by Abby Knox
“Let’s watch a movie,” Misty said. I’d rather forget about everything for a while. But not a Halloween movie. I can’t handle anything scary right now.”
“Elf it is!” Remy shouted, raiding Misty’s DVD stash.
Everyone cheered in agreement, and soon they all settled in eat their weight in comfort food and to laugh at Will Ferrell.
Misty fell asleep halfway through the movie, cradled on the sofa in Ryan’s arms. surrounded by people who, two months ago, she never would have invited in.
31
Ryan
He waited until after Roy Winthrop’s sentencing before proposing.
Misty had been through the ringer, and thank God she didn’t have to endure testifying on the stand.
Her depositions had been traumatic enough.
A judge had ordered the body of Eliza Moon to be exhumed and a new autopsy conducted.
When the grave at Riverview Cemetery was found to be empty, the authorities questioned Winthrop, but he clammed up.
That’s when the cadaver dogs were brought over to 666 Main Street.
And that’s where they hit on a scent. Underneath the floorboards of the dining room addition.
It was unbelievable, but when the crew dug up the floor, they found a dirt floor, with a tunnel and stairs, leading down to an old root cellar.
At the very bottom of the root cellar, investigators found freshly dug dirt. There were no human remains visible, but there was something left behind. A spade. One that had been purchased after the addition had been put in, essentially covering up the entrance to the cellar.
The soil was tested and was found to contain bone fragments. Someone had buried someone there, and then moved the body.
Winthrop finally cracked and led police to Eliza’s remains, in the woods north of town.
Finally, it all came out. He confessed everything, and most of his cronies ratted on him. Police were finally able to piece together the full picture. He had indeed rented the house to Eliza back in 1980. Two years later, she was late on her rent and he had coerced her into sexual favors in exchange for continuing to live there. When she fell pregnant, he tried to convince her to give up the baby for adoption.
But when Eliza found out he meant to sell the baby to a local family, she backed out of the deal. She had threatened to go to the newspapers with her entire story. He said he would deny the entire thing. He shook her to try to talk some sense into her, threatened to kill her, and that’s when Eliza had tried to get a restraining order, which was never granted.
But when the baby was born, he could see immediately that she looked like him, and Eliza had indeed put his name on the birth certificate. Roy went over there, ready to take the baby. Eliza fought him, and he shot her twice in the head.
Her sister, Lucille, living in Des Moines at the time, came to claim her sister’s body. But since she had no funds for burial, the medical examiner assured her she would be buried in the destitute section of Riverview. Lucille never thought to question the closed casket, but she definitely didn’t trust these people involved in investigating her sister’s apparent suicide.
She took off with the baby in the middle of the night and was never seen again.
Fearing that someone would one day question the results of the autopsy, Roy had actually hired some thugs to steal Eliza’s body from the morgue, and he buried Eliza’s body under the root cellar of the house at 666. Then he covered everything over with a new addition, as if the cellar had never existed.
Over the years the house had weighed on his conscience. He would never allow anyone else to rent it, for fear of his crimes being discovered. Finally, as financial woes pressed on him, he ended up having to sell it. And that’s when Misty had swooped in.
Misty, his own flesh and blood, had turned out to be his worst nightmare.
That’s when he made the mistake of stalking her, sneaking into her house, worming his way under the addition and moving the remains.
If he had just left well enough alone, the physical evidence might never have materialized.
The current medical examiner indeed ruled her death a homicide based on the two bullet wounds in the skull.
The day after Winthrop’s sentence was announced—life in prison with no chance of parole—Ryan took Misty to the funeral home where what was left of Eliza Moon was cremated and put into the most beautiful ivory urn.
“I’d like to take her home to Charleston to be with my mom. I mean, Lucille,” Misty said.
Ryan, of course, came with her.
They made the most of their trip, staying as far away from the media circus as the former medical examiner’s trial was beginning. It turns out he had “botched” several autopsies over the years. The total number of murders in Middleburg went from zero to six in a matter of weeks. The whole town was in an uproar.
Ryan and Misty, however, were enjoying a stroll down Rainbow Row.
She pointed to a purple house there that was for sale. “That one has always been my favorite.”
“Done,” Ryan said. “It’s yours.”
“Ryan, there’s no way you have that much money.”
“And you have no idea how much money the Phillipses paid my mother over the years. They had more hush money than they knew what to do with, and most of that turned into bonuses for my mother. She was probably the highest-paid executive secretary in the world,” Ryan explained. “She had to know their dirty secrets. That’s part of why she wanted me to use my inheritance to help people.”
“Then we should stay in Iowa,” she said. “Your son is there. Your whole life is there.”
Ryan disagreed. “Elliot would love to visit me in Charleston. Who knows, he’s going to college in another year, he might decide to come here. Our friends would love to visit here. Once all the work is done to restore the soil on my property, I could give it to Troy and Remy.”
Misty squeezed his hand. “But listen, I’m kind of weirdly attached to 666.”
He stopped walked and looked at her. “You want to keep the murder house?”
She shrugged. “I do. I mean, it’s sad and awful and terrible what happened there. But I was born there. And now the house is a local legend, for better or worse.”
Ryan laughed. “Worse. Definitely put that in the worse column. Actually, the worst.”
Misty bit her lip. “I know it’s weird, but I want to keep it. And I think I’d like to spend the fall there. It’s pretty there in the fall. It’s not so humid. Y’all don’t have any hurricanes in Iowa. And, I don’t know…”
Ryan reached his hand inside the front of her open cardigan and brazenly stroked the side of her breast. “You like the idea of freaking out the locals.”
“You know me too well,” she said, licking her lips.
All of a sudden, Ryan picked her up and hustled down a dark alley between two houses on Rainbow Row. In the shadows, propped up against a wall with her legs wrapped around him, he ran his hands up the side of her leg, under her skirt, around her thigh and found her center. When he discovered she wasn’t wearing panties, he growled. “Damn, woman. I do know you, but I didn’t know you were going commando today.”
She grinned wickedly. “All my undies are getting really uncomfortable.”
Ryan felt the slight swell in her tummy pressing lightly against him. The knowledge that their love had made a tiny human in there caused his skin to crackle with goosebumps.
He caressed her folds gently until she arched into him and moaned. “Talk about freaking out the locals. Careful or I might scream.”
“No screaming until afterward,” he murmured, running his other hand over her ass.
“After what?” she asked, pulling him in for a kiss. It was then she felt the lump in the breast pocket of his blazer. “What’s this?”
“Not now. Later. It’s a surprise.” He tried to draw her attention away with more kissing, but she was totally distracted now.
“I hate surprises,” she said, pulling the lump out and
revealing a small, velvet, red box.
Gritting his teeth, he grudgingly set her down and smoothed down her skirt.
“Guess I’m doing this in a gritty alleyway like a weirdo,” he said. He took the box from her, got down on one knee and held it open.
The screaming that ensued did, indeed, summon the police.
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into sweet little works of romantic pastoral fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy this brand of sweet, sexy, storytelling. This is Abby’s fourteenth book.
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Also by Abby Knox
From the Small-Town Bachelor Series
Take Me Home
Game Face
Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition
Walk With Me
Her Big Easy Wedding, a New Orleans Shapeshifter series
Part One: Taking the Belle
Part Two: Having his Cake
Part Three: Chasing the Night
Part Four: Running with the Pack
Part Five: Her Big Easy Wedding, series bundle with a fifth story AND bonus content!
From the Sisterhood of Enchantment, a paranormal romance series
Some Basic Witch
Witch, Please
Off-Season Stud (stand-alone)
His Vinyl Vixen (stand alone)
Want more Halloween goodness?
An excerpt from Some Basic Witch
NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!
Chapter One
Adam
If pumpkin spice was offered in a can of spray paint, the city leaders of Birchdale would volunteer to get thoroughly vandalized with it.
That’s what it seemed like to Detective Adam Corey. He sipped his black coffee and squinted against the shine of the brilliant blue sky, watching pedestrians nearly trip over the stacks of gourds and haystacks on every corner along Main Street. There were tiny pumpkins in the hanging baskets, accenting the overgrown purple vines. Everyone in this town practically fetishized autumn and Halloween.
Everyone, at least, except for this new holy-roller “church,” which Adam had his eye on at the moment. This group of folks currently making their way down Main Street were headed in to a little room that was set up inside an empty retail space. The whole town may have been decked out in black cats, cauldrons and eye of newt, but it was this new crowd that set him on edge. Nobody was doing anything illegal, but several things about these people rubbed him the wrong way. The sight of them made his neck hair stand on end.
First, it was the name. Church of the Messenger had an eerie ring to it. The timing was another thing. This Church had sprung up around the same time that the city had started plans for this year’s unique, expanded Halloween festivities.
And then, there was Hank Snow. Local asshole extraordinaire.
Hank was the self-proclaimed pastor of this group, and there he was, sauntering up to church, holding some kind of holy book, looking like a goddamn overgrown sinister choirboy. Were choirboys still a thing? Adam didn’t know and didn’t care to know.
Hank had a colorful rap sheet. Assault. Public nuisances of all kinds. Harassment. Trespassing. Stalking. Public urination. Loitering. Petty theft. The detective couldn’t investigate the group just for following this turd. He couldn’t get a warrant just because this clown had given himself the title of Reverend.
Adam took another sip of coffee. Women with sleeves down to their wrists and hemlines past their ankles, walking about three feet behind their menfolk. And what kind of group meets on a Saturday morning? Adam didn’t know much about religions past his own bar mitzvah at age 14. None of these dudes here were wearing yarmulkes and this was no temple.
Something weird was definitely going on. He had a sinking feeling this was some kind of reaction against the Halloween on Steroids that Birchdale was undertaking at the moment. Just one door down from the Church of the Messenger was a sandwich board in front of Stubby’s Tavern that advertised craft pumpkin ale, Samhain IPA and Witchdale Hefeweizen.
Nobody, not even the local Catholics or Protestants, objected to all this Halloween nuttiness. In fact, just up the street, St. Martin’s street-side marquee advertised midnight tours of its historic cemetery.
Trick-or-treating here was always a big deal, but this year there was even more excitement: a lunar eclipse was predicted on the night of October 31. According to the Main Street bulletin board kiosk, the city was tacking on special events up on Colony Hill, a historic property in the woods maintained by the Living History Sisters Museum. To the average citizen, this meant free admission and tours of this well-known artists colony. The inhabitants, known as the Sisters, dressed up in colonial garb to educate the public about Colonial New England life, and re-enactments of actual witch trials that took place here.
But all it meant to the chief of police, and to Adam, was extra work.
And now, he had a sinking feeling that these new Church people might decide to picket the Halloween events. With Hank Snow in charge, there was a 100 percent chance that shit was going to go sideways.
Adam himself didn’t care much for Halloween, but he also didn’t care to spoil anybody’s fun. So why couldn’t people just let everybody else howl at the moon, dance around the bonfire, or whatever crazy shit they want to do, as long as it’s not bothering anybody else?
Right on cue, his phone rang. He didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was. “Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, I was just looking at the new Reader’s Digest this morning and did you know that the later in life that a man fathers a child, it increases the chance of that child having autism?”
“And good morning to you, Mom.” He rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, I clipped this article out and I’m going to send it to you in the mail. How’s things? They make you chief of police in Witchdale yet?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I’m a detective, Mom. It’s way better than a desk job and being everybody’s boss. Plus, I don’t have to wear a uniform or talk to the newspaper. And it’s called Birchdale.”
“You know, Megan just got promoted to chief of surgery and she and her new husband, the one who works in the mayor’s office, they adopted a baby.”
“No, how would I know that?”
“I don’t know, some people keep in touch with their ex-wives, but not you, I suppose. But isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Sure is. Did you call to tell me about Megan, or did you call to tell me my future children are destined to be on the spectrum? Which, by the way, they probably will be. I mean, look at Dad, he’s like 100 percent undiagnosed Asperger’s.”
“Oh really? Look who’s a doctor now! If you knew anything about your father, you would know that’s an insult to people who actually are on the spectrum, young man. You should have gone to medical school. You would be a great healer, it’s in your blood, you know….”
“Mom, don’t start that crazy witch doctor talk again while I’m at work.”
“Oh. Did you go to temple this morning?”
“There’s no synagogue here, Mom. And besides, maybe the fact that I was raised with dueling religions is still a bit confusing.”
“There are no dueling religions. Witchcraft is a gift, layered on top of whatever it is we practice or don’t practice. We choose, or don’t choose, our man-made religions to order our world. The elements choose us for the Craft.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Well, I worked third shift last night; I’m just finishing up. So, no time for either of those things.”
“You don’t practice a faith, you don’t practice the craft, you don’t have any babies.
Do you even have a girlfriend? Anything outside of work these days?”
“Mom, can I call you later?”
“Later, everything is later with you. Just listen to me, sweetheart. Just because it didn’t work the first time doesn’t mean you should wait too long for the next good thing. Sometimes you have to go after it. I did a little wish spell today for you and it gave me the oddest feeling. I just wanted to call and tell you to keep your eyes and your heart open.”
Adam laughed. “You just want me to jump on the next warm body in a skirt so you can have some grandchildren.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
She was starting to get emotional. Family history speech in 3…2…1.
“You know, when my mother fled Russia in 1952, she had only the clothes on her back and her book of spells. I know you don’t believe in it, but I’d like someone to pass this book down to, for posterity, if you don’t mind.”
“I know.”
“Isn’t there a nice witchy girl in that town of yours? I bet the place is crawling with descendants. Maybe come visit me here in Woodlawn. There’s a very lively coven here. I’m sure there’s someone to suit you. Or Ashford, that’s just up the road, they have the biggest group in New England outside of Salem.”
“OK, Mom,” the detective finally said. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll keep my eyes open. In fact, I’ll go right ahead and ask the next woman who catches my eye for a date. But I don’t have a lot of time on my hands. I’m just trying to keep things calm in case we have a torches-and-pitchforks situation. It’s Halloween, you know.”
“It’s auspicious timing! Don’t wait for a date. Just go jump somebody’s bones and make me a grandbaby, won’t you?”
