North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  Brett merely smirked and ran a finger along Drew’s jaw, nearly causing Drew to shudder. How could Cliff have been taken in by this oily, two-dimensional prick?

  “Don’t you want to be famous? It would probably only require a couple of nights filming together.”

  Drew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He might be a hick redneck in a tiny Florida town, but he wasn’t stupid or naive. At least, not completely. Certainly not enough to fall for Brett’s over-the-top pseudoseduction.

  “Why now? What’s in it for you?”

  Brett shrugged and took only a tiny step back. “I think you’d be good for ratings. I wish I’d had a chance to talk to you when I was doing my original scouting trip.”

  It wasn’t possible to believe a single word Brett said. Drew didn’t think he’d trust the man to give him the right time of day. But maybe he would have if Brett had approached him on that scouting trip. However it happened, Brett came across Eddie first and identified him as a conquest and patsy to be used to Brett’s benefit, with no need to seek out anyone else. Close call. Drew had seen the unsavory underbelly of Brett before he’d had a chance to be hypnotized by his serpentine charm.

  “Oh? But I’m sure there are a dozen people in town who would look good on camera and want to be there.” Eddie Price leaped to mind. Drew would gladly give up Brett’s offer—which undoubtedly had lots of strings involving nudity—to Eddie. Eddie was arrogant enough that he might even believe Brett’s hogwash.

  He needed to get Brett to leave peacefully. The mayor had stopped by specially to deliver Drew a warning not to fuck up whatever cachet Brett and Phantoms was lending to the town—like he was the only one who could fuck up—so just kicking the asshole out of his home wasn’t going to fly.

  The bell over his door sounded again, and he deftly stepped away from Brett to greet the newcomer. Speak of the devil. Drew didn’t get a chance to ask Eddie what he was doing there, because he got right in Brett’s face.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Cavanagh? You promised me that interview. You’re not going to give it away to one of the fucking Drummonds.”

  Drew clenched his jaw. Not that he cared what Brett thought of him, but he was glad his name and all the baggage that came with it didn’t mean anything to Brett.

  “Eddie, Eddie. You need to calm down.”

  “And you need to stop putting signs on my door.” Drew’s words were completely ignored by both parties.

  “You promised, Brett.”

  Brett stepped into Eddie’s personal space and did the same finger-down-the-jaw maneuver he’d just finished laying on Drew. Made Eddie shudder, but in what appeared to be lust.

  Oh. Oh. Looked like Eddie had already fallen for Brett’s line of crap. Perhaps even on the infamous scouting trip.

  “Promises can be broken, Eddie. Especially if it feels like you’re demanding things of me.”

  Eddie stared into Brett’s eyes. “Please. Not Drew fucking Drummond.”

  Okay, that kind of pissed Drew off. He and Eddie weren’t best friends, but the contempt that dripped off Eddie’s words was uncalled for. He pushed himself in between Eddie and Brett.

  “Why not me? Brett thinks I’d be good for ratings.” A part of Drew stood back and asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing, since he truly wanted no part of Brett, but Eddie had been pushing his buttons for days, and Drew was ready to blow.

  Eddie sneered and poked him in the chest. “Well, you are good with makeup. Or was that whole ‘I got a concussion’ thing just to drum up sympathy?”

  “Don’t touch me, Eddie.”

  Brett laughed. “I just love it when people fight over me.”

  Drew didn’t know what to do with that statement. He wasn’t fighting over Brett, and he sure as shit shouldn’t have been drawn into this ridiculous argument at all. Undoubtedly Brett would find the absolute worst way to spin this if Drew didn’t get to tell Cliff first.

  Eddie placed a palm on Drew’s chest, as if daring him to do something. The bell tinkled again, bringing with it a trickle of dread. Surely the mere thought of Cliff hadn’t conjured him out of thin air.

  Then Wyatt roared, and the trickle became a full on river of dread.

  “I told you to leave my brother alone, Eddie!”

  Oh fuck. Eddie snatched his hand away as if Drew were on fire, before they all turned to Wyatt. Which was apparently when Wyatt realized Brett was there.

  “You. You f—” Wyatt glanced at Drew, swallowing back what was undoubtedly the word faggot. At least his brother wasn’t completely incapable of personal growth. “Fucking asshole. Haven’t you done enough damage?”

  “I didn’t do any damage. That was you who gave your brother his war wounds.” Brett taunted from his vantage point behind both Drew and Eddie. Wyatt had called it. The guy was a fucking asshole.

  Wyatt clenched his fists, face turning red. Neither he nor Drew bothered correcting Brett that it was actually the other twin who’d done the damage, because there was no point. But Drew had to head off another brawl, this time in his place of business. The powers that be, namely Mayor Morales, would shut him down for sure.

  His turban tilted over his eyebrows, and he swept it off his head, hoping if he looked less like a dork, Wyatt would listen to him. In a way, he wished it were Rob bellowing like a wounded bear. Not that Rob was any more reasonable than Wyatt, but Rob had been avoiding Drew since putting him in the hospital, which alternately pissed Drew off and made him sad.

  “Wyatt, calm down. This is nothing.” Maybe it wasn’t nothing, but it was light-years away from the something it would be if fists started flying. Drew had miscalculated, though, because Wyatt’s gaze was drawn to Drew’s forehead, and he growled.

  Even Eddie, as obtuse as he could be, must have recognized the murderous intent in Wyatt’s eyes, because he also tried to talk Wyatt down while carefully edging away from Brett’s ground zero. “Wyatt, seriously, don’t do this.”

  Brett grabbed on to Drew’s shoulders, using him as a shield, which only enraged Wyatt further. “Get your fucking hands off him, pervert. I’m going to drag you out of here and pound you into paste.”

  Another time, Drew would roll his eyes at his brother’s melodramatic intimidation tactics, but for now he was grateful Wyatt was yelling and not actually carrying out his threats. Yet.

  A shrill whistle blasted into the small space, acting like a bucket of cold water over the lot of them. Stunned, they stood still, wondering what was going on, until Helen Somerset appeared from behind Wyatt, a cold look on her face, like a queen ready to order executions. A police whistle dangled from a string around her wrist.

  Great. He looked like a fool in front of one of his best customers and his boyfriend’s mother. She’d never treated him like he was one of the dirty Drummonds, but that was bound to change after this.

  Helen raised a hand and pointed an impeccably manicured index finger at Brett. “You, Mr. Cavanagh, are filming on my property by my goodwill and my goodwill alone. I would ask you not make trouble.”

  Brett didn’t appear to be too concerned by the threat. “There are plenty of film sites around town.”

  “But you will have difficulty filming anywhere if I have you arrested.”

  “For what?” Brett gasped in surprise.

  “Disturbing the peace. A minor inconvenience, to be sure, but it will give me enough time to make sure my lawyers bury you and your show in enough red tape that you’ll be broke, jobless, and a joke before you slice through it all.”

  Drew shivered. He had no doubt Helen could and would do as she threatened. Brett was a minor celebrity on a specialty cable channel. Helen and her millions would clean him out, and it was clear that Brett had no interest in going up against the grand dame of Sandy Bottom Bay.

  “And you.” Helen moved her finger of doom to point at Eddie. “Quit causing trouble because you were too afraid of the Drummonds to go after the man you really wanted. It was a lost cause as soon as you slept
with his best friend anyway. Deal with the consequences of that mistake.”

  Drew’s ears heated as hot as Eddie’s cheeks as he realized Helen meant Eddie had wanted him not Kyle.

  “And then we come to you.” Helen’s gaze locked on Wyatt, who suddenly looked like he was going to lose his lunch. “You just narrowly escaped getting arrested. Again. If you truly want what’s best for your brother, focus on your legitimate business, and control your temper. If you need more to keep you occupied, I’ve got a number of handyman jobs that either you or your twin would be more than capable of executing.”

  Wyatt nodded, chastened in a way Drew had never seen, although he certainly hadn’t missed the slight emphasis Helen had made on the word legitimate. He’d have to talk to Rob and Wyatt later. He didn’t want to lose any more family members.

  “Now, then.” Helen slipped the police whistle back into her purse. “Are any of you here to get your cards read?”

  Like clones, all three shook their heads.

  “Then I suggest you leave, as you’re interfering with the running of a business. We wouldn’t want to get the police involved, would we?”

  Holy shit, no, they wouldn’t. Drew wouldn’t either—just his luck, Cliff would be the one to respond to the call. Apparently none of the other guys were too interested in facing a potentially pissed-off Cliff with a gun; they filed out of Drew’s, leaving an odd vacuum in their wake. The room, always so tiny, seemed enormous in their absence.

  The influx of adrenaline drained away, leaving Drew shaky and light-headed. Again.

  Helen turned back, the cold, remote look on her face gone in a flash. “You need to sit down.”

  If Drew felt better, he’d probably be embarrassed by the déjà vu of needing so much help. Helen assisted him to a chair and sat down beside him.

  “I’ll be fine in a minute.” Except he was confused. He didn’t know why the town’s leading lady was sticking up for him like a lioness. “Were you here to get a reading?”

  Helen smiled sadly at him and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, reminding him he wasn’t wearing his turban. “I know this is the busy season for you, and I know you’re not going to miss working Haunt Fest if you can avoid it, but can I please just…buy out the readings you’d normally do until Haunt Fest? You need to take it easy. Rest and recover so you don’t make yourself sick.”

  Drew’s mother had never acted like this around him, but Helen’s concern did make him miss his grandma all the more. He just couldn’t quite figure out why Helen was treating him so nicely. There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motive behind it; growing up with the Drummonds, he was usually pretty good at spotting things like that.

  “Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t do that. If you want a reading now, though, I’d be happy to do so.”

  Helen peered at him for a moment before she spoke. “Okay. A quick reading, as long as you promise to take it easy.”

  Drew tried to shove on the turban, but Helen grabbed his hand and shook her head.

  With no small amount of trepidation, Drew led her into the reading room. A glance at the incense box that hid the two problematic cards soothed him some. There was no tingle when touching the cards, no change in temperature, nothing strange. Just the normal hum of activity outside the walls of his house.

  He took a deep breath and laid out three lines of cards. Almost at the end of the reading, he touched the tower, and just like last time, a picture rose clear in his mind like a movie projection on a screen, with an unreal clarity, almost like something not of his own mind.

  Unfortunately he already knew what it was, and even snatching his hand away from the card didn’t make it stop. Andy Wilson stood on a ladder, right before the hand of an unknown person, a shiny watch strapped around the wrist, reached out and shoved the ladder. The vision cut out before he saw who the culprit was and, thankfully, before he had to watch Andy topple to the ground.

  Breathing hard, heart pounding, he blinked. Helen, wearing a concerned expression, came into focus. Drew had no idea how long his vision had taken, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. Nevertheless, if he’d checked out in the middle of a reading, it was no wonder Helen was concerned.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her what he’d seen. No fucking way.

  Biting his lip in the hopes of controlling the fine tremors in his hand, Drew touched the card again, but whatever psychic electricity that had imbued it before had dispersed.

  The damage had been done, however, and Drew could barely complete the reading. It ended up being the most stilted, amateurish reading he’d done since the first solo one his grandma had made him do. Helen had every right to complain, but instead she still looked worried. That made two of them. There was no way Drew could pass this off as coincidence or imagination. The implication of the vision was too disturbing.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still not quite recovered. The…uh…head injury has created some interference with the spirits.” He was so full of shit. “This one’s on the house, okay?”

  Helen’s lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. “You need to take care of yourself. You’ve got Northcliff’s phone number if you need him, right?”

  Drew flashed hot and cold as he realized for the first time Helen must know exactly where her son had been staying. Whatever estrangement existed between the two hadn’t done a damn thing to wither the gossip vine of Sandy Bottom Bay. Helen had probably known of the arrangement before Cliff dropped off his stuff. She couldn’t know the true nature of their developing relationship, though, or she’d be warning him off like dozens of girls’ fathers had done to his brothers since they hit puberty. Weren’t many families who wanted their kids to get involved with a Drummond.

  “Uh. Yes. Thanks.”

  Helen gave him another assessing look, and Drew did his best to smile as if his brain hadn’t just conjured up an image of a murder, but the silence was like a black hole, trying to suck words out of his chest. How could he tell Helen—or anyone—about his visions?

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Helen patted his hand and waited with no hint of impatience or exasperation. If he hadn’t been so rattled by the image of Andy’s death, he’d have never imposed on the matron of Sandy Bottom Bay, but he liked the illusion of mothering.

  “Do you believe—I mean, truly believe—in the hauntings of this town? Ghosts, supernatural activity, and all that? I know Phantoms is filming out at your estate, but do you believe they’re going to find proof of something?”

  Drew couldn’t tell from Helen’s expression if he’d surprised her with his question.

  “The supernatural is tremendously important. It is the lifeblood of this town, and this town is my responsibility, the same as it has been for all the Somersets since they settled here. If Phantoms finds proof, that will only be to the good.”

  Helen stood and tucked another stray lock of Drew’s hair behind his ear. “I’ll just see myself out, but please take it easy. I don’t want you to make yourself ill.”

  Drew nodded and waited as she made her way out of the reading room. He took several deep, calming breaths, during which the bell over his front door tinkled, heralding Helen’s departure. With a rueful laugh, he realized Helen could have been a politician. She’d answered his question without him realizing right away that she hadn’t come right out with a yes or no, and he had no idea which one she was leaning toward. Not that he’d ever have the guts to press her for a real answer.

  With a deep breath, he gathered the cards into a stack, hoping he wasn’t about to be shown any other disturbing visions.

  He couldn’t do another reading for anyone. Not yet. Helen was right about that. He needed to figure out what was going on, and he needed to do it before Haunt Fest started in full swing, because otherwise he’d never survive. Although he was risking Eddie’s annoying business-stealing tactics, Drew needed to close up for the day.

  Before anyone could drop in, Drew locked t
he front door and put up the closed sign. He didn’t usually have too many locals come in the few days prior to Haunt Fest anyway. Most of them had too much to do to prepare for the onslaught, so he wasn’t going to miss out on much income.

  Turning back to the tiny desk that was his payment counter, he noticed a small bundle of paper tucked under the credit-card reader.

  Two quick steps had him within reach. The bundle turned out to be a piece of notepaper wrapped around a wad of cash. There wasn’t any writing on the paper, but the scent of Helen’s perfume was unmistakable. The money covered the cost of ten full readings, with all the extras, and tears burned in Drew’s eyes at Helen’s kindness. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her more than generous patronage, but he couldn’t deny that this would ease his mind and give him the time before Haunt Fest to figure out what the fuck was wrong with his brain.

  Sniffing, he held back the tears—damn eyeliner—and pocketed the cash. First thing was to get out of Malachi’s robes and into something more comfortable.

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes after Helen left, Drew found himself wandering along Main Street with no real destination in mind. He had no idea what he was going to do. Broaching a conversation with Cliff about visions of murder would be, at best, awkward and, at worst, explosive. Hell, telling Cliff about his vision might destroy their budding relationship altogether, but how could he live with himself if the vision was true and he did nothing? Andy Wilson might have drunk more than was healthy, and his reputation hadn’t been improved by his frequent association with Drew’s brothers, but that didn’t mean he’d deserved to be murdered.

  Drew sighed again and checked his phone, hoping his frantic text to Kyle would have a response. Unlike last weekend, Kyle had been desperate for a break before Haunt Fest and had headed up to Tampa to blow off some steam, planning to be back within a day or so. The screen was as blank as ever, and Drew didn’t know why Kyle had chosen this particular day to abandon him, but he was pretty sure he was going to need to stop for a milkshake to console himself. Thanks to Helen’s contribution, he could afford a little splurge, despite his reduced workload the past few days.