I jab my elbow into her side, and she grunts.
“Well... thanks again for checking in.”
“Actually,” Corinne jumps in, and I beg the gods she doesn’t say something that’ll force me to pack up and move to effectively avoid the man. “Could you help us carry a couple boxes? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“He doesn’t have time for that. The man just said he had to get going.”
“I could spare a few minutes,” he says, taking a few steps forward, glancing down at me.
I’m not a short woman. At five feet seven inches, I’m usuallyone of the tallest women in any room in Knox Harbor. Right now, I feel small.
“Care to show me the way?” His buttery, smooth, raspy drawl makes my legs a little weak, and that thought alone prompts another internal face slap.
My back straightens and I twist around, hoping he didn’t witness my face redden, because my cheeks are currently burning worse than they were a minute ago.
“This way,” I say, head remaining forward.
I haul ass down the hall to the dining room, trying to put distance between Nick and me. When I flip on the overhead light that for some reason was off, Ollie is inspecting a dish, somehow managing to hold it in his hand—a feat Billy hasn’t seemed to master.
“Floating dishes won’t go over well,” Corinne hisses through her teeth.
“Crap,” I say, diving forward and grabbing the plate just as Nick enters.
Ollie has been absent since Wednesday, and of all times for him to reappear, it would have to be now. He took one look at Nick, though, and blinks out before I can tell him to get lost. Maybe it was the sight of a badge and gun that spooked him, even though the police can’t touch him now.
“Everything okay?” Nick says, and I don’t turn around to look at him.
“Alyssa’s just struggling with the fact she needs to part with the dishes.” Thank god for Corinne’s quick thinking. Otherwise, I just look like an idiot, holding a saucer in the air, with one foot raised behind me.
“I am,” I say, turning around. “But they belong back in the hands of the poor lady who was forced to sell them.”
Nick’s eyes narrow in on the plate, and something in his demeanor shifts. “May I?” he asks, hand jutting out toward the plate.
“Uh... sure.”
I hand it to him and watch as he inspects it, face paling with every second that goes by. “Who did these belong to?” he asks, looking up at me with suspicious eyes.
“Her name’s Mrs.Craft. I bought them at Marmalade and Rye, and when I found out why she sold them, I decided I couldn’t keep them.”
He swallows. “Are you heading there now?”
“That was the plan.” I look to Corinne, who shrugs her shoulders.
He takes a breath and hands it back to me. “Strange. I was actually heading that way too. Do you want me to take them to her?”
My lips press together, and I rock back on my heels, trying to uncover the mystery that is Nick West. “You know her?”
“I do. Very well. Today’s my day to cook her dinner.”
I have so many questions. The man checks in on his neighbor he barely knows, makes dinner for elderly women who live alone... what else do I not know about Nick West?
Answering his question, I say, “No, I should take them myself.” I have no idea if this gambit will work, but I have a feeling that I need to do the handoff myself for the best chance of success.
A flash in the corner catches my attention, and my breath hitches. It’s the same woman from before, still looking like she was dragged through the mud and unable to fully form, popping in and out of existence. The only difference is that she’s not screaming this time and neither am I. Her shaky hand lifts, and I follow the direction her finger points.
Nick? She’s pointing at Nick.
“Everything all right?” Corinne pulls my gaze away from the ghostly vision. Her stare bores into me, a silent question in her eyes. She knows something’s off.
