tori has instructed me quite well in the use of the camera and the art of sending a text message. If anything of interest occurs during the tour, I will let you know.”
As it turned out, we didn’t need Beau’s newly acquired text messaging skills to know something major happened. About an hour into the tour, three women ran screaming out the front door of the courthouse just as the words, “ride to the sound of the guns,” flashed on the screen of my phone.
“‘Ride to the sound of the guns?’” Tori said. “What does that mean?”
“It’s cavalry speak for ‘get to the scene of the battle,’” Dad said.
Lord. Now what?
Tori and I came out the front door of the store in time to see more people streaming out of the courthouse. The tour must have drawn a bigger crowd than I realized. I spotted Beau standing off to one side and steered for him.
“Beau,” I said, “what happened?”
Drawing us farther away from the milling tourists, Beau said in a low voice, “I fear I underestimated Mayor McAlpin’s abilities.”
“So more than half of him showed up?” Tori asked.
“Indeed,” Beau said. “The good mayor strolled directly into his office as a full-body apparition, moved his desk chair, and actually spoke to one of the participants.”
“He what?” I said. “How is that even possible?”
“I do not know,” Beau said. “In an effort to enhance the ambiance, the lights were not on in the room at the time. Linda was delivering a somewhat embellished version of the details of Howard’s murder. Just as she was describing the pool of blood that formed under his desk, Howard moved through the crowd.”
I fought the urge to put my head in my hands. “What did the people do?”
“It has been my experience that living souls curious to interact with the dead, flee rather quickly when actually afforded the opportunity to do so,” Beau said. “Three women immediately fled the vicinity, while others backed away still attempting to capture photographic evidence of the event.”
“Do you think anyone got a good picture?” Tori asked.
“It is a distinct possibility,” Beau admitted.
“How did you get everyone out of there?” I asked.
Beau smiled. “I merely suggested to Linda that the festival committee is not insured against the personal injury of participants, especially by potentially dangerous paranormal entities. For the safety of those present, retreat was the better part of valor.”
“You,” I said, “are a genius.”
Inclining his head in thanks, Beau said, “Hardly, but the ruse worked. Now, we need to speak with Howard immediately and get to the bottom of this.”
Before we could move, Linda threaded her way through the excited crowd and joined us. “Beau,” she said breathlessly, “did you see him?”
Trying to play down the incident, Beau said, “I was standing toward the back of the room, but I did see . . . something.”
“Something?!” Linda exclaimed. “It was Howard McAlpin just plain as day. I’d know him anywhere!”
Beau hedged diplomatically. “I’m afraid I did not have the pleasure of the gentleman’s acquaintance in life.”
“Oh, trust me,” Linda said, “knowing Howard was no pleasure. But I’m telling you, that was him. I have to see if anyone got a picture for the website. This is fantastic!”
We watched her wade back into the crowd, calling out, “Did anyone get a photo of the manifestation? If so, we’d like to post it on the festival website immediately.”
“Quick,” I said, “inside while no one is looking. We need to have a talk with the manifestation.”
I was pretty sure everyone outside was too preoccupied with checking their phones and cameras for pictures of Howard to notice when we ducked in the door, but we were careful not to run into anyone inside either.
We found Howard in his office looking inordinately pleased with himself and altogether too solid. As the three of us walked into the room, he said, “See there, Longworth? You’re not the only professional spook in Briar Hollow.”
“Can it, Howie,” I said. “This is not a contest. You agreed to abide by the rules. You were supposed to make a vague and brief appearance, not talk to the living!”
McAlpin frowned. “All I did was ask the woman to step out of the way,” he said, “and I might have brushed her arm.”
“You touched her?”
“Potentially,” he said, “but I’m not prepared to confirm that detail at this time.”
Once a politician, always a politician.
“Show me what you did,” I ordered.
Somewhat reluctantly, Howard tapped me on the arm. His fingers were cold, but the pressure was unmistakable.
“And you just stood here in a room full of people and let yourself be seen like this?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“I did no such thing,” Howard huffed. “When I realized I was not necessarily in control of my . . . output, I slipped into the file room.”
“And no one followed you?”
“The door is locked, and I can still go through walls,” he said. “Give me some credit here, Miss Hamilton. I’m not an amateur.”
“That’s exactly what you are,” I said, looking over to Beau. “Something’s not right here. There is no way Howie has the energy to appear with t
his much coherence.”
“Now see here!” McAlpin protested. “I do not appreciate the implication that I am normally incoherent.”
The last thing I wanted to do was listen to a wounded politico’s post-mortem ego issues. “Howie,” I said, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fade your butt right on out of here.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “I have more important matters to attend to anyway.”
And . . . he just stood there.
“Well?” I said. “Go, already.”
Looking completely confused, Howie said, “I, uh, I’m trying. It’s not working.”
Even if the line was stolen, Tori summed up this latest wrinkle perfectly.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
21
We couldn’t leave Howie there in the mayor’s office. Someone might see him, and we had no idea if he’d fade to invisibility when the sun came up. A ghost walking around the courthouse in broad daylight would put Briar Hollow a little more on the “paranormal map” than we’d planned.
But if we wanted to get him out of the building and over to the store, we had to find a way to cover up his pale, glowing form.
“Can a ghost even wear clothes?” Tori asked, eyeing Howie as he rifled through the drawers of the current mayor’s desk. “I mean, other than the ones he was buried in?”
Beau suggested a different solution. “We could put the Amulet of the Phoenix on Howard,” Beau said. “As I have greater control over my spectral form, I should be able to quite easily cross the street undetected.”
There was no way I was going to agree to put the Amulet on Howie. For one thing, I was fairly certain he’d shoot his mouth off and say something stupid before we reached our destination. The other thing was we might not be able to get the amulet back from him.
“Besides,” I said, “for all you know, you have the same problem he does. It might not even work.”
“Then let us test that hypothesis,” Beau said. He pulled the amulet over his head and held it out to me.
Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels) Page 16
