Reed barked out a loud laugh. Not the yelling I expected. “Okay then. Let’s get this tour underway. You and your oil tycoon have an afternoon engagement.”
He winked at me as he opened the door the rest of the way and let me walk in first.
What did that wink mean?
I didn’t have time to ask him for clarification because as soon as the door shut behind us, a blonde in two-inch heels and a skirt that barely hit her mid-thigh greeted us. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Rockefeller.”
Reed coughed at my last name choice, and I wrapped my arm through his to give him a tug. He couldn’t blow our cover so quickly.
“I have down on your paperwork that you wanted to view the grand triple. Is that correct?” she continued after my nod. “It’s our biggest model and has a water view. It will be perfect for you.”
“Anything for Mrs. Rockefeller. Right, babe?” Reed asked and then placed a small kiss on the side of my forehead.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, we walked out of the building together, hand in hand. Not only did I spend the last half hour making up completely fabricated stories about Reed and my fictional life together, but he had his hands on me in some way the entire time. Do you know how hard it is to ignore a hot guy touching you while also pretending he’s your husband?
Someone should give me an award.
Hell, I needed more cobbler with ice cream on top.
“She was nice,” Reed said as we walked onto the city sidewalk. “I really did like the cabinets in the kitchen.” He squeezed my hand when I laughed at his comment.
“It was nice, but expensive.” Way better than the 1970s apartment I’d lived in before losing my job but also a few hundred thousand more than I’d ever pay for a place, even with a water view.
Our rental was only a block away from the apartments, and we crossed onto Broad Street quickly. We approached the Pirate House restaurant. Its gray wooden siding and light blue shutters set the home apart from all the rest with its intentionally old appeal. A man wearing black pants and a long black trench coat with shiny gold buttons jumped up from the bench by the restaurant’s far wall. His black tricorn hat with a bright gold feather flopped, almost falling off his head with the movement.
A red city trolley bus pulled up to the curb and stopped. The pirate jumped on and let out a loud, “Ayyye!”
Reed shook his head as the people on the bus clapped. “This town has everything.”
My phone buzzed with an email, and I checked it quickly as he opened the gate—I still hadn’t completely figured out how—and let us into our small garden.
“Oh, no,” I said, walking through the gate.
Reed closed it behind us. “What?”
“Samantha sent us tickets to the overnight paranormal investigation at the historic theater.” I stopped by the front door to let him open it.
He did. “When?”
“Tonight.” I groaned and dropped into the chair by the small table in the front section of the home. “We have to go. Otherwise she might get suspicious.”
Just the thought of staying up until the wee hours of the morning on another evening made me yawn. We’d been running around this town with no real leads for days. We certainly would not find Lisa’s killer at a haunted stage theater. Eventually, I needed a full night’s sleep. And a viable (non ghost) murder suspect.
“Are you serious about trying to solve this case?” I asked Reed as he took off his spring coat and put it in his room.
He peeked his head out of his door. “Yeah. I’ll help you however I can, babe.”
The way he called me babe did something that my feminist upbringing wasn’t sure she liked. But I didn’t plan to stop him.
I had to ask Casey the hard questions. Genuine questions. We had to stop beating around the bush about his mother if I wanted to solve this. I rested my elbows on the table and placed my head in my hands as I surveyed the articles, Delaney’s case write-up, and the theory from the reporter I’d laid out.
Asking Casey questions might lead to him discovering why we were really here and eventually getting kicked out. We’d be better waiting until the last day so we didn’t risk losing our place to stay and the close connection.
“The investigation starts tonight at 10:30,” Reed said, taking the seat beside me. He flipped through James’s report. The local reporter put a lot of thought into his case analysis, but I wasn’t fully on board with his conclusion. “We should leave here by ten if we want to make it on time. Traffic won’t be bad, but you never know how long we’ll wait for the Uber.”
I nodded absentmindedly. “I want to ask James Jones a question.”
“Okay,” he said, probably questioning my quick change of topic. It was only quick for him. We’d been having an entire conversation in my head. I just hadn’t filled him in on it yet.
