by Eryn Scott
My life had gone from uncomplicated to the most complicated in a matter of days.
I twirled the end of my ponytail as I reached the mailbox. This was my mom, my best friend, the one person who’d always been there for me. She would understand. Right? I chewed on my bottom lip. Well, maybe I would leave out all the ghost stuff and the murder investigation … for now, at least. I would call her on my way back to the house.
Somewhere behind the dark clouds, the moon hid and I could barely see. Angling my phone’s flashlight up, I opened Grandma’s mailbox. Knowing I would have to call my mom when I finished, I stood there flipping through the mail to procrastinate. I jumped as the revving sound of an engine roared behind me.
I whipped around to see a car sitting on the other side of the road with its lights off. Suddenly its headlights flicked on, blinding me. In my surprise and confusion, I didn’t hear the screech of the tires until it was too late. All I could do was turn to face my end, blinking in the bright headlights.
Something wrapped around my wrist and pulled hard, tugging me back. My mail went flying along with my phone. The flashlight strobed all around me as letters fluttered to the ground.
I thumped into a solid, scratchy object, gasping as what little air left in my lungs was shoved out. I was about to ask Asher how he’d managed to grab me when my savior coughed.
“Okay, gimme some space here,” grumbled a man who was definitely not Asher.
Taking a step back, I noticed Carl standing in the light of my phone’s flashlight, pointing straight up where it had landed among the pile of mail.
“Carl?” I croaked out his name. “What …?” I glanced back toward the road.
The car had disappeared down Misty Drive, heading toward the lighthouse where the road looped back up toward town. The only sign left was the dust kicked up by its tires from where they’d left the asphalt and hit the dirt shoulder near the mailboxes.
“What the heck are you trying to do out here?” he finally asked, stooping to pick up my mail.
I knelt next to him, grabbing my phone and pointing it at the ground to help us see. “Me? I was getting the mail. That car almost ran me over.” I shivered, thinking about how close they’d gotten to me.
Carl’s face tightened, and he dusted himself as he stood. “Well then, I saved your life. If you want to return the debt, you can leave town.” He gestured in the direction the car had fled. “You obviously should if you know what’s good for you, if you want to stay alive.”
Narrowing my eyes, I scoffed, “Are you threatening me?”
Hand resting on his chest, he said, “I’m not, but just did. I saved you.”
After a moment of contemplation, a terrible thought came to mind. “How convenient that you just happened to be out here.” I scrambled to my feet. “Did you have something to do with that?”
Carl held his hands out like two stop signs clutching mail.
I pointed an accusatory finger in the older man’s direction. “It is why you were out here,” I said. “You planned that!”
Hands still raised in defense, his face broke into a pained grimace. “I promise I had nothing to—”
“Sure! Great!” My face burned hot with anger, and I snatched my mail from his hands. “I totally believe you.” I scowled at him. “You hated my grandmother’s tea shop that much? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m staying.” With that, I stomped past him and down toward the house.
Inside, Asher’s face was a list of questions as I threw the crumpled mail down onto a table with a huff. The front door slammed behind me.
“Wha—” he started to ask, but I didn’t even let him get the question out.
“I’m officially ready for you to haunt Carl,” I said with a sweeping gesture next door. “Go for it. He’s all yours. Go haunt away.”
Asher cringed. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like I have enough informa—” He cut off as I glared at him. He put his hands up. “Okay, here I go. Going to haunt the neighbor. Oooooohhh.” He let out a long ghostly sound as he vanished through the exterior wall.
Stomping into the kitchen, I plunked the kettle onto the stove top and turned on the burner. I needed the calming effect of the chamomile tea I’d tried earlier during our practice session. Turning around, I jumped when I saw Asher standing in the kitchen doorway, his face grim.
“What?” I asked, covering my pounding heart with my hand.
“I can’t haunt Carl.” Asher rubbed the back of his neck.
“And why not? The man threatened me, Asher.”
Asher cringed. “He’s … crying.”
14
“Crying?” I asked.
In the background, the kettle made a plinking sound as it warmed up.
Asher shrugged. “He’s sitting in his living room crying.”
Wrinkling my nose, some—but definitely not all—of my anger dissipated. “Great.” I threw my hands up. “Now I feel bad for the man who threatened me after some maniac in a car almost hit me.”
Asher blinked. “Wait. A car almost hit you?”
I sank into the closest chair at the small kitchen table. “Yeah, out by the mailbox, but Carl pulled me out of the way.”
Asher looked confused as the kettle whistled. So while I made myself that chamomile tea, I filled him in on everything that had happened after I left the house.
“There’s no way they could’ve known I would go get the mail this late at night, but it did seem like they were waiting for me …” I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to get rid of the goosebumps.
“You need to call the police,” Asher said seriously. When I opened my mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “Someone tried to hurt you or scare you off. Either way, that means your grandmother’s killer is coming after you.”
Conceding, I called the police station. It wasn’t an emergency as the vehicle no longer chased me, so I expected to leave a voice mail asking the chief to call me when he had the chance.
Which made it even more surprising when he picked up.
“Chief Clemenson.”
“Oh—hey! Hi, Chief. Did you—I didn’t know you … answered the phone.” My cheeks flushed with heat at my awkwardness. Asher hid a smile.
“Who is this?” he asked.
Right. He wouldn’t know who I was. As easy as it would’ve been to hang up and try calling back later, he would recognize my number now. Plus it wasn’t like the man thought I was normal, anyway.
“This is Rosemary Woodmere. Helen’s granddaughter.”
He sniffed as if he could’ve guessed as much. “What do you need? Finally remember how it is you know Mr. Mastronardi?”
“Uh, no. Actually, I’m calling because …” I turned to Asher for support. He nodded. “Because I almost got run over by a car.”
“I don’t see why that’s any of my business. Stay out of roads, Miss Woodmere.”
“I wasn’t on the road,” I said tightly. “Someone tried to hit me while I got my mail.”
I don’t know what reaction I had expected at this news, but the flippant “huh” I got from the police chief definitely fell short of any prediction.
“I’m heading out your way tomorrow anyway to ask you more questions about Mr. Mastronardi. I’ll take a statement about the car thing, then.” And he hung up.
Car thing?
I snorted.
“What’d he say?” Asher asked.
“He’ll be out tomorrow?”
Asher rolled his eyes. “He thinks you’re lying again. Or he doesn’t care. Either way, we’re on our own with this mystery. And I have a suspicion it’s linked to your grandmother’s death.”
I puffed out my cheeks. “So what do we do about Carl?”
“I’ll admit the man’s not coming out of this smelling like roses,” Asher said, “with warning you to leave town and all.”
I dipped my head in concession.
“But he’s also not seeming like a murderer.” Asher lifted his shoulder as if not seeming like
a murderer was somehow hard and cause for celebration.
“What if he’s crying out of guilt?” I ventured. “Maybe he’s suffering from guilt after killing Grandma Helen? We don’t know for sure he wasn’t involved in the attempted hit and run. I still think it’s suspicious that he happened to be out there at the same time.”
“Carl takes nightly walks down Misty Drive to the lighthouse and back,” Asher said, checking the time. “It’s just about the time he’s normally out there. I bet that’s what he was doing.”
“Oh …” The information sucked the last bit of wind from the sails of my accusation. I stared out into the dark night. “Do you think I should go talk to him?”
Why did I feel responsible for his tears? He’d threatened me. But then again, he’d also saved my life.
“I’ll go with you.” Asher held me with his piercing eyes.
I stood. “I’m taking my tea with me. That way, if things go sideways, I can at least hit him over the head with the mug, or scald him with the boiling water.”
Asher laughed. “I promise, I’d use up every last bit of my energy to stop someone from hurting you.”
His confession was sweet, but also intense. I swallowed and then walked forward because I didn’t know what else to do.
Outside, the crisp sea air hit me like a jolt of caffeine. The ocean was loud and dark and seemed like it called out a warning. A shiver danced down my spine, and I wished with all my might that I could reach out and hold Asher’s hand to help my nerves. He smiled over at me as we walked, and I curled my fingers tighter around my warm mug.
A few moths buzzed around the halo of light given off by Carl’s front porch light, banging into the bulb every once in a while. I pulled in a deep breath before knocking.
“I don’t open the door after dark,” came the gruff response from what sounded like right behind the door.
“Carl, it’s me, Rosemary. I know you can see me.” I waved at the peephole just at eye level.
“You made your feelings clear. I don’t care what else you have to say.” I even heard him harrumph through the door.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Look, I’m not the one threatening innocent neighbors.” I turned to leave, to give up on this impossible man, but Asher caught my gaze with his and I softened. “I’m sorry for running away like I did. I wanted to come and thank you for saving me.”
There was a beat of silence, but then the lock clicked open, and the door swung in.
Carl’s face folded into a scowl, but interest showed in the small twitches of his lips. “Uh, okay. Well, you’re welcome.”
I let my eyebrows rise. “Can I come in?” I asked.
His face clamped even farther into a frown. “I don’t usually invite people into my—”
My head fell to one side in exhaustion. “I’m trying to be friendly, and it’s cold out here. You’re welcome to come over to the teahouse, if you’d rather.”
He fidgeted with the doorknob. “No, no. I don’t want to set foot in that place. Fine, come in.”
Whereas Daphne’s house had been all whites, creams, and turquoises, Carl’s was dark woods, dark rugs, and the thick presence of even darker memories in every corner. He walked me down a long hall and into a small living room attached to a kitchen. A roaring fire burned in a stove in one corner.
Black and white photographs of a young man on a fishing boat adorned his kitchen walls. The young man’s smiling, tanned face was unrecognizable at first, but as the photos changed over to color, I saw Carl in the weathering features of the fisherman.
One picture of a gangly teenager standing in front of a looming concrete building stood out to me.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the photograph.
“My first day at my first-ever paying job.” Carl jerked his head to the right. “At the old cannery up the road.”
I glanced at Asher. They had that in common. The photographed teenager’s face was so bright, so full of expectation and hope that it made my chest ache.
The real-life version of the man in the photos sank into one of the worn chairs around a small table in the center of the room. His bushy white eyebrows furrowed as he looked across at me when I settled into the chair across from him. Asher sat in the third, but I focused my attention on Carl. A wayward teardrop clung to the corner of his white mustache, and his eyes were red like he’d been rubbing at them.
“Is everything okay?” I asked warily. “You and my grandma had some feud going, but I get the sense her death actually upset you. Did you two have some weird love-hate thing going? You can tell me.”
“The only thing I had with your grandmother was a hate-hate thing,” he said with disdain.
Asher scoffed at the same time I did. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just so you know, that sounds terrible and doesn’t inspire confidence that you had nothing to do with her death.”
Asher cringed, his shoulders flattening at my blunder. Shoot, I had been trying not to accuse him of murder.
“Her death?” Carl stuttered. “She died of heart complications.”
Waving a hand, I tried to move on to another topic. “Right. Whatever.”
But Carl wouldn’t let what I’d said go. “No, no, young lady. What did you mean by that?” His body straightened as if he might stand up, but then he thought better of it.
Exhaling in frustration at myself, I set my tea mug on the table. “I don’t believe she died of natural consequences. And it doesn’t help that you two were in some mortal feud over the driveway, not to mention all the threatening things you’ve said about her, and now me.”
Carl’s gaze dropped to his hands. He fidgeted for a moment before saying, “I didn’t like your grandmother, it’s true.” His dark eyes flashed up to meet mine. “But I would never hurt her or anyone else. The way you looked at me out there, like I was a monster …”
My posture softened, but I kept my face firm as he returned his gaze to me.
“It’s true that I don’t like cars going up and down the easement. I’m retired, and I want to be able to relax, not have hooligans driving by me all day.”
“Hooligans? They’re townspeople, other Pebble Cove residents. I hear you guys don’t get many tourists out here.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like I said, it’s not only that. Your grandmother and I haven’t seen eye to eye since you left.”
“Me? What does this have to do with me?”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you remember my granddaughter, Jenny.” Despite his throat clearing, his voice still cracked around her name.
The word rang like a crystal bell in my memory, producing the image of a young girl. I was eight, and she had been probably half my age with golden blonde hair streaming behind her. The pain in his face made my chest tight with worry.
Carl covered his face for a moment. “When she was ten, she went on summer vacation with her friends to a beach up in Washington. She got pulled out. The current was too strong.” Tears shone in the man’s eyes. Sniffing once, Carl seemed to push all the emotion back down, and a jaw muscle tensed in his cheek. “Your grandmother tried to console me, to tell me she’d lost you too. But it wasn’t the same at all. You were still alive. She could still be part of your life, but she chose not to. And for that, I could never forgive her.”
His story felt like a gut punch. The fact that Grandma had told him she’d lost me was like a slap to the face. Thoroughly emotionally beat up, I propped my elbows on the table as if they might help hold me up.
“So yes, I hate the tea shop, but our feud was about so much more than cars driving past my house.” Carl studied his hands. “I apologize for the threat. It was the wrong thing to say, especially after you’d just had a scare.”
My anger at him fizzled away as I took in the pain he was still in, decades after losing his granddaughter.
“It wasn’t only my grandmother’s fault we didn’t talk,” I mumbled as I inspected the
tea in my mug. “She tried a few times, but my mother wouldn’t let her near me. And I’ve been an adult for almost a decade now. I should’ve come to see her.”
“I suppose there’s always two sides to any story,” Carl said. “She never told me any of that.” His expression clouded over. “And you think her death wasn’t natural?”
I cringed at my stupidity in blurting that out, but now there was no taking it back.
“I promise you I didn’t hurt her,” he said.
My nostrils flared. “Where were you on that Wednesday night? Around nine or ten?”
He puffed out his chest. “The night before they found her? That would’ve been the seventh?”
Checking with Asher, I whispered a hoarse, “Yes.”
“At the Dragonfly theater. Wednesday nights are half-priced and they play classics.”
I eyed him suspiciously.
“Look, I might seem like a hermit, but I actually go out sometimes. I have the ticket stub, and half the town saw me.”
My lips pursed. “Half the town?”
He nodded. “Most of the older generations, albeit. The youngsters mostly have no interest in the classics. Even though it’s a crime, if you ask me.”
“What counts as younger?” I asked then amended my question with, “Did you see Jolene or Mayor Hoff there that night?”
I’d already blurted out the part about thinking Grandma didn’t die of natural causes, so what could it hurt to tell him who I suspected? Maybe he had information that would help.
Carl’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “They’re definitely in the too-young category. No, they weren’t there. You think they had something to do with Helen’s death?” Before I could answer his question, he seemed to answer it himself, realization showing in his features. “Ah, I see. The campaign and the teahouse, both motives to get Helen out of the way.”
