by Eryn Scott
I closed my eyes and tipped my face toward the warm rays. When I opened my eyes, Asher was doing the same.
“Can you still feel the sun?” I asked him.
He smiled sadly. “No, but I can still remember what it was like. I like to pretend sometimes.”
I trailed a finger around the rim of the toasty mug I clutched. “You mentioned yesterday that ghosts rarely remember the time surrounding their death, that they don’t know how they died.” My gaze flicked up to his. “Does that mean you don’t know how you … died?” I asked.
He ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “Nope. The last thing I remember is that I was an officer in the army, and I was getting ready to meet my unit and deploy over to Europe. I can only guess I was killed in battle. Death in a war is valiant, something to be honored. I guess I’m not worried about why I’m still here because of that.”
“But then what’s your unfinished business?” I regretted the question. Like the man hadn’t probably spent the last century wondering the same thing. If he knew, his spirit would’ve moved on. “Sorry,” I added.
“It’s okay.” He looked outside for a moment. “Honestly, I have no idea. By the time I became aware I was a spirit, my family had sold this house and moved away. I tried to find them, but as I’ve told you before, if I travel places I never visited when I was alive, I simply end up back here.”
I tapped my fingers on my lips as I thought. “And there were no clues in the town about what had happened to you?”
“Nope.” It wasn’t as if Asher looked upset, but the way he said the word felt like a bookend to our conversation.
Stretching, I stood. “Okay, well as much as I’d love to sit around and sip tea all day, I’ve got to go visit Grandma’s realtor, Gretta, and figure out what I’m going to do about this offer on the table.”
Asher opened his mouth, but then he clamped it shut. His gaze flicked over the evidence of our tea-tasting lessons. Even after spending less than twenty-four hours with him, I could tell he wanted to ask why I would need to talk about the offer since I’d decided to stay.
But I was glad he said nothing because I didn’t know what I was going to do anymore. If I stayed, I would disappoint Mom. But if I left, Asher would be all alone again.
My heart ached in my hollow-feeling chest. I scurried over to the bar, gathering mugs in my arms. I was rushing, but I needed to get out of there. I didn’t notice one of the mugs slipping through my arms until it was too late. I didn’t have a free hand to reach down and catch it.
Asher’s wide eyes met mine for a split second. Then he was there, next to me. There was a whoosh of energy, and I felt the mug push back up into the space it should’ve been nestled in between my arm and body. I clamped my elbow tight, making sure it was secure this time.
If I hadn’t been holding an armful of teacups, I think I would’ve fallen over from the shock. I’m not sure how anything still surprised me after a day of hanging out with a ghost who was helping me solve my grandmother’s murder, but this did.
“You moved it.” My words came out in a breathy whisper.
Asher gave me that same boyish grin as earlier, but then his whole body paled as if someone had turned a dimmer switch down on his spirit. “And there we go,” he said, but it was much quieter, slower, more ghostly sounding.
“What’s happening to you?” I asked, and as the words left me, I remembered him talking about moving the book last night and how expending energy made him foggy for a time after.
He shrugged. “I couldn’t let that mug fall.” His quiet voice sounded so foreign. “It was your grandmother’s favorite.”
“Thanks,” I said, heart aching.
He waved a slow-motion ghostly hand in my direction. “You were heading to town. Go ahead. I’m going to be fuzzy and no fun now, anyway.”
I studied him for a moment, torn in the worst way. Finally, I said, “Thanks for teaching me all of that.”
He shot me a quiet smile, and I left before his sadness caused me to make promises I didn’t know if I could keep.
Coastal weather can change in an instant. I’d experienced it during my summers visiting Grandma.
Even with this knowledge, the gray rain clouds sweeping into the cove as I drove into town felt too much like my bad mood manifesting itself in a way that might ruin everyone else’s day. By the time I parked and climbed out of the car, fat raindrops plopped onto the windshield and splattered onto my head.
I picked up the pace as I walked down Cove Drive, heading toward Gretta Montgomery’s realty office. About halfway there, Meow trotted out from an alley up ahead. His green eyes locked onto mine, and his tail flicked back and forth as if it were a hand motioning for me to follow him.
I almost laughed at myself, quite sure “The cat wanted me to follow him” was sitting somewhere in the answer portion of a questionnaire to find out if you were crazy. As if the result hadn’t already been a resounding “Girl, you’re definitely crazy,” Meow tipped his head toward the alley twice.
My eyes widened, and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Whoops! Sorry,” a woman walking behind me said as she jogged to the side, narrowly missing running into me.
Leave it to small-town people to apologize when I was the problem.
Once she’d passed, Meow waved his tail again, holding my gaze with his emerald eyes. Then he went back into the alley. Because I was now a person who saw and talked to ghosts, I checked right, then left, and followed the cat ghost into the alley.
Meow checked behind him a few times as he trotted down the cobblestone alley. His nimble cat feet jumped over puddles forming out of the rain that was now splattering down on me even though I knew he couldn’t get wet. Just when I thought we would pop out into the space behind the buildings, Meow stopped and pawed at a large blue recycling bin. His paw disappeared into the plastic.
Concern corrugated my forehead. “Meow, I don’t have time for games. I have to get to the realty office.” I almost turned around when the cat let out a long wail.
Surprise coated my tight throat for a split second. I could hear Asher speak, so why wouldn’t I be able to hear Meow … meow? The ghost cat pawed at the recycling bin again with renewed fervor.
“Okay, okay. I’ll look inside.” Checking that I was still alone in the alleyway, I opened the lid and peered inside.
11
I may have not read a lot of mysteries in my life, but I felt like a bonafide literary sleuth as I peered inside the recycling bin. Then, just as quickly as it came, any small sense of adventure flattened as I laid eyes on the contents of the bin.
Paper. A lot of paper.
Fat raindrops slid down my nose and splattered onto the paper as I held open the lid. I’m not sure what else I expected to be inside the bin, but that was it. Paper. I scoffed at Meow.
“Hey, man. There’s nothing but paper in here. What’s so great about that?”
I swear that cat rolled his eyes at me. In one floating jump, he launched his body up and into the bin like I’d seen internet cats jump into laundry baskets. His furry body floated above the top layer. He pawed at the papers. I put my hand down near him and moved them aside for him.
Satisfied, Meow sat then glanced between me and the paper that was now exposed to me. He did this a few times as if he didn’t trust me to understand that this was what he wanted me to inspect.
Leaning closer, I read over what appeared to be a set of blueprints.
“The Outlets at Pebble Cove” was the title at the top of the long sheet. The next line read, "Proposal by Sam Hoff." I studied the prints for a little longer. It was a multibuilding outlet mall set up. Being that the State of Oregon had no state sales tax, these kinds of outlet strip malls were a huge tourist attraction, drawing shoppers from surrounding states who wanted a good deal.
I met Meow’s gaze. “So? It looks like it’s a no go since it’s here in the recycling, dude. I thought you guys wanted to keep this place small, purely a fish
ing village. Why would you have a problem with that?” I asked him.
The cat narrowed his eyes at me. Then, in the blink of an emerald eye, he jumped out of the bin and scampered down the back of the alleyway, disappearing from sight. Mumbling something less than flattering about the feline ghost population, I closed the recycling bin lid, then I scurried toward Gretta’s realty office wishing I’d brought an umbrella.
I think it was the memory of Asher’s hand vanishing yesterday that made me survey the town hall building as I walked past. But it was the display in the window that made me stop. A corkboard on an easel stood propped in the window, and on it was tacked the same blueprint I’d seen in the recycling bin a few alleys down.
Well, not the same. Although the title was still “The Outlets at Pebble Cove,” the next line now read, “Presented by Coastal Properties Inc.” I wrinkled my nose as I read the information above the blueprints:
"Please join us at the next Pebble Cove council meeting where we will discuss the proposal to make tourism Pebble Cove’s priority. Vote for a better future for our beloved home and help fulfill Mayor Hoff’s promise to bring prosperity to Pebble Cove."
Rain pelted me as I stood there, and my sweater grew soggy, so I turned and jogged the rest of the way to Gretta’s office. The doorbell dinged to announce my entrance, and I tucked myself into the antique chair situated in the front window.
Gretta poked her head out of her office down the hall. “Hey, my receptionist is sick today, so I’m here all alone. Come on back. I’ve just got to get the paperwork ready.” She disappeared into the room.
I got up and followed the sounds of drawers and papers until I was in Gretta’s office. While I’d talked with her yesterday, it was on the phone. The fortysomething woman was polished yet frazzled.
“Sorry,” she said, puffing her bangs out of her face with a quick exhale. “I’m normally much more put together than this. Bettina being out is like losing my right arm.”
Smiling over at her first to show I understood, I glanced away. I sensed my watching her was making her even more nervous. Luckily, Gretta had a beautiful view of the cove out her office window, and I got lost in the gray view as raindrops splashed onto the glass.
Gretta shoved a drawer closed with her hip. She sat down with a huff, clutching at a tan folder. “Thanks for humoring me. I was going to go crazy if I didn’t put those things away.”
I gave her a second to flip through the papers in the folder. “Are you excited about the outlet mall?” I asked when she finally looked up.
Gretta pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, shoving her brunette bangs out of the way. She squinted. “To be honest, I don’t know how I feel about the outlets. I mean, more business is always good, but it will definitely change our quiet little fishing village.” Gretta smiled uncomfortably. “Sounds like it will pass, though, so I’d better get used to it. The council’s been split for years on this outlet mall vote. Mayor Hoff’s already appointed three new council members known to be pro-outlet.” Gretta exhaled, sending a puff of air up to ruffle her bangs. “The vote is next week.”
Something bugged me about the two, almost identical plans for the outlet mall I’d seen. “What does Mayor Hoff do? I mean, other than being the mayor?”
I knew for mayors of large cities, like Portland, it was probably a full-time gig. But a small city like Pebble Cove had to be low on the mayoral duties scale, especially if a cat could’ve done the job for the last twenty years.
“He’s in property management.”
Interesting.
“So he’s involved in the outlet mall buildings?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Nope. He would stand to gain too much money from the transaction. And since the outlets have been on the table for the last decade, it would seem like he only got himself elected to make sure the deal finally went through.”
I sat there as if Mr. Meow hadn’t just helped me uncover a potential political ethics violation. If Sam Hoff was involved in Coastal Properties Inc.—as those discarded blueprints might prove that he was—he would get a sizable paycheck bringing the outlet mall to the city. And as I’d pointed out to Asher yesterday, while a small city election didn’t seem worth killing over, the potential riches an outlet mall could bring to Sam sure did.
“So …” Gretta said expectantly. “Are you here today because you want to accept the deal on the table?” She interlaced her fingers and placed them on top of the folder.
Pulling in a deep breath, I said, “Can you tell me more about the offer?” My conversation with my mother yesterday spun on a loop in the back of my mind as Gretta spoke.
“The buyer is a woman named Jolene Doyle. She owns the Pebble Cove Tea Company but only opened her place six months ago and it hasn’t gained much traction yet.”
“Can this city even support two teahouses?” I asked the same question I’d asked Wallace yesterday. This time, however, I wanted to know for financial reasons, suddenly wondering if my option to run the teahouse for income would be feasible.
Gretta nodded, pushing aside my fears. “Jolene’s teas are”—she pulled a breath through her nose—“not good. She doesn’t have the blending knowledge your grandmother had. She’s a wonderful baker, but her tea is … awful, for lack of a better word. Other than the beautiful space, what Jolene wants most in the deal is your grandmother’s recipes.”
Again, killing someone over tea recipes seemed intense to me, but if Jolene’s business was already failing, maybe she was desperate enough.
“And you said her offer is way lower than I could get for the place?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s low even for the house, let alone with the business added in,” Gretta said, her voice dropping toward the end as if she were muttering the last part to herself. “I’m sure she came in low, knowing Helen’s family would counter, meet her halfway between her offer and the value estimate. I mean, I hope that’s what she was doing.” Gretta spun the ring on her right hand.
“Why? What would be the other option?” I kept myself from leaning in closer.
Gretta’s face pulled into a grimace. “When I first got the offer, my gut told me she was hoping to take advantage of Helen’s estranged relationship with her family, thinking you would sell at any price just to get rid of the memory of Helen once and for all.” Her frown deepened. “Sorry to be so blunt.”
I waved a hand to dismiss her worries. “It’s okay. We didn’t have a good relationship. You’re not wrong.” And while Gretta mentioning it didn’t make me mad at her, if Jolene was trying to capitalize on that, it made her a pretty shady person in my mind.
“So? What are you going to do?” Gretta asked, her face softening in compassion.
Jolene’s offer wasn’t even remotely an option. And sure, I could meet her partway with a counteroffer, but that would still mean I would have to leave. What if it wasn’t enough time for me to solve Grandma’s murder? Even after everything, I couldn’t leave her ghost hanging around in limbo forever like Asher.
“Please tell her I do not accept her offer,” I said as I pushed back my shoulders. “I won’t be selling. At least not right now.”
I left Gretta’s office a little while later, unsure about what I’d gotten myself into and how long finding out what happened to Grandma might take. I mentally agreed to stay here for the rest of the month. My apartment back in Portland was paid through the end of the month. My job as a book check-in clerk wasn’t even a consideration, especially since I’m pretty sure the large downtown Portland library only created the position for me because my mother worked there. They would be fine without me for a few weeks, and I would be fine without them, having saved a small amount for emergencies.
The real worry, the one that made me feel like I’d swallowed a bug before getting kicked in the stomach, was telling my mother.
I spotted Meow sitting on a bench overlooking the marina a few feet ahead. Plopping down next to him, I pulled in a deep, salty breath through my nose.
>
“I’m going to admit something to you, Meow. And I know it’s only because you can’t tell anyone or comment back, but I need to get this out … I think I like it here.”
Meow regarded me with his emerald eyes, and I swear he nodded.
“It’s peaceful, and I feel more like myself than I have in … since my dad died.”
Meow licked his paw.
“And then there’s Asher.” My face flushed with warmth. “I think he might be the best friend I’ve had in a long time.”
Meow stopped licking.
“I mean, other than my mom, of course,” I added quickly. “But she has to love me, you know? And I know she still worries about me, still puts things in her life on hold to make sure I’m taken care of. Living without me might be just as good for her as it could be for me.”
The cat flicked an ear back as a garbage truck rattled behind us. The sight and sound of it jerked me out of my tumultuous thoughts.
“The papers,” I whispered, jumping to my feet.
Meow followed as I jogged down the street, my attention locked onto the alleyway he’d led me down earlier.
Without bringing too much awareness to myself, I picked up my pace and then ducked into the alley. If I was going to prove that the new mayor had a financial incentive to get my grandma out of the way of his campaign, I needed those original blueprints.
I skidded to a stop in front of the recycling bin. Meow stood by as I checked once more over my shoulder before lifting the lid. A gasp flew out of my mouth.
The bin was empty.
12
A heavy drop of rain plopped right onto my head, soaking into my scalp as I shivered and dropped the recycling bin lid.
“Yellow, young lady,” a man said.
Jumping out of my skin, I whirled around. The man Asher had pointed out to me as the Rickster in the grocery store stood in the alley behind me. Fear prickled at my skin as I wondered if he had any connection to what had happened to the blueprints. Asher said he claimed to be a spy against the Russians at one point. He might be the mayor’s lookout.