Steeped in Suspicion

by Eryn Scott

  The Loft was about five hundred square feet of reader paradise. Large picture windows ran the length and width of the second story, giving the room a breathtaking view of the cove from a taller vantage point. Cozy couches, beanbag chairs, and a meeting table filled the space. To my right, a railing looked out over the rest of the library below.

  If I didn’t have research to get done, I would’ve stayed here until the place closed. Reminding myself to come back at another time, I headed back down the staircase toward the bank of computers in the middle of the room.

  I logged in after settling behind one. Knowing it might be a long shot, I typed Frank Mastronardi’s name into the search engine. A few hits came up: one on LinkedIn and another on social media. I was about to click that one when something more intriguing caught my eye. The third search result was for a property development company.

  I clicked the link.

  After a few minutes of navigating their site and a few of the other search results, I knew three things about Frank:

  1. He was a developer specializing in retail spaces, specifically strip malls.

  2. He’d moved around a lot, for business. He liked to live where he was working so he was fully invested.

  3. He didn’t have any family or close friends.

  And he was here to talk to me? I wrinkled my nose as I thought about that. Honestly, it made little sense. Sure, I had inherited some property, and maybe he was interested in it, but Grandma’s beach house was nowhere close to the proposed outlet mall lot I’d seen plans for in the city-hall window.

  As a developer, it made more sense for Frank to be here talking to Sam Hoff.

  So many light bulbs clicked on in my mind that I felt like an employee in a lamp store preparing to open the shop for the day. What if Sam was involved in the man’s death and he’d planted my name on him to take the police’s suspicion off himself?

  I shifted in my seat at the thought, eager to share the information with Asher as soon as possible. I was about to stand up and leave, when I remembered Asher’s request.

  So I stayed put in the chair and clicked out of the tabs I’d been using to research the deceased Mr. Mastronardi. Then I fished out my notebook from my bag, flipping to the page where I’d written Asher’s information. I’d search that first and go from there.

  The results were overwhelming.

  From Wikipedia pages to government lists, the search results for this were about as opposite as could be from the small amount I’d been able to pull up on Frank. Deciding to start with the army lists, I found the order of battle for World War I on Wikipedia, which held links to separate pages for each division, regiment, and battalion.

  Feeling like I was onto something, I scrolled down until I found the numbers matching Asher’s division and regiment. My pulse quickened when I found it and clicked on the link.

  The page pulled up, and I scanned through information about the regiment’s motto and crest. I stopped at the seventh battalion after scrolling past the first few. The seventh had been the one Asher commanded. The first word under the heading was, “Unfortunately.”

  Swallowing my worries, I leaned in closer to the screen and read on. A metallic taste coated my tongue and my throat grew hot as I read:

  "Unfortunately, this battalion developed a reputation of being untrustworthy in battle from the start of the war, with individual cases of cowardice. The unit commander was executed for dereliction of duty, and its soldiers reassigned to other units."

  Heat rose up my neck, gathering in my face. I swallowed the taste of pennies in my mouth. Asher had been the unit commander they were talking about.

  All I could think about was Asher telling me about his death. 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.

  Heck, maybe that was why he was still here. He’d mentioned how the worst thing someone could’ve called him was a coward. He’d gone on about how reputation was everything. That might be his unfinished business, his trauma. Could I come back and tell him they had executed him for failing to fulfill his military duties?

  “Excuse me, Rosemary,” Roger said in a quiet tone as he peered down at me. I swear, give the man a cardigan, and he could’ve stepped in for the children’s television star. “I didn’t want to interrupt you—it looked like you were reading a very intense article—but we’re closing.”

  Glancing around, the place had emptied since I’d last looked up.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I closed out my screen and logged off the computer, shutting it down. I grabbed my notepad and scurried away. “Thank you.”

  “Any time,” he said with a smile. “Have a great evening.”

  I tried to return the happy gesture, but the truth of it was, my evening had officially been ruined.

  The question now was, could I ruin Asher’s too?

  17

  As if I didn’t have enough on my mind on the drive home, Mom called as my hatchback broke free of downtown and headed toward the beach. I thought about not answering, but she deserved better than that, better than a daughter who kept so much from her. And while I didn’t want to tell her the ghostly, murdery parts of my current reality, I needed to at least be honest with her about the decision I’d made about Grandma’s house.

  “Hi, honey.” Her voice had that honeyed ring to it when she tried to pretend she was okay but wasn’t.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How’d it go at the realtor’s?”

  My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Uh, well, not great. The only offer on the table was way under asking price, and so I turned it down. Gretta says I can get way more for the property and the business.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting. That far under, huh?” She sounded shocked. “And you didn’t come back with a different value? Maybe they undercut so you would compromise?”

  “They might’ve done that,” I conceded. “I don’t know, Mom. It didn’t feel right, someone trying to get a deal on Grandma’s house.”

  Mom paused, and I realized right away I’d made a mistake. Grandma’s house. That phrase and the inevitable emotion backing told Mom loud and clear that I liked it here, that I missed my grandmother and wished I’d reconciled with her before she died.

  That sounds like a lot of information from two words, but this was my mom. She could tell my mood from a look, a sigh; even my silence gave her evidence. She knew me inside and out.

  “Well, I’m sure the realtor will keep her eye out for other buyers,” Mom said, her voice taut.

  “Yes, she will,” I lied. But honestly, I’d already upset her enough with that comment. I couldn’t bear to break her heart by admitting that I might want to stay here, that I’d forgiven Grandma, even if she hadn't. I wished so intensely that Mom would read the diary and letter Grandma had left her. Maybe it would bring her closure like being here had for me.

  “I love you, Mom,” I said as I pulled up to the house. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come down there?” she asked after a beat.

  “No,” I said too quickly then puffed out my cheeks in frustration at how that sounded. “Uh—it’s okay. It’s probably for the better if you don’t. I won’t be much longer, I promise.”

  Great, there I went making promises again I wasn’t sure I would keep. Just like I’d done with Asher.

  “Okay. I won’t come. I love you, Rosemary.” Mom said the words in the quick way she always did when she told a lie and didn’t want me to figure it out. She talked fast to cover up the tremor in her voice.

  “Love you too, Mom.” I hung up.

  She wasn’t lying about the loving me part, which meant she was contemplating coming here. My gut churned at the prospect of her showing up unannounced while I was having a conversation with my new ghost friend. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wallow in that worry because I remembered my other, more pressing, worry: telling Asher about how he died.
r />   Closing my eyes, I considered my options. Calling them options seemed cruel, honestly. I leaned my forehead on the steering wheel, but in all of my angst, I forgot the car was still in neutral, and I hadn’t pulled the parking brake. So when I took my foot off the brake, the car lurched forward, and the front left side dipped down in an unsettling way.

  Too late, I slammed my foot down to stop it. I jerked my head back and tried to ascertain what had happened.

  The tea shop parking lot didn’t have those concrete blockers to prevent cars from pulling too far forward. In my dilemma-filled distraction, I’d let the car roll off the pebbled parking area and onto the soft grass—or as it appeared from my dipping front end, into a hole in the grass.

  I tried to reverse, but the tire just spun. Frustrated, I put the car back in neutral and got out. I’m not sure what I expected, but after trying to rock the car back and forth a little and push, I realized the motion was futile on my own. Either I needed to get Daphne and Carl to help—and I had no idea how helpful they would be in this kind of venture—or I would have to call a local tow truck to pull me out.

  Grabbing my keys from the ignition, I stalked inside, my frustration and bad mood following me like a storm cloud. Asher peered out the window looking out on the parking lot when I entered.

  “I was about to come out and see what happened,” he said, pointing to my car, teetering between the gravel and the grass. “So … what happened?” he added.

  Just like that, I knew I couldn’t tell him about the way he’d died.

  The lie tightened around my throat. But as much as I hated the position I was in, I couldn’t hurt Asher like that. And telling him they’d executed him for cowardice would be more hurtful than anything. Instead, I got to work planning what I might say to him instead of the truth. First, I started with the easy part: answering his question about my car.

  “I wasn’t paying attention when I pulled in because I was talking to my mom on the phone, and I got my car stuck.” I placed my hand on my sweaty forehead as I took in the sight of my vehicle.

  He regarded me for a moment. “Do you want me to help?” he asked.

  I pulled out my phone. “No, it’s okay. If you got foggy after saving that mug yesterday, I’d hate to see what would happen if you tried to move my car. I’m sure there’s at least one tow truck in this town. I’ll just call them.”

  Asher cocked his head at me. “You seem agitated. Did you learn something about Frank?” I could tell he also meant, or about me? but wouldn’t say it. “Or was it the talk with your mom?”

  “Uh.” I hooked my thumbs into my belt loops. “All of it?” I shuffled my feet on the carpet. “Sorry. It’s been a weird day.”

  His gaze swept over my face. “Did you find anything on me …?” he asked quietly, just when I thought he would stay silent.

  “Asher, I’m so sorry. I …” I paused. “I … couldn’t find what you’re looking for.”

  His eyes held so many questions. “Nothing?” was the only one he asked.

  “I searched a bunch,” I answered hastily. “There wasn’t information on your specific group. The internet might have five million cat videos, but it didn’t have any of the answers you want.” I laughed.

  But Asher didn’t join me. “Are you sure you searched in the correct places?” His tone was flat, but his face wasn’t. A burning disappointment marred his features.

  I bobbed my head up and down. “My mom used to be a research librarian for a university. I learned from the best.”

  “What about the local papers? Did you look through those?” he asked, the hope returning to his face.

  I nodded, unable to even speak the lie. “Nothing,” I added before tucking my chin in shame and studying my phone for a moment.

  Asher threw his hands up. “Great, so I’m stuck here.”

  I scoffed, “Sorry you’re stuck here. I didn’t realize it was so terrible.”

  Pacing, Asher let out a frustrated growl. “You don’t understand. Are you sure you can’t search again? If we find a better computer and bring it here, I can help you.”

  The image of Asher reading those terrible words over my shoulder made my awful shivers run down my spine. “No,” I blurted. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going to find anything out there. Just let it go.”

  In my head, the last sentence sounded a lot more comforting, like a gentle urging. It came out much uglier, like an angry threat.

  Asher, who’d been pacing again, whirled around to face me. He didn’t have blood in his body—or have a body, for that matter—but I could’ve sworn his face reddened with outrage.

  “You know what?” He spat out the words. “Don’t bother calling about your car.” He glanced behind him at the parking lot.

  Before I knew what was happening, he disappeared through the wall. Running toward the door, I pulled it open in time to see Asher move his hands toward my car like he might push it back. A burst of energy whooshed off him so intensely the air pulsed in front of him. My car rolled backward.

  I ran forward, flung open the door, and pulled the parking brake when it was free of the hole.

  “Asher! Thank you,” I said as I climbed out and shut the car door. “You didn’t have—” I couldn’t finish my thank you because Asher was already fading away.

  “Bye, Rosie,” he said, his words a distant whisper, his body a trace of its usual appearance.

  And then, just like that, he disappeared, disintegrated like sugar dissolving in hot tea.

  “Asher?” I yelled.

  But he was gone.

  18

  I paced through the empty house hours later. Hunger gripped my stomach, but I didn’t feel like making any food. I finished the rest of my pizza from my first day here, tears streaming down my face.

  He was gone. Completely.

  I realized there would be consequences for him using so much energy. That’s why I’d told him I would call a tow truck. But I hadn’t guessed the act would obliterate him. And then there was what he’d said to me, just before vanishing.

  “Bye, Rosie.”

  He’d called me Rosie, which he hadn’t ever done. But it was the bye that sent a chill down my spine. Matched with the hurt in his eyes, the way his face fell like he’d given up, that bye had seemed final.

  I felt so stupid. In my wayward attempt to protect his feelings, I’d ended up hurting him worse than I imagined.

  Would he even be back? I wondered.

  He’d said he was foggy for an hour after moving that book last week. He’d been the same way for a few hours after the mug incident. Those were both so much less intense than what he’d done with the car.

  The house which had become so comforting, so warm and inviting since I’d come back, now felt too big, too quiet. Rain lashed at the picture windows in the tearoom, and so I retreated to the leather couch in the library with a mug of tea. I pulled a blanket around me and grabbed the book we’d been reading the other night, trying to lose myself in its pages, in the made-up world, in a world where I wasn’t responsible for pushing away my friend.

  I woke up Sunday morning with the headache that only comes after hours of crying. My nose was stuffed and runny, but other than that, I felt dehydrated.

  Outside, the sky was still overcast and angry. The waves were more white than grayish blue, and I could see whitecaps out as far as the first buoy, which meant the wind was blowing.

  I scanned my surroundings for signs of Asher, expecting him to come back any moment. A part of me knew that even if he reappeared, he wouldn’t come back here though. Not yet.

  Within an hour of waking up, I decided I couldn’t stay at the house all day or I would drive myself crazy. And while Chief Clemenson had given me reason to take the other teahouse owner, Jolene, off my list of suspects, I had yet to learn more about this yelling match Grandma and Doc Gallagher had gotten into the day she died. It was doubtful I’d be able to get anything out of the mayor in the middle of the day on a Monday, anyway, so this
seemed like the best use of my time.

  The retired doctor’s address wasn’t listed in the phone book or online, but I remember Althea mentioning he still lived downtown so I drove into Pebble Cove, hoping a local would tell me how to find the man. I parked in the same lot I’d been using all weekend and walked to the Marina Mug. Asher said that was where he learned the most town gossip. Either the patrons or Vicki might share information.

  “Rosemary?” someone called as I rounded the corner to the café.

  Turning around, Althea walked toward me, a cloth grocery bag hanging from one arm.

  “Oh, hi.” I smiled and stopped.

  “You were sure on a mission,” she said with a laugh. “You walked right past me.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I must’ve been focused. I was going to the Marina Mug.”

  “Sometimes you really need a coffee. I get it.” She chuckled.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask for some information.” Gesturing toward her I said, “You might know.”

  She let her eyebrows rise, indicating she might.

  “I’m looking for Doc Gallagher. Do you know where he lives?”

  She pointed across the cove, a few doors down from the library. “He’s in that blue house almost on the end of the beach.”

  “Thanks!” I said, and I almost left right then, in my excitement, but stopped myself, realizing I was being rude. “How are you?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but she rubbed her chin. “Why are you looking for Doc Gallagher?” she asked. “Is this because of the fights I told you about?”

  I studied down at my hands for a moment but then nodded. I wasn’t ready to admit to her I thought my grandma had been murdered, though, so I said, “I’m trying to learn about her life and that includes the good and the bad.” I shrugged as if it weren't a big deal, as if this weren’t life and death.

  Althea studied me for a long time like she might be worried about my mental health, but she must’ve decided I was okay because she said, “Well, good luck, dear.”