“Yup.” Jean said.
“Well, it is neutral ground,” I said. “Like seriously set in stone from the moment Ordinary was established as neutral ground between gods, creatures and humans. How did he know that?”
“How do you think?” Myra asked.
Yeah, he knew it because my boyfriend was now tied to a god of contracts. Even if he hadn’t been told, Ryder could probably sense the neutrality of the place.
“I’m thinking of bringing in a few more hands,” Myra said.
The day was sliding into afternoon, the sky a dreamy blue. People wandered the sidewalks and businesses a little stunned and drunk on sunlight.
We were going to see a huge influx of tourists catching at the last straws of decent vacation weather.
“Tillamook?” I suggested.
“They didn’t get the rains like us,” Myra said. “Maybe Hatter and Shoe?”
Hatter and Shoe sounded like names out of a fairytale book, but they were actually humans who had been partners for the last eight years up in Tillamook about forty-five miles north of us. They were good cops and had sharp eyes. Sharp enough that they’d cornered Dad and he’d let them in on the secrets of our little town.
They’d both not only believed him, but had kept their mouths shut and offered to help when needed.
I hadn’t called them in for anything since his death, hadn’t seen them since his funeral. I guess I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that my sisters and I were enough to take care of this town.
Not sure I’d stuck the landing on that yet.
“Stop scowling,” Myra said. “We could use the help. Dad used to call them in at least once a summer. No reason why we can’t do that too.”
She was right.
“Are you going to put them up at your place?” I asked.
“It’s Jean’s turn.”
“Damn straight it is,” Jean said. “We’re gonna party all night.”
“You work nights,” I reminded her.
“Party allmynight.”
“Do not corrupt them.”
“Like I could. You ever done shots with those boys? I did. Once. Haven’t touched tequila since.”
The twisty single lane off the main road led us to the lighthouse built on a high jut of rock that overlooked the bay.
Long summer grass in the field surrounding it wouldn’t go brown for weeks yet. A walkway wended along the edge of the bluff, the stone and cable fence standing as the only barrier between walkers and the ocean below.
The lighthouse should be open for tours explaining how far out to sea the light could be seen (twenty-two miles) and whether or not the place was haunted by the ghost of the lighthouse keeper’s daughter, Harriett (probably).
We got out of the car, and I waited there on the sidewalk. I didn’t see Ryder’s truck among the dozen parked cars, and my heart caught with worry. He should be here. He set this up.
For one private, ridiculous moment, I let the terror of all the other things I was dealing with roll over into fear for Ryder’s safety. Was he hurt? Kidnapped? Was he the next person in my life who I’d lose?
But as soon as I’d thought that, the growl of an engine grew louder and his truck came into view.
My stupid racing heart leveled down to a dull thud as he parked precisely two spaces over from where Myra’s cruiser was slotted a little crookedly and over one line.
Ryder stepped out of the truck.
