She shut the door with a very firmkerchunkand headed for the front steps of the shop.
He knew that was all he was going to get out of her tonight. He opened his own door and extracted himself from the driver’s seat. Bruce bounded across the console and vaulted to the ground.
They both hurried to catch up with Sophy.
The Shop on Hidden Lane had a Victorian vibe. Luke had seen enough earlier to realize that it served as both a home and abusiness. Sophy had left the downstairs lights on. The windows glowed with an inviting warmth.
“Where are you staying tonight?” she asked as she went toward the front steps.
“Deke’s cabin,” he said.
She stopped abruptly. “You can’t sleep there.”
“Why not?”
She swept out her hands. “Because someone got killed there.”
“Not in the bedroom.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“That cabin is stained with a lot of bad energy. It will affect your senses. Your dreams.”
“You cleaned it, remember? Are you telling me you didn’t do a good job?”
“I did an excellent job.” She hesitated. “But no housekeeper can scrub out every last bit of the kind of stain left by the energy of extreme violence. I muddied the waters, so to speak. There’s no useful evidence left but there will be a vibe. I don’t like the idea of you sleeping in that house.”
“I just told you, I don’t have much of a talent. I doubt if I’ll pick up on any residual energy.”
“Everyone has some intuitive awareness of that sort of thing. We’ve all experienced that cold feeling you get when you walk into a structure where something terrible has happened. Do you know how many requests I get to do housekeeping work in a space where someone died? Listen up, Wells, sleeping in that cabin would be a dumbass thing for anyone to do.”
“The alternative is sleeping in my vehicle, which, while certainly doable, would be inconvenient and uncomfortable. I’ll risk some bad dreams in exchange for access to convenient indoor plumbing.”
“Bad idea.”
“Okay,” he said. He held up both hands, palms out. “I’ll see if I can get a room at the B and B.”
“Forget the B and B. It’s closed. The owner sold it last month and the new owners haven’t reopened. There’s no help for it. You’ll have to stay here. You can sleep on the sofa.”
“I appreciate your gracious offer of hospitality, but aren’t you afraid having my vehicle parked in front of the shop all night will cause gossip?”
“Got news for you: it’s too late to worry about my reputation. By noon tomorrow everyone in town will know your car was seen outside my aunt’s shop tonight, long after closing time. They already know that Bea is gone and that I am the only one in residence.”
“Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“Don’t worry about it. Nothing I can’t handle.” She paused, remembering the case attached to his belt. “I don’t mean to pry, but I noticed your auto-injector. What are you allergic to? Anything I should know about?”
He glanced at the house. “No. My allergy is to a rare kind of pollen. Nothing that’s in bloom around here.”
“Okay.” Reassured, she took out the small wooden mallet and chimes and played a short series of notes.
“Why are you doing that now?” he asked. “Are you going into a trance?”
“No. Listen. Do you hear that?”
He stopped talking. The wind chimes on the front porch clashed angrily in the night. The music was discordant. Disturbing. It raised the hair on the back of his neck and sent a stiff shot of adrenaline through him.
