by Tegan Maher
Table of Contents
© 2017 Tegan Maher
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Thank you!
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About Tegan
© 2017 Tegan Maher
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Chapter One
“That oughta do it.” Hunter pulled the last tie-down strap tight and climbed up on the trailer to give the motorcycle a firm shake. When it didn’t budge, he jumped down and double-checked the hitch.
I took one final, longing look at the log cabin we’d enjoyed for the last week. I closed my eyes and inhaled, relishing the last few minutes of peace and quiet before we headed back to Keyhole Lake.
“You know, it’s not like we can’t come back,” Hunter called. “We’re only an hour from home.”
I heaved a regretful sigh. “I know, but everything is just so ... perfect. As much as I miss everyone, I hate to leave.”
“Well, at least everything will be back to normal—as normal as Keyhole Lake gets, anyway—when we get back.”
“I don’t know whether to be happy or depressed about that.” Our little burg in the middle of Georgia gave new meaning to “sleepy little southern town.” At least it did until recently.
He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Ready to head back?”
I scrunched my nose. “Not really, but we don’t have much choice. At least not until one of us wins the lottery or finds a random bag full of hundred-dollar bills.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to keep my eyes open, but with our luck, it’ll be sitting beside a dead body.”
“Don’t even joke about that!” Hunter and I had met over the body of Hank Doolittle, the biggest crook in town, when he’d keeled over dead in his plate of barbecue, but that’s another story that, hopefully, you’ve already read.
Anyway, the hubbub from Hank’s murder had died down and all of the loose ends had been tied up. When it was all said and done, Hank Doolittle ended up doing way more good by dying than he ever did by living.
After the murder, Hank’s widow Anna Mae had taken me and the other three women in our little group, whom you’ll meet in a bit, on a week-long Caribbean cruise. Adelaide, my ghostly aunt, and Cheri Lynn, a recently deceased exotic dancer (we don’t say ‘stripper’ because it hurts her feelings) had also tagged along.
Cheri had met a sweet, dashing, living-impaired man who’d drowned in the top-deck pool several years before and had opted to stay on the ship for an extra week to get to know him better. The rest of us, however, had to get back to reality.
After several weeks of living under the watchful eyes of the local gossip mill, Hunter and I had decided that we needed some time away from it all to focus on each other.
On a whim, we’d rented this cabin, loaded his motorcycle onto a trailer so we could take advantage of the great back roads and scenery, and headed out without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody other than my family and his closest deputy.
I glanced at the cabin one more time before heaving my duffel bag onto my shoulder and heading for the truck. Hunter took it from me and tossed it into the bed, along with his bag and our riding gear. It would have been so much easier just to magic it to the truck, but for all he pretended it was fine when things moved through the air or broken dishes repaired themselves, I was sure it still freaked him out a little.
He opened the driver’s side door and climbed partway in, leaving the door open. “I need you to stand behind the trailer and tell me if the lights are working, please.”
I walked around behind the truck and waited for him to hit the brakes. Nothing happened when he did, so he got out of the truck and came around to check the wiring. As he was kneeling down looking under the bumper, an older, grizzled man wearing jeans and a blue Dickies work shirt appeared beside the trailer. Well, more accurately, the ghost of the man appeared.
When he floated toward the trailer, my eyes about popped out of my head and my heart started to race. Hunter had accepted that I was a witch, but I’d been trying to ease him into it. New relationships were hard enough without the additional burden of, oh, I don’t know ... say, ghosts appearing randomly.
I checked to make sure Hunter’s back was still turned before I made a frantic throat-sawing gesture and mouthed the words not now to the ghost. He just cocked a brow and looked at me, then at Hunter, who was leaning under the truck checking the wiring.
The ghost turned to look at the trailer, wrinkling his forehead. “That tie strap ain’t gonna hold,” he said. I pinched my lips together and glared at the man. “What?” he said. “It’s not. Look.” He pointed to the strap, but I was too busy trying to shoo him away to look where he was pointing.
“Did you say something, sweetie?” Hunter’s voice was muffled as he fiddled with the wires.
“Uh ... no?” I glared at him, but he ignored me. Addy and Belle were gonna have a conniption if he found out like this.
The ghost leaned toward him and spoke a little louder, becoming more corporeal as he did. “She didn’t say anything; I did. I said your tie strap ain’t gonna hold.”
Hunter pulled his head from under the truck but remained kneeling. He looked puzzled, and when his gaze drifted in the direction of the specter, he fell backward onto his butt and the color drained from his face.
I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. He could see him. Just lovely; this is so not how I wanted to do this.
Since he hadn’t even known magic existed a few months ago, we were giving him time to dip his toes into the pond before we took him to the middle and thre
w him overboard. We hadn’t exactly introduced him to the local ghost community. Or told him there was one.
“Noelle, do you see a man standing there?”
With a resigned sigh, I said, “Yes, Hunter. There’s a man standing there.”
“A transparent, grumpy-looking man?” he was on his feet gripping the tailgate so hard that his knuckles were white. I couldn’t tell if he was going to bolt or pass out.
I stepped to his side, watching him carefully. His eyes were glued to the guy, but there was some color coming back into his cheeks. “He’s a ghost,” he announced. Well, when all possible options are gone ...
“Yes. He’s a ghost. Breathe.”
Hunter took three or four deep breaths and then nodded, though he was still a bit pale.
After a few awkward seconds, the ghost lost his patience. “What’s the matter with him?” He jabbed a thumb in Hunter’s direction. “Don’t tell me Numbnuts here is the only one in town who doesn’t know you’re a witch.” He put the word ‘witch’ in air quotes.
The rudeness snapped Hunter out of his daze. “Hey! Don’t call her a witch like that!”
“Oh, but you’re okay with Numbnuts?” The ghost rolled his eyes and Hunter opened his mouth to retort.
Ugh. I decided to step in before it got ugly. “Okay, first, don’t call him Numbnuts. I assume that since you’re here, you need our help with something. Being rude isn’t the way to get it. Let’s start with your name. You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”
“Max Wheeler.” He started to put his hand out to shake, but realized the futility of the gesture and withdrew his hand. Now I knew why he looked familiar; he owned the company that was building my pool and patio. Fabulous. Now my pool was never going to get done. Before I even finished the thought, I felt bad for being so selfish.
“All right, Max. Now I know who you are, and as far as I know, you were alive and kicking when we left town. It would seem that’s no longer the case. Is there some reason in particular that you popped in on the tail end of our vacation, or did you just happen to be floating by on your way to the great hereafter? Obviously, you know who I am. This is Hunter Woods. He’s the new sheriff of Keyhole Lake.”
“I know who he is. He’s the reason I’m here. Well, that and I didn’t expect him to be able to see me so I was trying to catch him when he was with you.”
Hunter finally found his voice. “Me? Why are you looking for me?”
Max flickered in and out for a few seconds, sort of like bad reception on a TV. When he stopped fizzling, he looked around as if he had no idea where he was.
His eyes roamed over the bike strapped down in the trailer. “That tie strap ain’t gonna hold,” he repeated in a way that made me believe he didn’t know he’d already said it.
Hunter looked at me, asking what to do. I tilted my head toward Max and he nodded.
“Why do you say that, Max?”
The ghost’s gaze bounced from the tie strap to Hunter and his brow furrowed. “How do you know my name?” His gaze strayed to the bike again. “It’s not going to hold because it’s about worn clean through right there.” He pointed to a frayed spot on the tie down.
Hunter looked closer and whistled. “You’re right, man. I didn’t even see that. Thanks.” He loosened the tie strap and opened his toolbox to get another, almost as if there wasn’t a ghost standing right beside him. I had to hand it to him; he’d taken rolling with the punches to an art form.
I eased closer to the trailer, afraid that if I moved suddenly, our visitor would pop out of sight again before we figured out why he was there. Or that Hunter would suddenly realize what a nutjob he was dating, and run like his hair was on fire. “Max, you said you were looking for Hunter. Can you remember why?”
Max looked at me for a few seconds, then the haze lifted from his eyes and he stopped flickering. “Of course I can remember why. I’m dead, not senile. I need Numbnuts here to go find my body. Otherwise, I’ll lie there ’til the cows come home.”
Hunter stopped fidgeting with the straps and snapped his gaze to him, incredulous. “Say what?”
Max rolled his eyes again and scratched his whiskers as if he were gathering what little patience he had. He leaned closer to Hunter and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Go. Find. My. Body. I’m speakin’ English.”
That irritated me. “There’s no need for snark. It’s not like this happens to him every day.”
He crossed his arms. “Well, for a sheriff, he seems a bit dense. My body’s at my shop. Some meathead bashed my skull in with a toilet tank lid.”
His eyes glazed over again and he drew his brows together, confused, then glanced at his watch. He muttered something about having to meet Darlin’, then flickered out.
Well alrighty then. It looked like we had a body to find.
Chapter Two
I didn't know exactly where Wheeler Construction's main offices were, so I looked it up on the way back to town. As it turned out, it was on the other end of Keyhole on our side of the lake, just about three miles past Hunter's house.
Given the circumstances, we decided that it would be best to stop and drop off the bike and trailer first. That way, we could say that we went out to talk to Max about making some changes to my blueprints and found him like that. It's not like he was going anywhere, so the extra twenty minutes wouldn’t make any difference.
We drove in silence awhile and I could tell that Hunter was turning everything over in his head. Not that I blamed him—I was more than a little wigged out myself. Even though I've seen ghosts all my life, it's not like one has ever actively sought me out to tell me to go look for his corpse.
When we were a couple miles from Max's shop, he broke the silence, his voice about half an octave higher than usual. "Is this how it always is for you?"
Since there wasn’t much about this entire situation that was normal for me, I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he threw his free hand in the air, motioning all around, "this! Trying to find plausible stories to explain how you know things. I thought you were just weird when I met you, but now I get it. We have no real reason to go to this guy's shop, but we can't not go. It's an impossible situation. So we just make something up and hope it holds water?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, something like that. To be honest, I've not really had to deal with anything like this, either. This is on a whole different level than explaining how I know where Aunt Pearl buried the jar full of rainy-day money. It's not like we can just leave a note in a mailbox."
He studied me for a minute, then burst out laughing. "Was that really a thing?"
"Actually, yes. And it was enough to cover a lot of rainy days. I delivered it to her niece, who had helped her when she was sick even though she was working two jobs to raise her kids."
I smiled at the memory, but the happy feeling didn't last long when I realized it was time to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Hunter about the living-challenged portion of his constituency.
The conversation would have to wait ’til that night though, because we'd turned off the main road. Wheeler Construction's main office loomed in front, looking more ominous that it should have.
I cringed as the tires crunched across the gravel lot and we pulled in beside a white, full-sized pick-up with the company logo magnet on the door. Max's, no doubt, because it was the only vehicle in the lot.
Hunter put the truck in park and looked over at me as he opened the door. "You don't have to go in, you know. You can wait here. If he was telling the truth, and I can’t imagine why he’d make that up, it's probably not going to be pretty."
I swallowed and considered my options, and ended up climbing out of the truck. I'm not going to lie and say that I chose to go in with him because I'm some badass super-witch. Nope. I decided to go in with him because if there was somebody running around bashing people in the head with toilet tank lids, I felt better being with the guy who was armed. I’m powerful, but I
don’t have eyes in the back of my head.
The office was housed in a big aluminum building that had three double garage doors and a standard office door with the company name, phone number, and business hours in white lettering on the tinted window.
The door was locked and the window was tinted too much for us to see inside. There was a dirt path worn into the overgrown grass and weeds that led from the front door around the side of building, probably to a side door. It was littered with boards, plastic pipe, and other miscellaneous construction materials half-hidden in the tall grass.
"Sure would have been nice if he'd told us how to get in." Hunter looked around, then started down the porch and toward the path. "I'll head around here and see if there's another door."
I shook my head. "I'm not walking through there. It's a minefield of tetanus and snakes. Fair warning though: as an officer of the law, you may want to turn your head for a minute." He was slow to catch on so I raised my brows and wiggled my fingers at him.
"Ohhh." He coughed and turned his back. I grinned because I hadn’t actually expected him to physically turn around.
I muttered a few words and twisted the knob open. "Well would you look at that? The door's unlocked after all. Max is probably just in the back and didn't hear us knock, since his truck is here."
Hunter rolled his eyes. "Just open the door already. But let me go in first."
I pulled the door open and stood back as he pulled his gun. Since Max hadn't bothered to tell us exactly where his body was, our nerves were stretched tight the moment we went inside. Not to be cliché, but you seriously could have heard a pin drop.
We'd just stepped from the office into the main part of the warehouse when a loud voice came from directly behind me. "For the love of god, would you stop pussy-footin' around and just go to the back of the building? It ain't like anybody else is here."
It's a good thing that Hunter's not a little wimpy guy because if he were, I would have plowed him right over when I bolted forward. As it was, I crashed straight into him and had to catch hold of his arm to keep from bouncing backward. I could feel his heart slamming against his ribs as he scowled at Max.