by Eryn Scott
Minutes later, I had a basketful of flour, heavy cream, baking powder, and the rest of the scone accoutrements. Staring at the jams, I waited for the bright yellow to jump out at me in the sea of reds and purples. My eye caught on just such a jar, and I reached for it when a voice behind me made me start.
“Told ya,” someone said.
I expected to see Wallace standing there, reveling in his correct directions to the curd. But as I turned, instead of Wallace’s brown hair and curled mustache, I was met with the wild, white locks of the Rickster.
“Told me what?” I asked, clutching my basket closer.
His eyes slid to each end of the aisle we occupied. Seeing we were alone, he leaned in a little. “The police. They’re up to their old tricks.” A wink followed, but it was his words that had a shiver running down my spine.
Brow furrowed, I straightened my shoulders, realizing I’d been leaning so far back I was almost in a backbend. “How could you know that?”
Lips pursed, the Rickster jerked his head to the right, motioning for me to follow him to the end of the aisle. I did so, and as we peered around the corner, I caught sight of Tabby walking toward the dairy refrigerator, a basket swinging on her arm.
Leaning back into the aisle, I frowned at him. “What’s wrong with Tabby shopping?”
“They’ve let her go free,” he grumbled.
“That doesn’t mean they’re not still investigating her,” I whispered, unsure where Tabby was headed next and not wanting her to overhear us.
“It does when the chief of police clears her name. Tells her she’s off the suspect list.” The Rickster crossed his arms to match his somber tone.
I wanted to believe him, but he’d also once told me that aliens had stolen his shoes, in the same tone, so I wasn’t necessarily convinced.
“Why would he clear her name?” I asked, peering out to see Tabby hugging Wallace. It didn’t seem like a consolatory hug either but more of a relieved one.
Like she’d just been cleared of murder.
“So sorry for your loss, Tabby, but I’m glad they’re not looking into you anymore,” Wallace said as if knowing the information I needed to hear.
I glanced back at the Rickster, realizing he hadn’t responded to my question.
His bushy white eyebrows rose. “Word on the street is they found poison in both of their cups.”
I pondered the implications of that fact. “Well, sure. She could’ve poisoned both, just in case Murray wouldn’t switch her cups. She might not have been planning on drinking either.”
There, I’d talked my way around that theory in two seconds. How had Chief Clemenson overlooked that fact?
As if he could read my incredulous thoughts, the Rickster placed his pointer finger on the tip of his nose and walked away.
Frustrated, I realized that my earlier plan to stay out of this case and focus on my business was about to go out the window. Now that I had irrefutable evidence that the chief was letting his feelings for Tabby impede a just and fair case, I wouldn’t be able to walk away or stand idly by.
I paid for my groceries and slung them over my shoulder, defeat weighing more than the heavy bags of flour and sugar. Sweating already in the heat, I flopped the bag into my trunk. But when I shut it, I jumped in surprise as Asher appeared next to me.
His face was ridged in worry, and his blue eyes were sharp as they locked onto mine. “We’ve got a problem.”
7
I took a step forward. “You heard about Tabby going free?”
Asher blinked. “No. Free?”
I nodded. “The chief let her go. She’s not a suspect anymore. Like, at all. I think we were wrong about not getting involved. I think the Rickster might be right.”
Giving me a sidelong glance first—probably because of my statement about the Rickster—Asher said, “Before you decide anything, we’ve got to help the ghosts.”
My brain fired off sparks of a memory from a few moments ago when he’d mentioned a problem. “What’s wrong?”
He gestured for me to follow him. I looked at my trunk where I’d just put the bag of groceries, hoping we wouldn’t be too long. It was a sweltering day, and my freezer bag would only do so much to help keep that cream and butter cold.
“Lois is flickering,” Asher said over his shoulder as we started down the street.
“Flickering?” I asked.
My gut reaction was that this didn’t seem so bad. I mean, ghosts did that, right? They dimmed and disappeared and flickered. All normal, or so I thought. The grave look on Asher’s face told me otherwise.
“None of us have ever experienced this before. We’re not sure what to do.” His pace quickened.
It was then that I realized we passed Jolene’s tea shop. Beyond it, there were only a few shops and houses and the library before the cliffs along the cove took over again and made the terrain inhospitable.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Doc’s. She’s gone back.” Asher didn’t even look at me this time.
I gulped. Her old house. Where she’d been killed. When I’d first met Lois, she’d been holed up in that house, pretending to be living a wonderful life with Doc Gallagher. Well, he’d recently retired, but he’d been the town’s doctor for so long that everyone still called him Doc.
A family of locals walked by, so I kept my mouth shut, trying to appear like someone out for a stroll rather than racing to help a ghost.
“But she’s been so much better. Is everything okay with her and Max?” I asked when I was sure the family was out of earshot.
Asher cut the air with his palm. “She’s not even speaking to him. She won’t speak to any of us.”
Doc lived in a stately Victorian at the end of the street. Its slate-blue color reminded me of the color of the sky after a storm. The house came into view, situated right at the foot of the rocky cliffs climbing out from the cove.
“She’s hiding under the porch,” Asher whispered as if anyone but me would hear him.
Raising my eyebrows, I took a tentative step toward the house. Doc and I didn’t exactly have a great introduction months before. It could’ve been the way I’d questioned him in connection with my grandma’s murder … or the way I’d threatened him in his own home to get Lois to come out and talk to me. Either way, he wouldn’t be happy to see me lurking around his house.
I looked over at Asher, pursing my lips in thought. The only way to get under that porch would be to make a run for it.
So I did. Darting off the boardwalk, I crouched down as I jogged around the retired doctor’s house and came around back.
Doc’s house sat just at the edge of the cove where the wild landscape mixed with the serenity of the cove. So even though his house sat on a grassy knoll just off the boardwalk, his deck overlooked a large, rocky patch of beach. Enormous boulders nestled around the deck.
Because of the boulders and the drop-off down to the water, the deck was tall enough that I could stand comfortably underneath.
Max, the ghost I’d connected Lois with, wrung his hands as I approached.
“Rosemary, thank goodness you’re here.” He rushed forward like he and I were magnets compelled together.
“Hi—hey, here I am—” I stammered, unsure of how I might help.
Asher had mentioned that because ghosts can’t generally remember the time surrounding their deaths. They often depend on the living, people like me who can see them, to help them solve their unfinished business. Being so new at this whole seeing-ghosts thing, I’d never been the one with all the answers or even any of the answers. Honestly, I didn’t even have good guesses most of the time.
Other than Asher asking me to help him research how he’d died, this was the first time the ghosts had looked to me for help. It felt overwhelming, terrifying, and like an awful idea.
Bypassing Max, because I didn’t know what to say to him or how to respond to his sudden admiration, I strode forward.
I spotted Lois in the ver
y corner of the deck right under the stairway. Even though she was in the place she’d spent most of her life, where her spirit should’ve been strongest, she was dim like Asher became anytime he ventured too far from our house.
Her face was downcast, and she shook.
No. That wasn’t shaking. Asher had been right, she flickered. And even though I hadn’t registered it when he’d first told me, seeing it in person made something click in my memory. The night my grandma had saved me from her killer—who’d been planning to throw me off Desperation Cliff but would've made it appear that I’d committed suicide—she’d flickered too.
I sensed Asher come up beside me.
“I’ve seen this before,” I whispered. Though I didn’t hear any footsteps on the deck above, I didn’t want to alert Doc to my presence by speaking at full volume either. “Grandma did this same thing.”
“Right before she crossed over?” Asher asked with a frown.
A melancholy expression took over his face. As much as Lois and Max and the other local ghosts didn’t want to cross over and were still enjoying their time on the earth, Asher wished he could take the next step. So while he knew Lois wouldn’t want to leave, it was what he wanted most.
But my head moved from side to side because that hadn’t been it. “No,” I whispered. “Before that.”
I mean, technically, it hadn’t been too much before, but it had been enough that I felt confident saying one wasn’t the cause of the other.
“She flickered when she saw Althea.” Even though I knew the woman was locked up tight in prison for what she’d done, a shiver still curled its way down my spine at the mention of her name.
Underneath, the deck was humid, the stagnant air unable to escape as easily as above. My throat felt parched and my lips dry. Licking my lips to wet them, I said, “What if it’s something that happens when spirits encounter their killers?” I ventured.
“Doesn’t sound right,” Max said, having sidled up next to us. “I’ve spent a lot of time around my murdering awful ex-wife, and I’ve never done that.” He pointed at the still-hunkering Lois.
Right. Scrunching my toes in my sandals, I wracked my brain. “Lois, is this because I asked you to go into the police station? I’m so sorry. I had no idea he would be in there or who he was to you.” I held myself back from taking another step toward her.
She looked up. Her eyes red and tired even though I knew she neither could cry nor needed sleep any longer.
“Please tell us what’s wrong,” I whispered.
Her mouth dipped into a frown, and she disappeared.
Asher, Max, and I exhaled in frustration. Their exhales were purely emotional, but mine was more likely because I’d been holding my breath while I waited for Lois to answer me. Waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come, apparently.
“You might be onto something,” Asher said, turning toward me. “But maybe instead of just coming in contact with their killer, it’s more about protecting others from getting hurt in the same way.”
That sounded feasible. Grandma had flickered when Althea had tried to hurt me. What if Lois was mad that the police and their habit of losing evidence might mean another soul went without justice?
But before I could ponder that idea anymore, rocks crunched under boots in slow, formidable steps as someone came around the back of the house.
I froze.
“Contrary to what you might believe”—Chief Clemenson’s voice rang out through the sweltering thick air underneath the deck—“my vision is not based on movement, and I can see you even if you stand still.”
I glanced at Asher. As if we were teenagers getting caught smoking, Max disappeared like he might somehow get caught in the crosshairs for being here, as if the chief could even see him.
“Hey, Chief,” I said, turning and holding up my hand in a quick wave.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you under Doc Gallagher’s deck?” he asked, exasperation gathering on his words like condensation in the humid space. “And why were you whispering to yourself?”
Asher cringed. I guess I hadn’t been as stealthy as I’d hoped walking under here. And if Doc had heard me talking to myself, it would not help my already tumultuous relationship with the man.
“Maybe tell him you lost an earring or something?” Asher suggested.
That was good. “I lost my earring,” I said, grabbing at my earlobe.
The chief raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing any earrings, Miss Woodmere.”
Sunlight peeked through the deck slats above me. An earring could’ve slipped through, falling under here. I tried to come up with a reason I might be invited to Doc’s deck, but came up empty handed. The man wouldn’t invite me over. Heck, this wasn’t even the first time he’d called the cops on me.
“I wasn’t the one wearing them,” I blurted out.
This might work, the plan flashed into my brain, but I hit another wall as I tried to think of someone I knew well enough to lend earrings to.
As much as I was coming out of my shell in Pebble Cove, I still only counted Asher as a friend.
I’d gotten close to Althea all those months ago, thinking she was my grandma’s friend, only to find she had, in fact, been her killer. Ever since then, I think I’d been holding everyone else at a distance, just in case.
“My grandma lost it,” I spit out her name as she came to mind. “Back when she was alive, she came here to talk to Doc, the day they fought. Well, I found a note that she’d written reminding herself to look under the porch for her favorite diamond earring, so I came to do that.” I gestured to the surrounding area.
My grandmother’s propensity for leaving herself notes around the tearoom was well-known around town, so me stumbling on a reminder wasn’t out of the question. I could see the struggle on the chief’s face as he studied me, searching for holes in my story as if they were physical holes in my clothing.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Next time, do me a favor and tell the homeowner before you go poking around on their property, please. We’ve got enough going on without people calling me worried about intruders.”
The frustration of the day shoved snarky comments forward, lining them up in my throat. Oh yeah, so busy letting guilty people go free just because you still have feelings for them? Busy putting your personal life ahead of your job? Busy upholding the terrible reputation of the police force in this town?
But I kept them all inside. One, because I didn’t want to spend any time down at the station, despite its air-conditioned state. And two, because I was smart enough to remember that I needed to keep the chief on my good side—well, not my bad side anyway.
Without another word, I jogged past the man and out onto the boardwalk.
“That was close,” Asher said, showing up next to me as I hightailed it for my car. My groceries were probably close to losing the fight against the heat and I needed to hurry.
“Yeah. We’ve got to be careful.” I shuddered thinking about how badly that could’ve gone.
Asher waved as we approached my car. “I’ll see you at home. We can talk this over more while you make your scones.” And with that, he disappeared.
As it turned out, I didn’t have time to make the scones when I got home. With Murray’s death, the day of the week had gotten away from me. I’d almost forgotten that today was my weekly self-defense class with the chief.
I changed into a tank top and my black stretch pants. Calling them yoga pants just seemed wrong since I’d never done any yoga in them nor did I have any plans to. I swiped my hair into a tight bun.
“Got to you, didn’t he?” Asher asked as I jogged down the stairs holding my sneakers.
I pushed my lips forward and touched my hair protectively. Then I plopped down into a chair to pull on my shoes. “I still can’t figure out how I’m supposed to be to blame for wearing my hair in a ponytail or how it makes me an ‘easy target.’” I used air quotes as I repeated Chief Clemenson’s scolding durin
g our first self-defense class last week. “But as much as I’d love to never go back, there’s something the chief is hiding, and I’m hoping to catch him off guard during class today. Maybe he’ll spill the actual reason he was so close to the tea shop that morning.”
Asher saluted me. “Best of luck.”
With his luck in my metaphorical back pocket—also these stretch pants had no pockets—I drove into town and parked across from the police station.
A handwritten note on the station door stopped me.
“Self-Defense Class Moved to the Geoduck.”
I wrinkled my nose. The Geoduck? Why would we have class there?
Tentatively, I walked down the road to see how in the world we were going to hold a self-defense class in a bar.
8
Two doors down, at the local watering hole, I pulled at the old wooden door. The brass hinges creaked, rusted from the salty sea air whipping up off the cove. Inside, the place was dingy compared to the extreme brightness of the sunny summer day. Blinking while I waited for my eyes to adjust, I stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind me. Once the brilliant sun was blocked out once more, the room came into focus.
The chairs and tables had been moved off to the sides of the room, leaving a large clearing in the middle of the pub.
The three women with whom I’d taken the first class stood to my left, arms crossed in a look of extreme discomfort. Two new women had joined, and they wore expressions that made it clear they wished they had stayed home.
In fact, every one of the participants appeared about as thrilled as I felt. And that was before I noticed the Rickster stretching in the corner.
“Ahh, welcome!” he called as his head dipped down below his waist in a forward stretch. “I think that’s the last of you, so we’re ready to begin.”
“No Chief?” I asked, sidling up to the women in the group.
The one closest to me shook her head gravely.
“The chief is busy with his case, so he asked me to take over today’s lesson,” the Rickster said as he finished his stretch and strode over to us. He tapped his ear—or more like the tuft of white hair growing out of it. “I’ve always been able to hear like an antelope. Still got it.”
