“Sorry. I thought you might be hungry. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Teddy blinked as if trying to assimilate the meaning of his words. After a moment, she said, “I had a few granola bars and a couple of apples.”
Oscar looked at the discarded wrappings on the floor. And two brown cores. Some empty water bottles. “Oh. Good. Well, I won’t bother you, then.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She turned back to her computer and was clacking away before he even shut the door.
Well, hell.
Yesterday he’d been “brilliant” enough to warrant an enthusiastic hug and a sexy kiss…and now he was nothing more than a pesky gnat, buzzing around her head.
Oscar went back out to the dining/living room where all his equipment was spread out. He ignored it and went into the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat in the well-stocked refrigerator.
Apples and a couple granola bars? He shook his head and made an extra omelet. He had no idea if Teddy had any food issues, but unless she was vegan—and of course she wasn’t, because she’d had chicken the other night; and clearly greenery didn’t bother her, as she’d prepared the salad—the tomato and spinach dish should give her a little more boost than some honey-soaked oats.
When Oscar brought it into her makeshift office, he merely slid it onto the table next to her and left the room. The delicious smell would eventually penetrate her fog and she’d eat when she was ready.
At least, that was how it happened for him when he was in the throes of work.
Oscar busied himself cleaning up the kitchen and then took another look at his temporary lab. Maybe there was another place he could get a water sample, and compare it to the hot spring. The spiky, snowflake-like crystals could just be a unique microbe in the soil here. He hiked around the mainland area until he found a small creek that ran near the steaming pool. After carefully collecting four samples to test, he brought them back to the cottage. He had no idea why he was compelled to pick a small bouquet of wildflowers on the way, but he stuck them in the empty wine bottle from their first night and placed it on the kitchen table.
For dinner later, he made Teddy a tuna sandwich and added a handful of raw carrots, along with the bouquet-spiked wine bottle, to her tray. He smugly noticed the omelet plate was empty when he delivered them. She grunted, glanced at him with glassy eyes, and said, “Getting closer,” and went back to clicking. Without even a thank you.
That night, Oscar closed his window, stuffed in earplugs, and set up his laptop to play white noise all night in an effort to make sure he wouldn’t be able to hear the scream if it did occur. As a result, he slept fairly well, but his dreams were a wild mixture of Teddy Mack lecturing him about not getting his hair wet in the hot spring—what on earth was that about?—and then Teddy, Dina, and Marcie sitting in the hot spring, drinking cocktails with fancy pink umbrellas…while he dug a hole.
For what, the dream didn’t deign to tell him.
Probably his grave after he went crazy, cohabiting with a neurotic writer.
The next morning, he did find a soggy tea bag that indicated Teddy had somehow found her way to the kitchen, along with an ajar cabinet door and an empty box that had once held granola bars. He made peanut butter toast and drizzled it with honey, then filled a small dish with blueberries. Wordlessly, he delivered them to her, then settled down with his computer and lab and, after putting on his reading glasses, began to work.
Later that evening, he grilled some chicken (his cooking repertoire was very limited). He made a salad and brought a portion of both to Teddy, who actually managed to focus her eyes enough to thank him this time.
Oscar settled on the covered porch, in the same chair he’d used the first night he and Teddy ate together (the only night, as it happened), and worked his way through the salad and grilled chicken. He felt strangely alone—though that was something he usually preferred. That preference was one thing that had caused some tension between him and Marcie.
Her complaints had begun after they were engaged—that Oscar didn’t spend enough time with her; that he was always in the lab or had his nose buried in a journal or the computer. He didn’t think anything had changed since they got engaged, for he’d always been someone who preferred silence to chatter, and solitude to houses bursting at the seams with noise, people, and things.
But tonight, as he watched the sun edge closer to the distant horizon, Oscar almost wished that Teddy was sitting in the chair next to him, as she’d done three nights ago.
He twisted the top off his B-Cubed IPA (apparently it was from a local brewery) and was just lifting the bottle to drink when he heard the sound of a vehicle. Curious, he stepped off the porch and walked around to the small gravel parking area on the southeast side of the lighthouse.
It was a large capped pickup that seemed to be filled with tools—including several long pieces of some kind of metal. Iron, maybe.
A well-built man with dark auburn hair climbed out. He was about Oscar’s age, and was wearing battered shorts and a close-fitting t-shirt that appeared to have seen better days. He was holding a paper bag that seemed to carry something heavy.
“Hello,” Oscar said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Declan Zyler. Who are you?” the man replied, looking around with a frown.
His brows lifting at the unexpected and unnecessarily blunt response, Oscar replied coolly, “The name is Oscar London.” He sized up the man. More muscular than he was, but Oscar was surprisingly quick on his feet and a little taller. He could take him if he had to. Probably. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Teddy Mack. Where is she?” Suspicion fairly rolled off the newcomer—as if he expected to learn that Oscar had stuffed a comatose Teddy into a closet somewhere. Or worse.
His spine stiffened a little. “She’s kind of busy. What do you want with her?”
“Look…” Declan’s jaw was a little tight, and then he relaxed a bit. “I’m her cousin. She’s supposed to be here, working on a project, but she didn’t mention anything about a—a roommate. So…” Now he gave Oscar a narrow-eyed look. “Where is she?”
“You’re her cousin. Ah. That makes sense. It’s just that Teddy’s been working on her book pretty much nonstop since yesterday”—when she grabbed me in the hot spring and kissed the hell out of me—“and I know she doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He shrugged, the last bit of tension easing away. “Sorry if I was a little abrupt, but, well—”
“Yeah. Same here.” Declan offered a hand, and Oscar shook it. “I guess I came on a bit strong too. Didn’t know what to think about— Well, I expected to find her alone, and—what are you doing here, anyway? She didn’t mention a—uh—whatever you are when I told her I’d be bringing over some books for her to sign.”
“You had it right with roommate. Just a roommate—accidentally, in fact. They double-booked us here, if you can believe it.” Oscar explained the situation more fully, then lifted his beer bottle. “I just opened this—can I grab one for you? It’s a nice view from the porch—great place to sit and have a brew.”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
Moments later, they settled on the metal chairs. There was no lingering animosity or tension between Oscar and his visitor, each having understood the other’s position and appreciating it as well.
“This is pretty good stuff,” Oscar said, gesturing with his beer. “Made by a local guy?”
“Yeah. Baxter James is a buddy of mine. That means I get to sample all of his works in progress. Sometimes that’s a good thing…sometimes, not so much,” Declan added with a grin. “There was the time he was trying a maple-raspberry stout that just didn’t work out.”
Oscar curled his lip. “I can see that. I don’t know why some of these craft brewers feel it necessary to come up with such exotic flavors and combinations. Nothing wrong with a good, thick stout or a hoppy IPA. Maybe a hint of citrus—but even that’s not necessary. A good brew doesn’t need any bells an
d whistles if it’s made with quality ingredients.”
“Agreed,” Declan replied, and they clinked bottles. “So Teddy’s working on her book, is she? Glad to hear it. She was pretty stressed about it last time I saw her. I was supposed to come over yesterday—no, two days ago—and I felt bad that my schedule got all effed up and I couldn’t make it. Just wanted to check on her, see if she needed anything, since she doesn’t have a car—and bring a couple books for her to sign. The bookstore has them in stock, and I guess people heard she was in town, and they bought them and wanted to get them signed. I told the bookstore owner I’d bring them over. Plus Baxter’s been making noises about coming over and sneaking a peek of what she’s writing—I guess he’s a big fan of her books.”
“Yeah, she’s been typing away like mad for the last two days. Hasn’t even come out to eat. I’ve been bringing her a tray whenever I eat—feel like a prison guard,” Oscar said with a wry smile. “But I couldn’t let her live on water, apples, and granola bars.”
“That’s real nice of you,” Declan said, nodding. “She sounded pretty miserable the last time I talked to her. I’m glad things are going well.”
“I don’t see much of her, so I don’t really know how it’s going. But at least she hasn’t been moaning over having writer’s block like she was doing the first couple of days we were here. The first time I heard her, I thought she was being attacked or tortured,” Oscar said with a laugh. “She’s an interesting person, your cousin.”
“I think so too.” Declan tilted his head, contemplating Oscar. “You know, Baxter is having a tasting of a couple of new beers tomorrow evening, if you’re interested. Seeing as you’re just hanging out here while Teddy’s working.”
A little surprised by the invite, but definitely intrigued, Oscar replied, “I never say no to a good beer. Where is it going to be? What time?”
“Well, now, I didn’t guarantee a good beer—there was that maple-raspberry stout I was telling you about.” Declan grinned. “But more often than not, Bax hits it out of the park. He’s trying out three new brews—it’ll be at the Lakeside Grille. Tomorrow evening at seven thirty.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Sure. Consider it an olive branch, so to speak. For us starting off on the wrong foot.”
“Not necessary, but thank you for the sentiment,” Oscar replied. “I probably would have reacted the same way if it had been my sister in the situation.”
Declan gave him an understanding nod. “Agreed. So how do you like staying here in the lighthouse? Have you been up there?” He tipped his head back and to the side a little, but the porch overhang blocked the view of all but the bottom third of the tower.
“As a matter of fact…” Oscar said. He hesitated over how much to say, but he figured Teddy would spill the beans if she were sitting here—the woman really couldn’t keep her mouth closed—and he didn’t want to make more of it than had happened. “We went up there the other night and got stuck out on the railing.”
“You what?” Declan, who’d been half tilted back on his chair, let the front legs thunk to the porch floor.
“Door blew shut and must’ve gotten stuck or something, because we couldn’t get it open. We were out on the walkway around the light. Would’ve been a miserable night if we hadn’t gotten back in.”
“I’ll say.”
“Teddy wanted to go up there and check it out—I guess someone jumped or fell”—or was pushed, he added silently, then cursed her for putting that in his head—“and she wanted to check it out for some reason.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t living here when that happened. It was three years ago or something. Guy who was the caretaker here was found on the ground with his head split open. Maybe he got locked out like you all did, and he tried to climb down or something.”
Oscar lifted his brows. “That’s interesting. Maybe that’s it. After all, if the guy lived here, he’d be used to walking around the top of the walkway. So, does anyone around here have a peacock farm or something like that?”
“A peacock farm?” Declan pulled the longneck bottle away from his mouth to give Oscar a look. “No. Why?”
“Heard an awful shrieking, sort of screaming sound a couple nights ago, and then again the next night. I don’t think it was an animal in heat, but maybe.” Oscar chose his words carefully.
“Hm. What sort of sound?”
“Well, if I had to describe it, I’d say it was like someone being tortured. Or terrified.” Oscar took a pull of his beer and stared out over the lake. “It sure is beautiful here. How long did you say you’ve been here?”
“Used to visit a couple of summers when I was a teen, but didn’t move back until a year ago August. Long story short, I found out I had a daughter I didn’t know about, and her parents—mother and stepfather—were moving away. She—Stephanie—didn’t want to move and change high schools, so she convinced me I could move back and do my work here. I’m not married and wasn’t involved with anyone, and I’m a blacksmith—do a lot of restoration work and also some custom jobs. She was right—lots of it I can do anywhere.” A smile settled over his face. “Best decision I ever made, Oscar, I gotta say.”
“You had a daughter you didn’t know about and she was a teenager and you willingly moved back to be a single dad to her?”
Declan gave a short laugh. “Yep. I’m not saying I didn’t have a few nights I woke up in a cold sweat wondering what the hell I was doing, but here I am. Couldn’t be happier—especially now that all the ugly stuff was put to rest and we all lived through it.”
“All right, you’ve got me hooked. How about another beer—and then you can tell me about this ugly stuff?” Oscar rose from his chair.
“That’s a deal.”
When he came back, Declan was just slipping his phone into a pocket. “I let Leslie and Steph know I won’t be back for a while.” He took the longneck. “Leslie—she’s the other part of why this was the best decision I ever made, in spite of—or maybe because of—all the crazy stuff that went on last fall.”
Oscar took his chair and said nothing. He could see Declan was gearing up to tell the story.
“So I move here to Wicks Hollow and get called over to look at Shenstone House—that big mansion, just on the south side of town, on a big hill overlooking the town. You know the one.”
“No, actually, I haven’t been into town yet,” Oscar said.
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because it’s really a nice place, even when overrun by tourists. And we’ll have to get you downtown to Trib’s—or if you prefer a hole-in-the-wall burger joint, over to The Roost, where they’ve got about twenty beers on tap—sometime soon. Anyway, I get called over to Shenstone House where this woman’s working on turning it into a bed and breakfast.
“First thing I realize is she’s hotter than an iron-bending fire…second thing is, she’s smart. She’s—Leslie—is the former CEO of a tech company that went public, and she made some money and got out of the business world. So I go over there, and I don’t know what a ball-busting exec from Philly is going to do here in tiny Wicks Hollow, but I’m looking at the job, and she hires me to fix the iron railing for the staircase in the main vestibule of that mansion. And I’m thinking, it wouldn’t be too bad hanging around this hot, smart woman every day for a while.” He grinned, his eyes narrowing as if he were remembering something pleasant. “Anyway, long story short, we somehow disturb a ghost when we’re tearing up the railing base.”
Oscar blinked. “A ghost.”
Declan glanced at him. “Yep. Honest-to-God specter. Saw her myself. Heard her, too.”
“Right.”
Declan shrugged. “I learned—after the fact—that Wicks Hollow is ripe with supernatural stuff like that. There was a haunting in an antiques shop up on the north side of town just a few months back, and last summer, one of the Tuesday Ladies died and was haunting her house. She had reason to because she was murdered in her own bed.”
&nbs
p; Now Oscar realized Declan was messing with him. “All right. Got it. Lots of ghosts and goblins around here.” He gave a short chuckle. “So you said something about almost not living through some craziness.”
“Right. Turns out there was a big secret in Shenstone House that someone wanted to make sure didn’t get out during the renovations. So they started breaking in and messing with Leslie. She was almost murdered herself one night when everything hit the fan. That’s when I realized—well,” Declan said, his eyes going soft again, “I’m not leaving Wicks Hollow as long as she’s here. We’re going to be getting married someday soon.”
Oscar felt a little twinge of envy. “Congratulations. But can we go back to your daughter and the whole single-dad-parenting-a-teen thing? How’s that working out?”
“Steph’s great. Her mother raised her well, and though we’ve had some testy moments—like when she wanted Mickey Mouse wallpaper in the john, for crying out loud; how the hell would I ever have the guys over to watch football with that going on?—she’s absolutely the best thing that ever happened to me. Even edges out Leslie a little—but not much.”
“Lucky you.” Oscar realized he’d ignored his second beer, and now lifted the bottle to drink. “Well, Teddy thinks we saw a ghost here at the lighthouse—so if you tell her about Leslie’s experience—or did you already?—she’s going to think there really is one.”
“You saw a ghost?”
Oscar shook his head. “It wasn’t a ghost. It was some sort of greenish alga or moss that glows in the moonlight. But it was caught up near the top of the lighthouse, and she’s convinced it’s a ghost.”
“So you don’t believe in ghosts,” Declan said.
“Of course not,” Oscar replied, and pointed his longneck at Declan. “And I can tell when a guy’s yanking my chain.”
But the blacksmith gave a smug smile that didn’t do a thing to dispel Oscar’s twinge of nerves.
When it was almost time to leave for the beer tasting the next evening, Oscar closed his laptop and took a quick shower. The truth was that he was glad to have something specific to do, for he’d not seen anything of his housemate all day again, except the back of her head when he dropped off a plate with a grilled cheese on it for lunch. Her hair had been a wild mass, half in a bun and half hanging to her shoulders, as if Teddy had been pulling at it, or running her hands through it, forgetting she’d pinned it up.
Sinister Sanctuary: A Ghost Story Romance & Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 4) Page 10
