by Amy Boyles
“They knew each other?”
“Apparently. The priest told Dad all about me right before he died. Vince Breneaux found me. He could see spirits, too. He understood the challenge of what it is to be what some people call ‘gifted.’” I made air quotation marks. “It’s what others call ‘cursed.’ That’s what I thought about it for years, until Dad taught me otherwise. You can be either gifted or cursed, depending on how you decide to look at it.”
“And you look at it how?”
Roan's gaze didn’t hold one grain of contempt or even condescension. He stared at me as if he were an open book and I could stamp whatever story I wanted on his heart.
“Well,” I said slowly, “Right now I consider it somewhere between a gift and a curse. Not sure which.”
He leaned back in the rocking chair and stared out into the night. “I think it’s a gift. Essentially what you’re doing is helping others. It might not be the way you look at it, but you are. Is that what you did for the operator?”
I nodded as I wiped beer froth from my upper lip. “Yes, I helped him move on. That’s what I do.”
“And the hair?”
I scoffed. “I thought you liked the hair.”
“I do.”
I paused. “This is going to sound crazy.”
“Crazier than the rest of it?”
“Yep. Crazier. Do you think you can handle it?”
He laughed. “There’s a lot I’ve already handled in my life. A few out-of-this-world stories are nothing compared to that.”
“Spirits have what are called ghost presents that they can bestow on you.”
He quirked a brow.
I laughed. “I told you it sounds crazy.”
“You’re right. I’m not sure what I think about it.”
I leaned back, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You asked. I’m telling. Spirits can give gifts. It can be something as small as a memory to someone they loved, or gifting a living person with a book. Mine happened to be this hair.”
His jaw dropped in surprise. “Did you ask for it?”
“Bingo. I wanted it to be real. For years I’d been dying my hair this color, or a shabby imitation. I mean, I was already different, might as well look that part, too, I figured. A particular spirit I helped gave me these tresses. I love it. I mean, I could dye it another color if I wanted, but I don’t.”
I chewed the inside of my lip as I thought. “The only other color I might want would be stardust. Sort of a silver.”
“Okay, granny.”
I cackled. “Nothing wrong with being a granny. You’ve got some good ones in this town.”
Just thinking of Ruth and Alice made my heart clench a little. Their friendship, their love for each other was extraordinary. I couldn’t help it if I was a tad jealous.
I pointed my beer at Roan. “What about you? What’s your story? You can’t just be a lumberjack who set off into the world on your own with nothing more than a backpack and a pickax but returned wealthy and worldly.”
He laughed so hard he coughed. Roan set the guitar down and leaned back, slowly rocking. The sound of the two chairs creaking back and forth was the only thing that filled the night until he opened his mouth.
“I’ve lied to you about something,” he said finally.
“Oh?” I raised the bottle. “This isn’t a microbrew? What a fib.”
He shook his head. “No, something else.”
“Well, we’re here dishing secrets. I’ve told mine. What’s yours?”
He swiped his thumb across his lips and watched me as my gaze followed the line of his full mouth. My throat dried.
“I’ve told you I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Oh, so what’re you going to tell me? That was all a lie?”
He nodded. “Yep. It’s a lie. I believe in spirits.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why all the secrecy?”
He dropped his fist to the armrest. “Because underneath this bed-and-breakfast rests a nasty spirit that would do anything to get out.”
I laughed. “You’re joking.”
Roan's eyes blazed with intensity. “Wish I was. That’s why I returned to Haunted Hollow. Because I’m the guardian of the ghost. If I don’t stay, the spirit gets out, and if that happens, all hell will break loose.”
EIGHTEEN
Part of me wanted to laugh in Roan's face. He had to be kidding, right? The self-professed ghost critic was now telling me he wasn’t a critic at all. In fact, he was guardian over an evil spirit.
Well, he hadn’t said the stupid thing was evil, but why else guard it?
“Why are you telling me this?” I said.
“Because,” he said, shrugging, “I didn’t want you to communicate with it and tell the thing it’s okay to come out.”
I scoffed. “As if. Listen, I don’t deal with spirits I can’t see and get a feel for. That’s how it goes.” I crossed my arms and leaned back. “I thought my story sounded crazy, but yours takes the cake. Guarding some sort of ancient spirit? Hard to believe.”
He smirked. “I’d show you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Sounds like an interesting time.”
He laughed. “No. Really, that’s why I’m telling you. Stay away from the basement. Don’t go down there. Don’t snoop.”
“I don’t snoop, and I’m almost annoyed that you suggested I might.”
He pinched the empty beer bottles between his fingers and rose. Roan stretched. His shirt rode up, revealing abs that made me want to sink to my knees and thank the good Lord that men had been created with such awesome musculature.
“Like I said, I’m only telling you so that you know.”
I bristled. “Like I said, I don’t go looking for trouble. Spirits come to me. If they can’t come to me, I don’t search them out.”
Mostly true. Otherwise I wouldn’t be looking for Lucky Strike, now would I?
Roan tossed the bottles in a nearby trash and grabbed his guitar. “It was nice sharing a brew with you, Blissful.”
A coy smile curled my lips. I glanced up into his brown eyes. My stomach quivered. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Maybe we can do it again.”
A violet-colored tendril of hair snagged my eyelash. Before I could move it, Roan brushed it from my face. The heat from his fingertips made my throat seize.
The best answer I could muster form his suggestion to have a drink again was, “Maybe. Good night.”
With that, I turned and left, letting the cold night air rip through me.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of my cell phone blaring. I glanced at the clock.
Ten a.m.
Apparently I’d slept in. I was usually up and out by seven or eight, but with the late nights I’d been experiencing in Haunted Hollow, and the fact that it felt like I was on an extended vacation, I seemed to have no trouble snoozing like a god.
But my lackadaisical attitude came to a screaming halt when I saw the name flashing on my phone.
ANITA TUCKER.
“Crap on a stick. What does she want?”
Should I let it go to voice mail? What if she was calling to grovel? Tell me that she’d made a horrible mistake. She never should’ve slept with my dad’s boss to get the job. She was so, so sorry and regretted suspending me. I could have my old job back, with a raise. Oh, and she’d go jump off a cliff.
“Hello?” I said, unable to mask the innocent optimism in my voice.
“What is going on up there?”
The outrage in Anita’s voice made me bolt up. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I read something about some ghost catchers at a funeral parlor. I see a picture and you’re in the paper. The paper, Blissful. No one’s supposed to know about what you do. Are you spouting off about the Ghost Team, too? Telling everyone you meet what we do?” She paused, took a breath. “Because if I find out that’s true, I will haul your butt in here and fire you pe
rmanently like I should have to begin with.”
Oh, the audacity of this little Frick-a-Frack. “You don’t want me to tell someone like you told Xavier Bibb?”
The line went silent.
Oh crap. Good job, Blissful. Go ahead and blow your hand. While I’m at it, why don’t I ask Anita to roll down her pants and bend over so I could smooch her lily-white rear end?
Ugh. Even I had places I feared to tread.
Her voice changed. It became lower, hushed. “What are you talking about?”
“Xavier Bibb knew who I was. Knew all about the Ghost Team. What did you do, meet him at a fan conference, sleep with him and start spewing secrets? You’re not supposed to tell about it, either, Anita. Or have you forgotten?”
She didn’t say anything. I had her. I knew I did. I needed her off my back, or at least get Anita to cool her heels about the picture in the paper.
“So why don’t you just leave me alone, huh?” I brushed my tangled hair from my face. “I won’t tell anyone about what Xavier said to me, and you shove that paper in the trash. How does that work?”
She huffed. “I can try. I don’t know if it’ll work. My boss gets wind of it and he’ll have me in his office in no time flat.”
Don’t you mean flat on your backside?
“Oh, Anita,” I cooed, “I’m sure you can handle him. If you try hard enough, you can make the whole thing go away.”
“Maybe,” she grumbled. Oh, she didn’t want to. I knew she didn’t. Anita had probably called to fire me, but since I could mud-sling as well as her, she’d chicken-winged out of it.
“Don’t let this happen again, Bliss,” she said.
“I won’t. And your secret’s safe with me,” I said, meaning Xavier.
For now.
“I knew I could count on you,” Anita said. “How’s the progress going with Lucky?”
I scratched an itch behind my ear. “Not great. Still working on it. Listen, I’ve got some leads to follow up on today. I need to get cracking.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure thing.” Not. It wasn’t as if she would help anyway. She hadn’t even let me bring any equipment.
I hung up, jumped out of bed and took a long, hot shower. I tromped downstairs, snagged a biscuit and skirted from the bed-and-breakfast before Roan appeared and breathed testosterone all over me.
I didn’t know what to think about the spirit he claimed to guard. Of course I wanted to know more. I wasn’t anything if not curious. But to be honest, it offended me that he thought I’d snoop around and attempt to free some sort of evil entity.
If such a thing even existed. I’d never heard of a trapped spirit with a guardian. It was probably just a bunch of baloney to make me feel better about telling my own story.
Yeah, I was sure that was it.
I hopped in the Land Cruiser and headed down toward Soul Food and Spirits. I hadn’t had an opportunity to ask Mrs. Wilkes a few questions, and I had the feeling she was an important player in all this.
I opened the door to Soul Food and Spirits just as they opened. A young hostess, couldn’t have been more than a couple of years out of high school, greeted me with a big red-lipped smile.
“Here for lunch?”
“Um. No. I just want some pie and coffee.”
What was I saying? I didn’t eat pie. Too many calories and all that sugar? I’d be comatose within minutes.
“Follow me.”
She took me to a table near the windows. I pointed to one nearer what looked like an office door. “How about that one instead?”
“Sure,” she said, but the tightness around her eyes said it wasn’t.
She seated me, and I glanced over at the door. It was open a crack. Mrs. Wilkes sat inside behind a computer. Someone was across from her, but I couldn’t see who.
“You can’t come up with the money now, can you, Meredith?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“But you can’t.”
I peeked into the room, trying not to be seen. Meredith Wilkes wore a floral silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I caught a slash of red flashing through an opening that made me think skirt. It was much nicer than my own blue jeans, brown boots and brown cowl-necked sweater. But I was ready for fall. Apparently Meredith Wilkes preferred spring.
“What I can and can’t purchase isn’t any of your business.”
“But now that Xavier’s gone, you don’t have the extra money. Why not just sell to me? The building will be in good hands. You’ll see.”
“What would you like?”
My waitress showed up at the wrong time. “Um. Fried pie and coffee.”
I turned my ear back to Meredith.
“What kind of pie? We have peach, apple, pecan, pear, banana.”
“All of those are fried?”
“Yep.”
I handed her the menu. “Surprise me.”
With her gone, I glanced back into the room, but the man was gone. Crap. I hadn’t seen him leave. Double crap. But there had been something familiar in his voice.
Through the door came the sound of muffled sniffles. Meredith was crying. I grabbed a napkin and quietly knocked.
More sniffling. “Come in.”
I entered to see her knuckle away a few tears. I handed her my napkin and sat. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
She laughed maniacally, as if the whole situation was about to tip her into insanity. “I’m a mess. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t see me like this.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry about the scumbag who was just in here threatening your property.”
She smiled feebly. “I’d hoped with you seeing the ghost that business would improve. It has, but the rent just keeps going up and up. I thought if I bought the building, it would be best, but now it seems everyone wants it. J&J wants to turn this building into lofts. Lofts? Can you imagine?”
I glanced at the exposed brick interior. Actually I could. They’d probably be very nice with gas fireplaces and Juliette balconies. I might even be tempted to buy one.
But that wasn’t why I was here.
“I heard around town that Xavier wanted to help you buy the place.”
She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “He did, but now that he’s gone, there’s no money, so I’m left at square one. Of course, I was at square one when the previous restaurant owner disappeared and willed me the place, but that’s not either here nor there.”
“I’m sorry. So Xavier didn’t leave you anything that said you were allowed to have a certain amount of money?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” Meredith clenched her fists. “But if I could find something like that, my entire life would be changed. Otherwise I’m stuck being roadkill for the buzzards.”
She picked up a tuft of feathers and squeezed it repeatedly.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Oh,” she said nervously. Meredith dropped the tuft on the desk. “It’s a token that keeps me safe.” She leaned over and shot me an embarrassed grin. “I keep it around me when I’m in here. There’s a spirit in the kitchen that doesn’t like me. Throws pots and pans when I’m around.”
She must’ve been talking about Nancy, the one who scared Xavier right before he was murdered. “Does it work?”
She nodded. “Keeps her away, that’s for sure.”
“Nancy throws things, huh?”
“She does, but she’s not the only spirit in town that does that. The candle shop, Wicked Wicks, is haunted by a spirit that throws tea lights at customers.”
My jaw dropped. The audacity of such a ghost. I wondered if that would be a clue to finding Lucky Strike. “There’s a spirit like that?”
Meredith laughed. “Oh yes. Go and visit. You’ll see. It’s a hoot.” She glanced nervously from side to side. “But how did you know the spirit’s name is Nancy? The one here who doesn’t like me?”
“Something I heard on the street.” I ros
e. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ve got to get back to my pie. So J&J’s manhandling you about the money? That guy seems like a real jerk. I ran into him at the B and B. I think he wants to buy it, too.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “No, it isn’t J&J who was just here.”
I frowned. “It wasn’t? Then who was that?”
She smirked. “My dear, you didn’t see?”
I gripped the top of the chair and squeezed. “No. I didn’t.”
“It was none other than Xavier’s cohort, Slick Williams. That’s who wants to buy my place.”
NINETEEN
It was a nice day, bright and sunny, so I decided to walk the main stretch of town to Ghost Catchers. I passed the candle shop, Wicked Wicks, and stopped. Some useful tidbit of information could be stored in the place.
I pulled the door to and stepped inside to see a woman standing cross armed, staring at the array of delicious smelling candles. The entire store smelled like a crisp apple pie full of cinnamon and nutmeg. I nearly opened my mouth to take a bite of air.
“I don’t believe it. Some stupid ghost is here throwing things at people. What a crock.”
The woman, obviously a tourist from the money belt around her waist, was talking to a group of folks who were dressed exactly like her.
A shop worker wearing thick black glasses and a high ponytail smirked. “Better watch what you say. She doesn’t throw candles, but she likes to toss other things at folks.”
The tourist rolled her eyes. “What’s she going to do, punch me?”
I watched as an older ghost apparated in front of me. No one else saw her. She wore a long skirt and her hair in a bun. A dark expression lined her face. The spirit slid a car air freshener from a hook and threw it at the tourist, hitting her squarely on the rear end.
“Oh! What was that?” she yelped.
The shopkeeper smiled. “Why, I reckon it was the ghost.” She wagged a finger at the woman. “I told you to watch what you said about her.”
The tourists laughed at the woman, who rubbed her rear end. She glowered as she slinked, embarrassed, from the store.
The shopkeeper smirked at me. “Can I help you with anything?”