It was the mingling of their feet that struck him the most. It felt so natural. And comfortable.
Unfortunately, they were both fully clothed—and had been since they crashed onto his bed after the police (Joe Cap had answered the call) left late last night. She’d pulled a light blanket over both of them, covering up herself and the tank top and shorts she’d changed into after taking off her wet bikini, then slipped into an exhausted sleep while Oscar lay there for a while, just holding her and thinking about everything that had happened.
Now, with a pang of regret and a bark of disappointment from his hormones, Oscar eased away from his bedmate. Much as he would have liked to kiss her face, so slack and pretty in repose—and more—he decided it was best to seek a cold shower instead.
When he got out of the shower, he smelled coffee from the kitchen. Dressed and groomed, he came out to find Teddy sipping from a mug, looking at the mess his makeshift lab had become.
“I’ll help you clean up,” she told him. Her hair was a wild mass spilling over her shoulders, and her eyes were a little puffy from lack of sleep. She was still wearing that little black tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, and he fought with himself over whether he should suggest she change clothing. His hormones won.
She gave him a wry smile as she began to straighten up the bottles that had been tipped over. “We’ll salvage what we can. Then maybe we can go get me a new laptop. That is, after we go into town to make our official report. I almost forgot about that.”
He agreed, and they set to work to the tune of James Blunt (her choice) mixed with Ray LaMontagne (his). Both artists seemed about right for a dreary, rainy day of cleaning up.
“It’s bad enough they—he—it—had to mess up the place. But to use paint?” she said, scowling at the red writing on the wall. The graffiti even spilled onto an amateurish painting of a lighthouse that hung above the sofa. “As if that would scare us away.” She gestured with the spray-paint can, which had been left on the floor. Red paint had dripped from it, reminding him unpleasantly of blood.
Oscar eyed her with interest. “Knowing that someone broke in and scrawled ‘Go Awayyyy’ on the wall doesn’t make you the least bit nervous and want to leave?”
“Well, a little. But mostly it makes me want to knowwhythey want us to leave. Doesn’t it you?”
He sighed as he stacked a few petri dishes. “Yes, dammit, now that you mention it. Of course it does. But I’m also concerned about safety. Yours, in particular.”
“Yeah, I know. Me too. Yours, I mean.” She gave him a cheeky grin, and he bit back a smile.
“And did you just say ‘it’ a minute ago?”
Rising from sweeping glass into a dustpan, she shrugged. “Well, it might have been the ghost. I mean, after last night, Oscar, youcan’tdeny there’s a ghost here.”
He muttered to himself and turned back to picking up test tubes—the ones that hadn’t been smashed, anyway.
“Come on, Oscar,” she said. “Admit it. Wesawthe ghost.”
“Fine. There might be a ghost, but I’m certain it wasn’t a phantom that caused this sort of destruction and smashed your laptop.”
“How do you know? Ethan told us at Trib’s that when Diana’s aunt was haunting them, she tossed things around in the kitchen. Same thing.” Teddy spread her hands to indicate the disaster in the living room.
Oscar didn’t respond. He wasn’t entirely certain whether he’d prefer it to be a ghost or a mortal who’d done all of this.
Then, suddenly, he had an answer. “A ghost doesn’t need to wear gloves,” he said, snatching up a rubber glove that had been left slumped on the floor. “Look. It’s got spray paint on it—dribbled all over it, probably leaked from the can. You can see, if he was holding the can while wearing the glove—see the paint would have spilled just like this.”
Teddy came over to examine it. “I’m impressed, Dr. London. Good eyes on you. Well, we can bring that and this”—she pointed to the spray paint—“when we go in to file the report. I’ll put them in a plastic bag—like a real evidence bag!” she added with a grin.
Oscar rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a smile. Only a writer would be excited about having to use an evidence bag.
“Speaking of which, I know Captain Longbow looked around outside last night, but he might have missed something in the dark. We should take a look.” She glanced outside. “Now, before it starts raining any harder. If there’s anything to see, the rain will obliterate any tracks.”
“Good point. By the time he or Officer van Hest come back to look around in the light, it could be gone,” Oscar replied. He couldn’t resist: the idea of playing detective put an enthusiastic glint in Teddy’s eyes.
Again, he thought, what a strange and interesting woman she was, and followed her outside. Fortunately, the rain was still soft and quite pleasant.
Oscar made a quick circuit of the parking area, which was dirt sprinkled with gravel and probably wouldn’t show much in the way of tire tracks. But if there were tracks, that would tell them how the invaders had arrived.
As he finished his perusal, he commented, “Joe Cap said he saw no evidence of a forced lock or door, but—”
“Footprints!” Teddy squealed. Oblivious to the little drips running down her face, she was standing near the exterior door to the lighthouse—a door that, to his knowledge, neither of them had used. “Right along the side of the building here. Because of the overhang, the rain hasn’t gotten to it yet. Maybe he came from the beach!”
Crouched on the ground, she was busy snapping pictures with her flip phone. “It looks like a boot of some sort—a hiking boot, not a cowboy boot like Captain Longbow was wearing. And it’s too small to be yours,” she added, looking down at his large feet as he walked up next to her.
“Let’s take a look at the beach,” he suggested, wishing he’d brought an umbrella. His hair was dripping in his face, and he had to keep pushing back that one annoying lock that always fell forward.
