by Mary Frame
In addition to the cameras, I’ve been checking the phone periodically—it gets one bar of service at irregular intervals when I leave it in the register drawer—and there haven’t been any more calls.
Maybe Paige is right and everything will be fine.
Doesn’t stop the impending sense of doom lingering in my consciousness every day.
I need to get involved in the investigation in case the police uncover anything that leads to the parents, or clues as to whether they are in town or not. Something to decisively link them to the break-in at Ruby’s, maybe even the other incidents throughout town. But I already told Troy I wouldn’t help, and since refusing to stay with him, Jared hasn’t talked to me. How can I get them to ask me for help . . . again?
Book club is Wednesday night at Tabby’s house. Paige can’t handle all the old ladies and immediately disappears to the guest room to do homework. There are at least a dozen women—mostly over the age of seventy—sitting in Tabby’s living room, drinking tea and discussing the novel. Which means talking about it for a minute and then going completely off topic.
They’re all dressed up for the event, in either skirts or dresses, with full make-up and hair all curled and styled. The cloying smell of various perfumes permeates the air, mixing with the vague aromas of hairspray and mint. It should be terrible to be stuck in a small room with heaps of old ladies, but instead, it’s almost comforting. Homey. It’s like something you might remember about your grandparents after they’re gone . . . people who know their grandparents. I’ve never known any family other than Paige and the parents. I can’t imagine them as children. Sometimes I think they were sprung fully formed from the depths of an inferno.
“Did you think it was weird that one of the aliens was named Horny?” Mrs. Olsen asks.
“It wasn’t weird,” Tabby answers. “It was intentional. The character has a horn, and it’s a horny book, you know?”
“Did you say it was corny?” Miss Viola yells.
At least three people turn toward her and shout, “Turn up your hearing aids!”
Miss Viola doesn’t say anything. I have a feeling she hears them just fine but chooses to ignore them.
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” I say.
“Did you hear about Mr. Hutchison asking Gladys St. Claire out for coffee?” one of the ladies asks.
There’s a murmuring hum around the room.
“It’s about damn time,” Mrs. Olsen says. “Some people are averse to romance around here.” She gives me a pointed glare.
I sip my tea and try to change the subject. “So about these aliens . . .”
“I heard from my neighbor that there have been a bunch of burglaries around town. Have you heard anything about that?” Mrs. Hale asks Tabby. Mrs. Hale’s hat today is teal and covered in bright, fake daisies.
“Why would I know about that?” Tabby asks.
“I saw your brother over at Mr. Godfrey’s apartment. When I asked why he called the cops, he told me he wasn’t the first one to report an ‘unusual occurrence.’ ” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “But he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He never shares anything.” Her mouth twists like she’s tasting something sour.
“Oh maybe that’s the same thing that happened at Eleanor’s,” Mrs. Olsen says.
“What happened there?” someone asks.
“Well, I don’t know exactly, but Eleanor told me someone broke into the house, but nothing was taken or missing.”
“Then how does she know someone broke in?”
“Stuff was moved around. And there was a toilet brush in the freezer.”
So that’s what Jared was looking for in my freezer.
“In the freezer?” someone asks.
Mrs. Hale gasps. “Maybe it’s aliens.”
“Why would aliens put stuff in the freezer?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t aliens put things in the freezer?” Tabby chimes in, acting like this is the most normal topic ever. She tosses me a bright smile with a wink.
She is entirely too amused by this whole conversation.
I’m glad they don’t know that someone also broke into my place. I would never live it down.
Mrs. Hale flutters a hand to her chest in what could be fear or excitement, I can’t tell. “Maybe they’re doing advanced reconnaissance before an invasion. They came to our planet to impregnate our females!”
Gasps and excited murmurs fill the room.
“What do you think, Ruby?” Mrs. Olsen asks me. “Have you had any visions?”
I shake my head. “Um. No.”
“She had a break-in the other night,” Tabby volunteers on my behalf. “And didn’t Troy come over and ask you to help them?”
Tabby’s sitting next to me, making it easy to elbow her in the ribs.
“No, I didn’t and no, he didn’t.”
“Ohhh,” Mrs. Olsen points at me. “You have to help them.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, then you can report everything going on back to us.”
The rest of the room whips their heads in my direction. Then everyone is talking at once.
“Maybe we could all help with the investigation.”
“I love a good mystery.”
“Our next read for the book club should be a mystery. Do they make any mystery books with lots of sex?”
I stifle a groan and settle for giving Tabby a death glare. “Look what you started,” I whisper.
“Sorry,” she grumbles, nudging me with her shoulder. “This is fun though, right?”
“I bet the intruder is a ghost,” Mrs. Hale says. “Last week, I saw an apparition over by the ruins on the cliffs. It’s the old ghost of Captain Donahue, looking for his lover, Francesca Dubois.”
Murmurs skitter around the room.
“You were drunk,” Mrs. Olsen says.
“I was not,” Mrs. Hale retorts, her tone offended. “I saw it clear as day, some kind of being, all white and glowing in the moonlight.”
“What are they talking about now?” I ask Tabby out the side of my mouth.
“Some old urban legend. Captain Donahue built the castle that Castle Cove is named after. Only a collection of rocks and stone are left up there now.”
I nod. “I’ve seen it from the boardwalk, but I’ve never been there. How do you even get to it?”
“You can get there either from the beach and a hike up, or from the park and a hike down. It’s kind of a pain either way.”
“We used to have fun there when we were kids.” Mrs. Olsen nods at some of the other ladies.
The women titter and talk and I have to raise my voice to be heard over the chatter. “What’s the legend about?”
Mrs. Olsen turns toward me. “You’ve never heard the story?”
“No.”
That sets everyone into another tizzy.
“You can’t live here and not know the story about the castle,” someone says.
And then everyone is talking all at once, shouting about pirates and sheriffs and some other nonsense that I can’t quite make out over all the voices.
“Everyone quiet!” Mrs. Olsen makes a shushing noise. The chattering fades. “I’m going to tell the tale.
“Two hundred years ago, Castle Cove was a major port for the shipment of goods on the West Coast. There were a ton of sailors who came in and out of the cove, but of all of them, Captain Donahue was the most famous. He was a world-renowned merchant, known for his frequent brushes with death and blind luck with pirates. He had the castle built as a place to stay when he docked here, since this was his main port. He was also a handsome man. He could have anyone he wanted, but when he saw Francesca Dubois, his heart was irrevocably tied to hers forever.”
“Tell her how they met,” Mrs. Hale commands.
“I’m getting there.” Mrs. Olsen wrinkles her noise in Mrs. Hale’s direction. “Francesca was a barmaid. She worked at the local tavern for old Iggy Azalea.”
I
toss Tabby a look. Did she mean . . .
Tabby stifles her laughter with a hand and elbows me in the side.
Mrs. Olsen keeps talking, impervious to our amusement. “Francesca had moved to Castle Cove alone, and no one knew where she was from or what brought her here. She was very beautiful. Dark hair, olive skin, like some kind of gypsy. She sent all the local men into tizzies. They vied for her hand, but she evaded all of their advances. Until one night, Captain Donahue visited the local tavern. This wasn’t normal for him. He always stayed at the castle, he wasn’t the type to dally around with barmaids, but something brought him out that night. He was immediately taken by her beauty. She was smitten by him as well, but she didn’t show it. She couldn’t show it. She wanted the captain, but she had to do her best to stay away from him. You see, Francesca had a secret.”
The women in the room are riveted.
“What was her secret?” I ask when Mrs. Olsen’s dramatic pause lasts a little bit too long.
“She was wanted . . . for murder!”
A few gasps fill the space.
Tabby snorts. “Like they haven’t already heard this,” she mutters.
“Who did she kill?” I ask.
“Her husband. He was abusive and he totally deserved it. But there was a sheriff from Baker County who had been searching for Francesca, and she had to keep to herself and not draw attention. So even though she fought against her attraction and pushed Captain Donahue away, he wasn’t swayed. He pursued her relentlessly. Every time he was in town, he would eat at the tavern and ask Francesca to come away with him. She always said no. But one day, finally, after fighting their desire for months, she gave in.” Mrs. Olsen shrugs. “He was an honorable gentleman. And he was super hot. Hard to resist. Plus, the sheriff was getting closer, and she knew she would have to leave town anyway. She wanted to live life with the captain while she still had a life to live.”
I shift in my seat. All of this sounds uncomfortably familiar. Minus the whole murder thing.
“I’m guessing they didn’t live happily ever after.” All eyes flick toward me. “Because of the whole . . . haunting thing,” I finish lamely.
“You are correct, Ruby,” Mrs. Olsen says. “The day the captain and Francesca had planned to run away together, the sheriff from Winston County arrived. He followed her to the castle and confronted her on the bluffs. The captain saw them from his window, but before he could make it down the stairs and out the front door, Francesca flung herself off the cliffs.” At the word flung, she flings her own hands through the air, very nearly knocking Mrs. Hale’s hat off her head.
Miss Viola jerks awake at Mrs. Hale’s protest.
Undeterred, Mrs. Olsen continues, “The captain ran out of the castle and attacked the sheriff. They fought at the edge of the cliff hour after grueling hour, equally matched in skill and strength. One would start to get the edge on the other, but the other would always come back even stronger. Until finally, the captain slipped on a rock and pulled the sheriff with him to their deaths. They say when the moon is high, you can still hear the sounds of Francesca Dubois and Captain Donahue calling in the darkness, trying to find each other.”
There’s a beat of silence.
That’s it?
“Everyone died?” I ask.
I’m more emotionally invested in this story than I should be, considering it happened two hundred years ago, and Mrs. Olsen is absolutely exaggerating, if not outright lying.
Still. I’m thinking I should stay away from cliffs. And captains.
“Everyone died.” Mrs. Olsen nods and then looks around the silent room. “Let’s bring out the cake.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m not going to make it home for dinner tonight,” Tabby tells me when she answers Troy’s phone. It’s nearly six, so I called Troy’s house to find her.
There weren’t any leftovers from book club the day before, so our choices for dinner are grilled cheese or cheese sandwiches. They’re totally different things. They just happen to have the same ingredients. Hence my call to Tabby for her preference.
“Troy is sick,” she adds.
“Um. Troy is a grown man,” I say. “Look if you want to bang Ben again, just say so. Paige and I can make ourselves scarce.”
“That’s not it, for reals. Troy is sick and I have to take care of him.”
“Seriously?” He doesn’t seem the type to moan over a little snot.
“You don’t understand. He practically cuts off his foot and insists it’s just a flesh wound, but the minute he has a cough it’s like he’s dying. Plus Mom always made him this soup . . .” She doesn’t say what I know she’s thinking—since their parents retired and moved away, Tabby’s the only one that can make the soup. “I can’t leave him when he’s like this. He’s pathetic.”
“I can hear you,” Troy says in the background.
He doesn’t sound sick. She’s probably fed up with us and making excuses so we don’t feel bad. I hate having to infringe on her like this.
An idea strikes. With a bit of maneuvering and manipulation, I can solve two problems at once.
I hang up with Tabby and then pull a rumpled piece of notepaper out of my purse. The paper Jared gave me with his number on it. I take a deep breath and dial.
“Reeves,” he answers almost immediately.
“Hi, Jared. It’s Ruby.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that Paige and I are going back home, so if you’re patrolling and you see the lights on over there, it’s just us. No need to call in the troops.” I laugh like it’s a joke.
“What do you mean you’re going back home?”
“Well, Tabby is staying with Troy because he’s sick and it’s been a few days since the break-in and there haven’t been any more issues. I doubt the intruder will return to the scene of the crime.”
“Wait, hang on.” There’s shuffling and muttered cursing and then he comes back on. “You’re calling me from Tabby’s.”
“Yeah, we’re going to pack up right now and—”
“No. Stay right there. Don’t move.”
He hangs up.
When I put the phone back on the receiver, I’m smiling.
Less than an hour later, the doorbell rings.
I answer the door.
“Hey.” It’s Jared. Of course.
He’s wearing black shorts, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap on backward, making him look about five years younger. His skin is a light gold from the late-spring sun. Why does he have to be so hot? If he would just look a little less amazing, it would make it so much easier to use him without the lingering pang of guilt in my chest.
“Hi,” I say before immediately adding, “We’re okay by ourselves.”
My protests are token. If we stay with Jared, I can get in on the investigation, or I can at least get more information on these break-ins and determine if the parents are connected.
He smiles. “You guys are staying with me for now. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with everything that’s been happening.”
It’s almost too easy. “What’s been happening? No one has gotten hurt.”
“Yet.”
“So, no one has gotten hurt yet, and no one probably will.”
“Probably?” He lifts his brows.
On cue, Paige emerges from the back hallway. “Hey. What’s going on?”
“You guys are staying with me for a few days,” Jared says.
“No, we’re not,” I say.
“I have a pool,” he counters.
“I’m going to get my stuff,” Paige says before scampering back down the hall.
I let out a defeated sigh. “Fine.” I turn away from the door. “I have to go pack.”
I already packed, so once I get to the back bedroom, I linger a few minutes to keep up the ruse.
When I’m done pretending, I find Jared and Paige waiting for me on the porch. I lock up the front door with the key Tab
by left me and we get in his car.
“We’re going to stop and get Gravy,” Paige tells me. When I grimace, she adds, “Jared said it was okay.”
Of course he did.
We stop for the devil cat and his food, and then we head toward Jared’s house. He lives east of town, more inland.
“Staying with me won’t be so bad,” he says.
“I know.”
Is he kidding? It’s a necessary evil, but it’s going to be torture to have to see him all the time. To know how close he is. To hear him in the shower, naked. Not that you can hear nakedness but I’m sure I’ll picture it.
Hell, I’m picturing it now. I force myself to look out the passenger window.
He clears his throat, and when I glance over at him, he’s looking at Paige, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “I called the school. The bus driver is going to stop at the end of my street to pick you up tomorrow.”
“I can’t walk?”
“I live too far away, just outside city limits.”
“Okay,” Paige says. “Thank you.”
We’re silent for a few minutes except for Gravy purring loudly on Paige’s lap in the back seat.
I sneak a few peeks over at Jared while he drives, his profile steady in the glow of the setting sun. Crossing my arms over my chest, I force my gaze back out the passenger window.
The further we get from Castle Cove, the more the scenery changes from beachy sand to towering pines.
After a few minutes, he pulls off the main street and down a gravel road. Our surroundings become even darker.
“You live all the way out here?” Paige asks.
“It’s not too far,” Jared says.
The gravel road opens up and circles into a driveway. Next to us is a sprawling house.
“This is your house?” I’m frozen in the passenger seat.
“Home sweet home.” He gives me a sidelong grin.
It’s bigger than I expected. This isn’t some quaint cabin in the woods. This is practically a mansion.
The house is wood sided, a sprawling single story with soaring windows and a giant wraparound porch.
We get out of the car and Jared grabs both our bags from the back seat, slinging Paige’s over his shoulder.
