by Alex A King
“Milos and Patra, they saw something didn’t they?”
“They saw something—something bad.”
“Was it a ghost? It was a ghost, wasn’t it?”
“My children are crazy,” she said. “Probably they have been eating lead paint. It’s all over the island, you know.”
I wasn’t crazy and I had never eaten lead paint, as far as I knew. “What does Leo have to do with lead paint?”
More sighing, deep and angsty. “Last week, I took them to the playground, to get some fresh air before the weather turns too cold. They were playing when suddenly they started screaming that they had killed a boy.”
“Killed him how?”
“They said he challenged them to see who could go higher on the swings—”
“Let me guess: he went higher, his swing spun over the top, and he hit the ground with a nauseating splat. Then Milos and Patra freaked out because they thought the accident was their fault.”
There was silence. Lots of it, while Toula’s wheels turned. Then: “How did you know?”
“The boy’s name was Raymond Webber. He died in a freak swing accident when he was visiting Merope with his parents during the 1970s. The swings were different then. After his accident, the swings were swapped out for swings that didn’t flip. Raymond really likes the playground and doesn’t want to move on. In a way, he’s Merope’s own Peter Pan. You went to see Leo, but when you got there all you had was a story and no body to with it. That’s why you choked and left before spitting out the story. On a scale of one to ten, how close am I?”
More silence. Too much of it.
“Toula?”
I looked at my phone. How long had I been talking to myself? Under stress, Toula detached and, apparently, ended calls. No problem. She needed time to process. And when she had questions I would be here—for her and the kids.
What now?
Detective Leo Samaras, that’s what. I heard the low rumble of his engine, climbing the steep hill, the abrupt silence as he turned the key. Then I heard his voice, calling my name.
“I saw you walking up here. You okay?” He planted himself beside me. The gap between us was narrow and I could feel his body heat. He took my hand and shoved it into his coat pocket, enveloped in his. For this moment, everything was quiet and completely normal. No ghosts. No demons. No sisters who may or may not be harboring a crush on an ex and dealing with two unexpectedly unusual kids. No one trying to kill me. That last thing was the best. Attempted murder is hell on the self-esteem.
“Totally okay.”
Deadpan: “You hungry?”
I laughed. “No more food. Ever. Especially bread.”
“I wasn’t talking about food.” He turned to face me, brushed back the hair that had escaped from my ponytail. His eyes were dark and serious—seriously dirty.
Yowza. “Oh.”
“I like you—a lot.”
“I see dead people.”
“And sometimes I leave my wet towel on the bedroom floor. It’s there right now.”
“That’s bad. It might be a deal-breaker.” The cold wind took another stab at me. I shivered.
The hand that was in my hair found my waist. He reeled me in until I was tucked under his chin. “Warmer?”
“My kolos is still cold.”
“Come home with me and I’ll warm it up. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be sweating.”
“I might even want food after.”
“I have food.”
“I’ll need cake,” I said. “You want cake?”
“I like cake.”
“Everyone likes cake.” I pulled away. “What are you waiting for?”
We drove down to the village. Five minutes later we were standing outside the Cake Emporium. Halloween was over. The decorations were gone. They’d been replaced with sugar skulls and candles in a million bright, cheerful colors.
“They’re beautiful,” I breathed. And they were. Betty Honeychurch did decorating like it was her religion.
“What’s beautiful?” Leo’s reflection joined mine in the Cake Emporium’s window.
“The window display.”
He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“The Cake Emporium.” I pointed to the sign, gently swaying from the sea’s cool push.
“Allie," Leo said. “There’s nothing there.”
* * *
Thank you for reading Royal Ghouls, the second Greek Ghouls mystery.
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All reviews are appreciated. You may help another reader fall in love … or avoid a terrible mistake.
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All my best,
Alex A. King
Also by Alex A. King
Disorganized Crime (Kat Makris #1)
Trueish Crime (Kat Makris #2)
Doing Crime (Kat Makris #3)
In Crime (Kat Makris #4)
Outta Crime (Kat Makris #5)
Night Crime (Kat Makris #6)
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Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece #1)
One and Only Sunday (Women of Greece #2)
Freedom the Impossible (Women of Greece #3)
Light is the Shadow (Women of Greece #4)
No Peace in Crazy (Women of Greece #5)
Summer of the Red Hotel (Women of Greece #6)
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Family Ghouls (Greek Ghouls #1)
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Pride and All This Prejudice
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Also by Alex A. King
Greek Ghouls
Family Ghouls
Royal Ghouls
Stolen Ghouls
Kat Makris
Disorganized Crime
Women of Greece
Seven Days of Friday
One and Only Sunday
Freedom the Impossible
Light is the Shadow
No Peace in Crazy
Summer of the Red Hotel
Rotten Little Apple
Standalone
Pride and All This Prejudice
Women of Greece Box Set 2-4
About the Author
Alex A. King is the author of the Women of Greece series and the Greek Ghouls series. She writes under the kitchen table, in the pantry, and sometimes while hiding behind the couch; basically anywhere her five-year-old can’t find her. Her books are funny because life is funny. Yes, even tragedy is hilarious ... especially when it’s happening to your enemies. While her stories are filled with terrible mothers, her own is wonderful. Her mother wrote this biography, by the way.
To get deals on new releases, you can sign up to Alex A. King's newsletter right here: http://eepurl.com/ZSeuL or like her page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alexkingbooks