Admit One
Book Two In The Sweetwater Trilogy
Lisa Clark O’Neill
CHAPTER ONEALLISON Hawbaker looked up as the overhead light flickered and then went out, leaving her alone in the dark bathroom, clutching a toilet brush.
She tried not to think of it as a metaphor for the current state of her life.
“Allie!”
“Coming!” she answered the slightly panicked call of her employee, Rainey Stratton. Rainey was re-shelving the educational books that were strewn about the Dust Jacket’s children’s section following the departure of one Kirby Abbott and her three pre-school aged offspring. Judging from the state of the floor when Allie had come in to clean the bathroom, Kirby needed to skip phonics and work on teaching her four-year-old twin boys better aim.
Dropping the toilet brush in the general vicinity of the corner, Allie snapped off her rubber gloves and felt her way along the wall. Placing fixed shutters over the window in the bathroom so that they could add an extra stall had seemed like a great idea when she and her business partner were renovating the old house into a bookstore/tea room. But getting stuck in the dark little box during an electrical storm was causing her to reconsider that position.
Finally, she located the doorknob by bumping into it with her hip. Rubbing the spot, she yanked open the door, gulping air like a landed trout.
“Allie, is that you?”
“No, it’s Freddy Krueger.”
“That’s not funny.”
Allie followed the sound of Rainey’s indignant voice until her eyes finally adjusted. She could just make out the younger woman’s tall, lithe form cowering beside a bookshelf.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”
“Hey, everyone knows that thunderstorms coupled with power outages are two of the three necessary conditions to bring forth deranged, hatchet-wielding serial killers from… wherever it is that they hang out otherwise.”
“Starbucks?”
“Sure, poke fun. You won’t be laughing when the hatchet-wielding maniac chops through the door.”
Amusement tamping down her own discomfort, Allie slowly edged toward the counter. She was pretty sure they had some candles in one of the drawers. “And what’s the third condition to bring forth this hatchet-wielding maniac, might I ask?”
“Teenagers having sex.”
“Well, since you’re the only one of us within spitting distance of that age bracket, and as far as I can tell, you’re not currently in flagrante delicto, I think we’ll be okay.” Allie bumped into the edge of the counter, hitting the same spot on her hip. Swallowing a curse, she went around the back, opening the drawer she thought might hold candles.
“I’m barely twenty. And anyway,” Rainey admitted. “I was thinking about having sex.”
“Like that’s something new?” But since thinking about having sex was the closest Allie’d come to the actual deed since her fiancé called off their engagement well over a year ago, she slammed the drawer – which was empty except for Rainey’s purse – a little harder than necessary.
“Are you looking for candles?” Rainey said, gingerly picking her way closer. “Because I think Sarah took those home with her a couple of weeks ago.”
Allie’s shoulders sagged with exasperation. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did.”
Sarah Barnwell – Allie’s business partner and best friend since grade school – had probably taken the candles to use for a romantic dinner with her fiancé. Irritation flared, but was quickly doused. In the months since Tucker Pettigrew had moved in next door to the Dust Jacket, Allie’d never seen her friend happier. The curmudgeonly author with the surprisingly squishy center was Sarah’s match in almost every way. And Allie had come to think of Tucker as a brother.
Not that she needed another one, considering she had three of her own. With whom she was currently living. And sadly, that fact wasn’t the biggest contributor to her sexless state.
She really needed to get a life.
Jumping at a noise beside her, Allie glanced out the window, where the gnarled limb of a live oak tree scraped its bony fingers against the glass.
“God, that sounds creepy,” Rainey whispered.
Since the little hairs on the back of Allie’s neck were standing at attention, she couldn’t disagree. The rain hadn’t yet started, but the wind blew in angry gusts and thunder rumbled, like the mean-spirited cackle of some ancient, pissed-off god. From the looks of things, the entire block was without power. Absent the occasional strike of lightning, the neighborhood appeared black as a tomb. At least the appliances were on a backup generator, so she didn’t have to worry about their perishables going bad.
During one of those lightning strikes, Allie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the counter. Wide blue eyes stared out from a pale oval face caught between chin length black hair and a dark blue blouse. She looked like a disembodied, floating spectral head.
The limb blew against the glass again, and Allie jumped. “And now you’re just spooking yourself,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Allie said, opening the drawer again and taking out Rainey’s purse. “Why don’t you go on home.” The younger woman lived in an apartment just a couple blocks over. “Who knows when the power will be back on? We can’t do any more tonight anyway, and I’d feel better if you left before it gets really nasty.”
Rainey hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. Thanks, Allie.” She grabbed her purse. “Ten to one my roommate is already roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. Last time the power went out we ended up with her entire Abnormal Psych class at our place making s’mores.”
“Sounds crazy.”
“Hardy har har. See you Monday.”
“Be careful walking home.”
Rainey’s long legs ate up the distance to the front door just as another bolt of lightning flashed outside. She hunched her shoulders, then gave a little finger wave before closing the door behind her.
Allie sighed. Oh, to be that young. When life’s little inconveniences were merely another excuse to party.
Realizing that this particular inconvenience put an effective end to her workday, Allie decided to take her own advice and leave before the storm got worse. Having the traffic lights out would be bad enough, but once the rain set in, the drive home could turn treacherous. River Oaks, her family home, sat on a bluff overlooking the Sweetwater River, but the roads leading there tended to flood. After all, they didn’t call this the Lowcountry for nothing. Most of Sweetwater sat about fifteen feet above sea level, at best.
Abandoning the search for candles, Allie pulled her key ring from the pocket of her sweater. And rolled her eyes heavenward. She’d forgotten all about the miniature penlight on the ring, courtesy of her older brother Will, the family Boy Scout.
Well, technically he was the Chief of Police. But he had that “Be Prepared” thing bred into his marrow. Switching on the surprisingly strong beam, Allie headed toward the front door, needing to lock up before grabbing her own purse from the office and heading out the back. She bounced the light along the floor, recalling, for some unfathomable reason, the shadow animals she and Sarah used to make as kids. Allie stuck her free hand in the beam, elevating two fingers while curling the rest. Was that the dog? Hmm. It looked more like a rabbit. Maybe you had to use two hands to form the dog.
She’d have to see if Sarah had stocked any shadow puppetry how-to books in the children’s section.
Allie’d just about reached the door when it burst open on a gust of wind.
“Aaahh!
” Stumbling back from the large, dark shape framed in the doorway, Allie crashed into one of the bistro tables, promptly falling onto her butt. The table rocked, then tipped ominously, but was righted before it could crash down onto her head.
“Well hell, Al, don’t go braining yourself,” said a familiar voice. “It’s just me.”
The voice’s owner steadied the table. Relief swamped her, followed quickly by irritation. In retaliation, she shined the beam of the penlight directly in her brother’s face.
“Cut that out.” Will lifted his arm to protect eyes the exact shade of blue as her own. “If you’d been aiming that thing toward the door, like a reasonable person, instead of making weird hand signals at the floor, you would have seen me through the glass.”
“If you’d knocked, like someone who was raised to have some manners, you wouldn’t have scared me half to death.”
“Since when do I have to knock to come into your store? Which is open to the public, I might add.”
Deciding he had a point, Allie graciously lowered the penlight and accepted his outstretched hand.
“You okay?”
“Dandy.” Allie brushed off the seat of her skirt. She eyed Will, taking in the crisp white shirt and tan pants beneath his SPD rain slicker. “I thought you had a date.”
“I did.” He pushed wavy dark hair back from his aggrieved face. “But duty called. There’ve been three traffic accidents in the past half hour, two of them due to an oak that came down across Calhoun Street. Barely missed the restaurant where we were having dinner.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Just some minor bumps and bruises. But with the way this storm is shaping up, it’ll likely get worse before it gets better. I thought I’d stop by and let you know that I talked to Bran and he said he’s got things covered. Dad’s already in bed and he’s got the generator in case the power goes out there, too.”
Their brother Branson – Allie’s twin – had been in charge of caring for their ailing father while Allie and Will were at work. Allie was planning on taking the evening shift so that Bran could catch a break and Will could enjoy his date. She opened her mouth to ask why Bran would have to cover anything when realization dawned.
“Calhoun Street’s blocked.”
Will nodded. “Between getting the accidents and that tree cleared out during the storm, I don’t think it’ll be open to traffic for at least a couple of hours, maybe more.”
And since Calhoun offered the only access to River Road – and their house – that meant Allie was stuck.
“Maybe you should just crash at Sarah’s,” Will suggested.
Allie shook her head. “Tucker refinished the wood floors, remember? That’s why they went down to Florida to see her dad for the weekend. Fumes.”
Although their guest cottage was available if Allie desperately needed a place to stay. “Just keep me posted on the progress, if you can. I hate to do that to Bran. I’ll –”
Allie’s protest was cut off by the sound of a nerve-jangling scream from outside.
“What…” Allie began, and then ice shot through her veins. “Rainey.” She grabbed Will’s arm. “I sent her home right before you walked in. She couldn’t have gotten very far.”
“Sit tight,” Will said, even as he turned his own flashlight on and unsnapped the holster that held his service weapon. “I’ll go check it out.”
Heart pounding, Allie watched him hustle out the door.
And lasted all of about sixty seconds.
“Darn it.” She bumped into the table again as she turned to follow him, righting it before it could fall. By the time she got to the door she could make out three figures near the edge of the parking lot. One of them was on the ground.
“Oh my God. What happened?” She rushed down the handicapped ramp, staring at the young man lying curled like a shrimp at a sobbing Rainey’s feet. She recognized the flop of blond hair instantly, despite the fact that it was partially matted with blood. Tommy Culpepper. His nose was gushing and he held onto his side, groaning.
“Tommy saw me leaving and he st-stopped to ask if I needed someone to walk me home,” Rainey stuttered, holding on to Tommy’s hand. “We were talking and these two g-guys just came out of nowhere and j-jumped him.”
Will was already on his phone, calling for backup, giving a quick description of the two suspects to his dispatcher. “Paramedics are on their way,” he said to Tommy, squeezing the young man’s arm. “Allie, stay with him and Rainey until they get here.”
With that, her brother took off running through the dark, obviously intending to give chase.
Shooting a helpless look toward Rainey, Allie squatted down next to Tommy. “The paramedics will be here soon. Just hang on.”
Hoping to soothe him, Allie stroked a hesitant hand over his hair. “It’ll be okay.”
But then thunder shook the sky like the fist of that angry god, and when Allie looked up, it started to rain.
ALLIE frowned, watching the ambulance pull away, carrying Tommy to the hospital. The poor thing almost certainly had a broken nose and a couple of cracked ribs. The attack had been quick, but brutal – and apparently utterly unprovoked.
At least Rainey had been able to ride with him.
Although on second thought, he might not consider that such a bonus. Allie knew, although she didn’t think Rainey did, that Tommy harbored a painful crush on her young employee. Painful being the operative word. And having Rainey witness him getting his butt kicked right after he’d asked if she needed him to walk her home was probably more traumatic – to his ego, anyway – than the actual assault had been.
Allie crossed her arms, shivering in her wet clothing. The chilled air seemed to blow straight through her, stealing her body’s warmth. March, it appeared, was determined to go out like a lion rather than a lamb.
Deciding that she wanted nothing more than a cup of hot tea and a warm bed, Allie returned to the store, grabbed her purse and a tin of tea, locking up before braving the rain and wind again to head toward the cottage. A former garden shed, it had once belonged to Allie’s aunt. Sarah converted it into living quarters when she and Allie opened the bookstore, and more recently the little building had been moved to function as a guesthouse for Tucker and Sarah. This had the side benefit of allowing for a Dust Jacket parking lot expansion, something they’d sorely needed. Because, Allie was pleased to note, business was booming.
Allie hurried across that lot now, trying not to fall on the stones that had gone wet and slippery from the rain. She hugged the tea tin to her chest with one hand, using the other to fumble with the keys on her ring as she sought out the one for the cottage.
The little building was slightly sinister looking, sitting as it did in the stygian darkness beneath a towering magnolia, especially with the wind moaning in and out of the blue bottles that decorated several of the tree’s lower limbs.
A remnant of local Gullah culture designed to keep the evil haints away, Allie had been surprised when Tucker – born in Sweetwater, but raised in New York – adopted that particular talisman. But since Allie led “ghost walks” – walking tours focusing on local history, paranormal lore and legend – as one of the services provided by the store, she figured he was probably just trying to show support.
The penlight aided her in getting the key into the lock on the first attempt, and Allie sighed with relief when the door opened to admit her. It might be dark inside, but it was dry, and familiar. And perhaps best of all, the little stove in the kitchen operated by gas, which meant that she would be able to heat some water. Always a tea drinker, she’d become positively addicted since they opened the store. There was absolutely nothing better to lift the spirits when it was cool and wet outside.
The mention of spirits made Allie frown when she heard what could only be described as a rather ghostly sigh. Standing still, dripping on the pine floorboards, the filled tea kettle in her hand, Allie listened intently. Outside the cacophony continued, but inside was qui
et as the grave.
Probably not the best analogy to be making at the moment.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said aloud, dispelling whatever imaginary spirits might be lurking. Clearly Rainey’s paranoia was catching.
Using the penlight, she rooted through the drawers until she found a box of matches. And – what do you know – the remnants of the candles which had gone missing from the Dust Jacket. Apparently Sarah and Tucker had re-christened the cottage after they’d moved it.
Pushing that image aside – she had to sleep here, after all – Allie managed to light the gas burner on the tiny stove, and set the kettle to boil. The tea she’d selected was called Zen, and Allie practiced a little yoga breathing while she measured the leaves out into the infuser. She’d lived through any number of storms before, in far more sinister locations. The incipient panic that kept wanting to rise was just plain silly.
Because she was still dripping, she made her way to the miniature bathroom, stripping out of her wet garments and draping them in the shower. There was a thick terry cloth robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door and Allie wiggled into it. It all but dragged along the floor, but she was too happy to be dry and warm to even worry about it.
The tea kettle whistled, causing Allie to jerk. Apparently she wasn’t quite as zen as she liked to imagine.
But there was something, she admitted as she hurried back into the kitchen. A sort of… presence on the air that was making her jumpy.
She peered out the window, but the wind was driving the rain so that it fell in sheets against the glass, limiting visibility.
Well, whatever the presence was, she hoped it had a sturdy umbrella.
Allie poured the tea, taking grateful sips while she contemplated what to do with the rest of her evening.
Not a lot of choices, she thought after running through her mental inventory of indoor activities that didn’t require electricity, or a companion. No wonder pre-twentieth century people had such large families. They must have spent a great deal of time in bed.
Speaking of bed, the sleeping loft held built-in shelves that Sarah kept stocked with paperbacks. Maybe she could use the penlight and read until she felt sleepy.
Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2) Page 1
