“And you think this guy is just going to give the info up?” I asked.
Tate shrugged. “He’s a talkative old man who lives alone. Once he gets going, it’s hard to shut him up. We can go over there this afternoon and talk to him.”
Raising my head, I glanced up at him and scowled. “Today? Don’t you think you should rest?”
He shook his head, and then winced as if it had hurt. “I’ll be fine in a few hours.”
“Yeah, but fighting off a migraine is going to take a lot out of you,” I argued. “It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Bell, I’ve been laid up since last night,” he retorted. “By the end of the day, I’ll feel better and I’m going to want out of this bed.”
I stood, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine, but I’m driving.”
“Deal,” he agreed.
“I’ll go so you can rest up,” I said. “Try to eat, too. Okay?”
“Wait,” he called. “Come back here.”
Walking back to the bed, I ran a hand through his hair. “What now, you big baby?”
He smiled. “Kiss me.”
Leaning closer, I kissed his forehead.
He groaned. “Not there.”
With a smirk, I kissed him again, lower this time, right between the eyes. He sighed, closing his eyes as I worked my way down the bridge of his nose. Finally, I kissed his lips, lingering there longer than I had anywhere else.
“All better,” he mumbled when I’d pulled away.
“Not even,” I scoffed. “Eat and go to sleep, or I’m not taking you anywhere later.”
“Fine, you big bully,” he grumbled, reaching for his tray and pulling it into his lap. “Happy now?”
“Extremely,” I chirped before turning to leave.
The home of Grayson Smith sat a few blocks over from mine—a small, one-story cottage with a white picket fence and an immaculate lawn. As I pulled up to the curb, with Tate reclined in the passenger seat of his car, I noticed two large Labrador retrievers running around the backyard.
“This is it,” Tate said, sitting up a bit, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.
He claimed to be feeling better, but I could tell he was still experiencing light sensitivity and weakness.
Killing the engine, I turned to face him. “How are we going to approach this?”
Tate shrugged. “I’ll play on his sympathy to get us through the door.”
I cringed. “Seriously?”
Chuckling, he reached for the door handle. “What’s that saying about using what you got? This face makes people uncomfortable and less likely to go against me when I ask for things. Pity and all that.”
Following him from the car, I braced my hands on my hips as I followed him up the short path to the front door. “You are terrible.”
Reaching back for me, he took my hand. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Giving the doorbell a ring, he removed his sunglasses, sliding them into the neckline of his shirt. The dogs out back began to bark, running up to the side of the fence and yapping at us.
“Quiet, you rascals!” called a voice from inside as the heavy tread of footsteps rang out on the floorboards.
The door opened to reveal Grayson, a man with wrinkled, sun-weathered skin and a receding hairline. The little hair he did have clung to the back of his head in thin, white wisps, matching the silvery stubble along his jaw.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a gruff voice, swinging open the screen door.
Stepping out onto the porch, he faltered when he looked up at Tate.
“Hey, Mr. Smith,” Tate said, his voice suddenly weaker than it had been in the car. “How’ve you been?”
Running a hand over the bald top of his head, he avoided Tate’s glance. “I’ve been fine, son. Retired now, you know. Got nothing but time on my hands, now. What about you?”
“I’ve been okay,” Tate replied, pausing to fake a cough. “Don’t leave the house much these days.”
I rolled my eyes. Boy, he was laying it on thick. However, it seemed to do the trick.
“Well, what brings you here?”
“I need to ask you a few questions, for a friend,” he said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Grayson looked at Tate again. This time, his brow wrinkled as if in sympathy. “Of course. Come on in.”
He held the screen door open for Tate, who took hold of it as Grayson retreated into the house, indicating that we should follow. Sweeping an arm toward the open door, Tate smirked, raising his eyebrows at me.
“Ladies first.”
“The cough was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” I whispered as I walked past him into the house.
“The man doesn’t have to know my disease doesn’t cause a hacking cough.”
He did it again for good measure, loud enough that he knew Grayson could hear. I scowled at him as he followed me inside and closed both the screen and inside doors.
“You are going straight to hell,” I hissed.
“You guys want something to drink?” Grayson called from the kitchen.
We made our way to the living room, where an ancient television set played the news with the volume lowered.
“No, thanks, we’re good,” Tate replied as Grayson reappeared. “We really won’t stay long. I just have a few questions.”
“Okay, well, you guys make yourself at home.”
“Oh,” Tate said suddenly. “This is Bellamy, my girlfriend.”
I didn’t have a choice but to recover quickly from the shock at being named Tate’s girlfriend for the first time in front of a stranger.
Smiling, I took Grayson’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nate McGuire’s girl, right?” he said. “While working for the department, I made it my business to at least be able to put names with faces.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir, he’s my dad.”
He released my hand and gave me a sympathetic glance. “I was awful sorry to hear about your ma. Always seemed like such a nice woman.”
“She was, thank you.”
We followed Grayson’s instructions on making ourselves at home, sitting beside each other on a worn love seat. He sat across from us in an old recliner, pulling the handle to prop his feet up.
“All right then,” he grumbled in his gravelly voice, folding his hands against his belly. “What can I do for you?”
Reaching into the pocket of his shorts, Tate retrieved a sheet of paper and unfolded it, revealing the last page of the article I’d printed out.
“Does this woman look familiar to you?” he asked, handing it over to Grayson.
The man sat up to reach for the slip of paper, then sat back, pulling a pair of glasses out of the front pocket of his shirt and slipping them on.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured, studying the photo. “Special Agent Vasquez. Poor thing died in a car crash on the edge of town. Sad business.”
“The story says she worked for the FBI,” Tate said, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against his knees. “I was wondering… or rather, my friend needs to know… do you remember what case she might have been investigating in Wellhollow Springs before she died? Just seems odd for an FBI agent to come snooping around this small town.”
Grayson chuckled. “I hate to disappoint you, but it wasn’t anything particularly interesting. She seemed overly involved in a death that had been ruled a suicide. The girl lived here, died here a couple years ago. Despite all the evidence pointing toward suicide, Vasquez wouldn’t let it go. She kept coming up to the station, bugging the detectives about it. Even took herself to the county sheriff looking for stuff that wasn’t there.”
Tate and I exchanged a glance. So, Camila had been investigating her sister’s death after all.
“Did she find anything?” I asked.
Grayson shook his head. “Weren’t nothing to find. Oh, we humored her… let her have access to some evidence and answered her little questions. But not long after she showed
up, the chief put in a call to Quantico to ask about her. Turns out her little investigation wasn’t authorized by the FBI. Camila had been placed on administrative leave pending a psych evaluation. Apparently, the girl was acting under her own impulse to investigate when her supervisory agent had told her to let it go. After that, the chief put out the word—we weren’t to cooperate with Vasquez any longer. She got iced out and couldn’t make much progress after that. It was my understanding that she was about to leave town when she passed.”
“Thank you,” Tate said. “We won’t take up anymore of your time. That was all we needed.”
Frowning, Grayson stood. “Are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” Tate said, rising to his feet. “Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing,” Grayson replied. “You certain I can’t convince you kids to hang around for a bit? I was just about to fire up the grill. I make a mean steak.”
Tate smiled. “Maybe some other time, Mr. Smith. I really shouldn’t be out of the house for too long.”
Grayson nodded in understanding. “I get it, son. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Shaking his hand again, Tate preceded me down the hall toward the front door. The old man followed, his boots pounding out a heavy tread on the hardwood.
“Mr. Smith?” I asked, turning to face him in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Do you know if she might have passed any information on to anyone else? Something she might have thought of as evidence?”
Grayson’s expression grew solemn as he shook his head. “Sorry, honey. I have no idea. As far as I know, if Vasquez did find anything, no one else knew about it. Whatever she thought she’d found, it died with her.”
“Well, that got us nowhere,” I muttered a few minutes later, cranking the car and pulling away from Grayson’s house.
“Sure it did,” Tate replied, slipping his glasses back on. “We found out that Camila was going rogue to investigate her sister’s death… which means she probably thought it was a murder, not a suicide.”
“Yeah, but it looks like she hit a dead end just like we did,” I argued. “Maybe she was delusional, and still can’t see the truth even as a ghost. Maybe her sister really did kill herself.”
“If the death was just a suicide, why so much obstruction against her?” he argued. “Why not just give her access and let her see for herself that Isabella hung herself? I smell a cover-up.”
My eyes widened as I realized he could be right. “That makes a lot of sense. We need to figure out what Camila did with whatever evidence she might have gathered.”
Laying his head back against the headrest of his seat, Tate sighed. “I don’t know, Bell. The deeper we dig on this thing, the more dangerous it starts to feel. Maybe it isn’t worth it.”
Pulling up to a stoplight, I turned to face him. “This is your life we’re talking about. Not to mention the fact that Isabella’s family is going through life thinking she killed herself. I can’t even imagine how they must feel, not just losing two daughters, but losing one in such a horrific way. There’s too much at stake. We can’t stop now.”
“What if we go back to Grayson and tell him what we suspect?” he mused. “He can help us get the chief or sheriff involved. The proper authorities should handle this.”
“After the way they brushed Camila aside, I doubt they would find us any more credible,” I pointed out. “We have no evidence, and we can’t just go around telling people about the ghosts. Trust me, that’s a sure way to get labeled a lunatic in this town.”
The light turned green and I continued. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tate run a hand through his hair.
“You’re right,” he replied. “Which means there’s only one thing left for us to do. We’re going to have to take a trip to Fayehill and visit the Vasquez family. Maybe they knew why Camilla suspected that her sister had been murdered. Something she told them might give us another lead.”
“Don’t you think that would be tacky?” I asked. “Intruding on their family like that? Their daughters are dead, and I know it’s been a few years, but still… it might be hurtful for them to have strangers come around asking questions.”
“I know, but we don’t have many other options,” he replied. “Maybe it will help them to know that someone else is picking up where Camila left off, pursuing justice.”
Sighing, I nodded in agreement. “Okay, but Fayehill… that’s a ten-hour trip—five there and five back. I can’t exactly tell my dad what we’re up to.”
“Right,” he replied. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll go alone. My parents hardly pay attention to me anyway. It’s not like they’ll notice I’m gone.”
“Are you kidding?” I argued. “I’m not letting you go on that long a drive alone. What if you have a migraine?”
“Bell, I’ll be fine.”
“No,” I insisted. “I’ll think of something. We’re going together.”
Laughing, he reached out and rested his hand on my thigh. “Yes, ma’am.”
I glanced down at that hand, biting my lip and refocusing on the road. He did things like that, as if they came naturally to him. Like he couldn’t keep his hands off me. I wasn’t used to being in this position with a guy… at least not one who wasn’t doing it just to try to get laid. There was no pressure with Tate—just affection and a sense of comfort that seemed to come easy.
“So,” I said slyly. “Word on the street is that Tate Baldwin has a girlfriend.”
Tate laughed. “Yeah, about that… You didn’t mind, did you? I mean, if it’s premature, I understand.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Well, we have made out multiple times. But… there was only one date. Don’t you have to go on like, two or three dates in a row without seeing anyone else for it to be official?”
“Hey, I rented you a Ferris wheel,” he argued. “That, plus the movie, counts as two dates.”
I snorted. “Sorry, man. All of it happened in one night… it was a single date.”
“Okay, let’s stop off for dinner somewhere,” he said. “That’ll make this a date. Ooh, there’s a Shake Shack right there!”
“Drive-through from Shake Shack is not a date,” I muttered even as I stopped to turn into the long line snaking from the drive-through window.
“It is if I buy you a burger and a shake,” he reasoned. “That’s not cheap… I’ll even spring for onion rings instead of fries.”
Putting the car in park to wait for the others in front of us to pull up, I shook my head at him with a chuckle. “You are a mess. What am I going to do with you?”
Leaning toward me over the center console, he kissed my cheek. “Whatever you want, Bell.”
I squirmed when he began nibbling on my ear, groaning when he found a particularly sensitive patch of skin beneath it. “Stop that,” I demanded, swatting him away. “Behave yourself. You’re still weak.”
“I’ll be good for now,” he grumbled, falling back into his seat.
After a few moments of waiting in silence, I glanced over at him. “Hey, I was thinking…”
When I trailed off, he peered at me over the rims of his sunglasses. “What’s up?”
I took a deep breath and plunged in, blurting out what had been on my mind since our first date. I’d been afraid to ask, but I figured it was worth a shot.
“I was wondering if you’d given any thought to going to the Founder’s Day ball,” I said in a rush. “It’s in two weeks.”
He fell silent for a long while—for so long two cars made it to the window ahead of us and drove off before he replied. “I would like nothing more than to see you all dressed up, and dance the night away with you,” he murmured. “It would be wildly romantic, and a solid third date to seal our relationship according to your lofty standards.”
I wanted to laugh, but I knew his little joke was only to take the sting out of the inevitable refusal.
“But?” I prodded.
“But,” he continued. “I’m not
sure I’m ready to be in public around quite so many people.”
“We went to the movies,” I reminded him.
“At night,” he countered. “One of the last shows of the night, and there wasn’t a ton of people there. The Founder’s Day ball is the biggest event of the year in Wellhollow Springs, Bell. Hundreds of people who have been gossiping about me for the past two years, all gathered in one place, at an event created for people to show off, see, and be seen. It’s not the same.”
Despite the disappointment sinking into my gut, I could understand his reasoning. I decided not to try to push him into things he wasn’t ready for yet. I’d gotten him out of his room, and he hadn’t worn a hat or a hoodie in over a week. Progress didn’t happen overnight.
“That’s okay,” I said as we pulled up to the speaker to order. “I didn’t really want to go that badly, anyway.”
We dropped the subject and ordered our food, eating it while I drove us the rest of the way to Baldwin House. I dropped Tate off, promising to let him know when I could figure out an excuse for our trip to Fayehill. The fact of the matter was—there existed no way on earth that my dad would let me go out of town overnight with a boy—any boy. I was going to have to lie, which put a sour taste in my mouth. But this was important. Perhaps if I could help Tate banish these ghosts, I could then help my dad get rid of his.
Watching Tate ascend into the house, I sat in the car until he disappeared through the front door before pulling away from the circular drive. My mind wandered as I cruised toward the gate, thinking over some excuses I might give my dad for going out of town with Tate. I was on autopilot, which was why I almost didn’t see the person standing out in the middle of the road. With a gasp, I slammed the brakes, screeching to a stop. I shook from head to toe, a death grip on the wheel as I glanced up and found one of the ghosts standing in front of me, a shower of red rose petals drifting around her, fluttering toward the ground like snowflakes. My bumper would have shattered her kneecaps if she’d been an actual person. A handful of the petals now sprinkled the hood of the car.
Hands still trembling, I reached out to put the car in park, my chest heaving as I fought to calm my breath. Opening the door, I stepped out, squinting against the high afternoon sun. Seeing one of them in the daytime was jarring, the white glow muted in the daylight, causing her black eyes and the dark smudge around her throat to stand out even more.
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