“That’s a good start,” Galen said. “What do you remember besides that?”
“I … .” I broke off and chewed my bottom lip. “It’s difficult.”
“Let me help you out,” Booker suggested. “You used your witchy powers and blew a guy through the window, bounced him along the ground a bit before he fled into the night, and then your dead grandmother showed up to tell you what you did.
“You melted down because apparently you’re prone to it,” he continued. “I wouldn’t worry about that, by the way, because it’s a chick thing. You can’t help yourself. It’s in your DNA.”
“Booker.” Galen growled out a warning, his eyes flashing.
Booker ignored him. “You’re right. I didn’t learn about Deenie while I was in town. I learned about that yesterday. I’ve been dying to tell someone.”
My mouth was dry, but I managed to speak. “I can see that.” Now that he’d mentioned everything that happened it came rushing back. How could I have forgotten?
“Hadley, are you okay?” Galen’s eyes filled with concern.
I ignored him. “What did you really find out while you were in town?”
Booker didn’t risk a glance in Galen’s direction, instead increasing the distance between them while pinning me with his gaze. “Mark Santiago was found dead this morning.”
The name meant nothing to me. “Why is that important?”
“Because he was wearing all black when the island’s refuse department found him curled up in a ditch three blocks from here. They called Galen’s office to tell him, but he wasn’t there. He was obviously here.”
“So … just because he was wearing black you think it’s the same guy who was in my house last night?” In theory, that might make sense, but there were gaping holes in the logic. “Do you think he was working for someone and that person killed him and dumped him in the ditch?”
“No, I don’t think that’s what happened.” Booker was grim. “Ted Ferguson said Mark looked as if he’d been run over with a truck. He was a walking bruise before he died.”
“I don’t … understand.”
Galen decided now was the time to take over the conversation. He removed the egg pan from the burner and wiped his hands with a towel as he approached. “He’s saying that it looks like Mark had the same sort of injuries that one would get from a fall.”
“I see.” I did. I saw. They were saying I killed Mark Santiago. I used my newfound magic – which I still didn’t believe existed – to blow him through a window and bounce him off the ground. “How did he end up in the ditch if I killed him?”
“Honey, I think you’re looking at this the wrong way,” Galen cautioned.
I ignored him and focused on Booker. He was more likely to tell me the truth, no matter how hard it was to stomach. “How?”
“It’s not uncommon,” Booker replied. “He would’ve been running on adrenalin when he hit the ground. That’s how he managed to get up and run. Once he calmed a bit, he probably realized that his injuries were catastrophic.
“He was probably bleeding internally, but his energy was high due to the escape,” he continued. “Once he slowed down, well, it was too late. He succumbed.”
I felt numb, my mind and stomach empty. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react to the news. “Do you think it hurt?”
Booker shrugged. “No less than he deserved.”
Galen elbowed him, delivering a sharp blow to the ribs before shuffling closer to me. “It’s not your fault. While I don’t agree with Booker’s more colorful enhancements, I do agree that Mark deserved what happened to him.”
“Because he broke into my house?”
“Because he went after you with an ax.”
“Hmm.” I rubbed my hand over my cheek, struggling to keep my mind in the here and now rather than what might’ve been if I’d acted differently the night before. “So I’m officially a murderer. I guess that means you have to take me in.”
Galen’s expression twisted and he scalded Booker with a dark look. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her.”
“How was I supposed to know that she’d react like this? I couldn’t possibly know she did stuff like this,” Booker protested.
I couldn’t help being confused. “Stuff like what?”
“Like being dramatic and blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault,” Galen automatically replied. “You’ve got a tendency to fly off the handle in absolutely ridiculous ways – like that whole bedhead thing you were so fixated on last night … and kind of this morning, too – but I’m also starting to think you have a martyr complex.”
The admonishment didn’t make me feel better. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to simply brush it off when I murder someone. My bad. I’ll know better for next time.”
“I like the sarcasm,” Booker noted. “But Galen is right about the martyr complex. It has to go.”
“Excuse me?”
Booker’s expression turned sober. “You fought off an intruder,” he argued. “Someone came into your house and attacked you with an ax. A freaking ax! You used the one weapon you had – even though you didn’t know you had it at the time – and you saved yourself. That’s not murder.”
“Then what is it?”
“Self-defense,” Galen answered without hesitation. “You didn’t do anything wrong … other than obsess about bedhead. As for the rest … I don’t know what to tell you about Mark. I don’t know him well enough to hazard a guess about motive, but I’ll do some investigating this afternoon.”
“That’s it?” I was dumbfounded. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“What am I supposed to do all day?”
“You just moved to the island and you’re missing a door and a window,” Galen replied. “I think you have your hands full.”
“Yeah, but … .” I broke off, embarrassed to admit I was afraid to stay at the lighthouse alone.
As if reading my mind, Galen offered me a sympathetic smile. “Booker will be here with you for most of the day. If you get afraid you can call me.”
Well, that was insulting. As if I needed a man to run to my rescue. “Why would I be afraid? I have my newfangled magic powers and can throw grown men through windows. I don’t need a man to save the day.”
Galen stared for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I can already tell you’re going to be a lot of work.”
“You’ve got that right,” Booker said, grinning. “Is breakfast ready? I’m starving.”
“Yeah.” Galen handed him a plate, never moving his gaze from me. “Admitting you’re afraid is not the end of the world.”
“I’m not afraid.” In truth, I was terrified. He didn’t need to know that. “I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
I accepted the plate Galen handed me, another flash from the previous night flooding the forefront of my brain. “Did you drug me?”
Booker chuckled as Galen shrank back, amusement evident. “I told you that would come back to bite you, bro. It took her longer to remember than I thought, but you’re in trouble now.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” Galen challenged.
“You should be,” I snapped. “I’ll make you pay for this. When you least expect it, I will exact my revenge.”
“That sounds mildly kinky,” Booker offered.
Galen’s grin was flirty. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Ugh. Men.
14
Fourteen
Galen left me with Booker and my anger after finishing breakfast. He had work to do, of course. It was big important man work, and he needed to puff out his chest and do important man things all day.
Did I mention he left me with the dishes? He said he cooked and I needed to clean up. As if that was women’s work or something. In theory I didn’t have a problem with sharing the workload. But because he drugged me and stripped down to kiss-covered boxers before
climbing into bed with me I was in no mood to humor him.
I heard Booker working outside. After Galen left – stopping long enough to whisper something to Booker as he used a power saw in my front yard before lobbing a weighted look in my direction – Booker toiled quietly by himself. I had no idea if Galen warned him to keep his mouth shut, but I figured that was the gist of the closing conversation.
I wasn’t about to put up with that.
I unpacked my laptop and carried it to the patio so I could watch Booker work, using my cell phone’s hot spot so I could fire up the Wi-Fi. “Do you guys have wireless service out here?”
Booker glanced up from the board he measured, a pencil poking out from behind his ear. “No. Moonstone Bay is actually trapped in the past. Most people don’t know it, but it’s like that island on Lost. It’s really 1960. We simply haven’t told you yet.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Yes, I crack myself up regularly,” Booker confirmed. “We have Wi-Fi. Just talk to Chip at the deli.”
“Why would I talk to Chip at the deli about hooking up Wi-Fi?”
“Because he’s the one who does it.”
“I should’ve seen that coming,” I muttered, shaking my head. I waited for the computer to sync with my phone and then typed “Mark Santiago Moonstone Bay” into the search engine.
“You seem a little … ticked off,” Booker said after a beat. He clearly wasn’t big on uncomfortable silences. “Do you want to talk about what’s bugging you?”
“There are so many things bugging me right now that I wouldn’t know where to start.” I narrowed my eyes as I searched the various sites that popped up. “You guys have a Shakespearean theatre troupe?”
“What are you looking at?”
“Porn.”
“Let me know if you find anything good!” Booker had an easygoing nature that I found oddly relaxing. “As for the Shakespeare troupe, they’re a bunch of morons. They get drunk and perform sonnets in the park. I wouldn’t get too excited.”
“Good to know.” I clicked on a link.
“So … was that a no about whether or not you want to talk?” Booker prodded.
“Not necessarily. I just can’t decide what we should talk about first. Do you prefer magic or bedhead?”
“Definitely bedhead.”
“Me, too.” I clicked on a second link. “How bad was my bedhead last night?”
“I didn’t think it was so bad,” Booker replied, using his pencil to mark something on the board. “I think you looked kind of cute. You were a bit scattered. I can’t say I blame you, but I thought your head was going to spin around there at one point.”
“Was that before or after your little buddy drugged me?”
“It was before. And I don’t think you should hold that against him.”
I stilled, slowly lifting my chin and scorching Booker with a look. “And why is that? I mean … where I come from, if someone drugs you without your knowledge that’s considered a big no-no.”
“It’s not as if he did it for sex or something,” Booker argued. “You were about to overload. We all sensed it. He actually helped you by forcing you to get some rest. You were much more settled this morning. It was a good move.”
“Settled?” He had to be joking. “I woke up to find a random dude in my bed.”
“Oh, let’s not play games.” Booker wagged a finger. “That can’t possibly be the first time that’s happened.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a wily witch,” Booker pointed out. “Witches like to get frisky.”
“I wasn’t a witch until I got here,” I grumbled, turning back to the screen. “And as for the other part, I haven’t done that since college. And at least then I could blame the ill-advised keg stand. I made the mistake and suffered the consequences. That’s not what happened last night.”
“You were always a witch,” Booker countered. “You simply didn’t realize it before. There’s a difference.”
“I think that unless you wield magic you can’t be considered a witch, and before last night I never did anything magical. But if you want to know the truth, I’m not convinced I did what May’s ghost said I did.”
“Oh, really?” Booker arched a dubious eyebrow. “What is it, exactly, that you think happened?”
“I think he jumped.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he was frightened of me.” That’s totally plausible. I knew it. I felt it. One look at Booker’s face told me I was deluding myself. I decided to try again. “Because he was frightened of Galen.”
“I guess, in theory, that’s a possibility,” Booker conceded. “Except my understanding of the situation is that Galen didn’t show up until right after Mark went through the window.”
My recollection of the event was vague, but that sounded right. “Either way … I think he jumped.”
“I think you’re clinging to the past when you should be looking toward the future, but I understand this is hard for you to deal with,” Booker said. “Take as long as you want to deal.”
“Thank you for permission to feel what I want to feel,” I deadpanned.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, missy. You got that from May.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. I’d been compared to May Potter a few times now. Each time left me more unsettled than the last. “Did she say anything after your buddy drugged me?”
“Galen is more of an acquaintance than buddy, but you probably don’t care about that.”
“You think?”
Booker chuckled. “She didn’t say much,” he replied. “She said that something inside of you escaped and tossed Mark out the window. Of course, she had no idea it was Mark at the time. Next time you see her you might want to ask if she had any goings on with Mark. I can’t ever remember them crossing paths.”
Speaking of Mark, I glanced back at the computer screen and read two paragraphs before speaking again. “I’ll make sure to do that. Are you sure that’s all she said?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“I have no idea.” I opted for honesty. “You seem fairly trustworthy, but I think Galen is trying to force you into keeping your big trap shut until he can come back and finesse the situation to his liking.”
“Finesse, huh?” Booker’s face lighted with genuine amusement. “You’re a funny little thing. I wondered if there was any finessing going on last night. He acted as if it was a hardship to take one for the team and sleep in the bed with you.”
“Not finessing like that.” My stomach rolled, and not entirely due to unease. “I think we’re getting off point.”
“So you don’t want to talk about Galen?” Booker’s smile was mischievous.
“I don’t want to talk about any of it.” I closed my laptop – I’d found what I was looking for, after all – and lobbed a bright smile at Booker. “You’ll be here fixing the window and the door for the next few hours, right?”
Booker nodded. “That’s the plan. You won’t be alone so there’s nothing to fear.”
I was hardly fearful. “Great. I’m going to head out and run an errand. I’ll grab food from the market on my way back and we’ll grill something for dinner. I’ve been dying to use that grill out back. How does that sound?”
Booker’s smile slipped. “I don’t think Galen wants you wandering around.”
“I guess it’s a good thing that Galen isn’t the boss of me, huh?”
Booker opened his mouth to argue but ultimately shook his head. He was beaten and he knew it. “Don’t be gone too long. And try not to get in trouble.”
“Would I do that?”
“I don’t know you that well,” Booker answered. “If something happens to you while you’re out, Galen will do something truly awful to me. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how he is.”
“But why?”
“I’m not getting into that.” Booker shook his head and cros
sed his arms over his chest. “Just keep in mind that you’re not only responsible for yourself when you go out to do … whatever it is you’re going to do. You’re responsible for my survival, too.”
I flashed a faux sugary grin. “I’ll consider it.”
Booker rolled his eyes to the sky before turning back to his work. “I’m doomed. I just know it.”
THE MOONSTONE BAY Construction Company was located in a small building behind the lone grocery store. It was essentially four walls and a roof, with a huge storage barn sharing space on the lot. I figured the office was basically one secretary with a private line to the big boss, which was all I needed.
What I didn’t tell Booker was that I was determined to get more information on Mark Santiago. Galen and Booker talked big about what happened – about what I’d potentially done – but I couldn’t shake the idea that I’d killed a man. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to digest that news, but right now I was suffering from a massive case of acid reflux.
Unlike previous days, Moonstone Bay’s sidewalks were packed with people, and I did my best to avoid the tourists as I walked to the construction business. One of the tidbits I found while searching the web featured a photograph of Mark Santiago – a normal-looking man with a grim expression on his face. The photograph mentioned new construction by the company and listed Mark as a worker. I figured the construction office was the place to start gathering information.
The small office was plain – consisting of one desk in the middle of the office and a variety of other seating options – but the rush of cold air washing over me from what clearly sounded like an overtaxed central air unit was a welcome blessing. Instead of a secretary sitting behind the desk, I found a man poring over files. He arched an eyebrow when I entered and then offered a bright smile.
“Please tell me you want me to do some work on the lighthouse. I’ve been dying to get my hands on that place for years.”
The statement caught me off guard. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Martin Gullikson.” The man stood. “This is my company.”
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