A Ghost of a Clue Read online

  “Always. I do interesting very well.”

  I’ll bet you do, thought Rory before reminding herself that she wasn’t into interesting anymore. She’d come to Lobster Cove for balance and harmony and that’s what she was sticking with, no matter what her hormones screamed for.

  “You two look awfully chummy for debate opponents. Are you working up what line of bunk to tell these fools?”

  Rory didn’t recognize the slightly inebriated woman weaving her way toward them, but Travis must have from the groan he managed to smother. It looked like someone had found the wine. Or, maybe drank it all before others could get to it. She looked to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. It was hard to tell for the years hadn’t been kind. Rumpled clothing hung on the woman’s thin frame, and her lean face wore what looked to be a perpetual frown.

  “Hi, Margaret.” Travis looked like he’d stolen her fake smile. “Did you come to cheer me on?”

  The woman gave an inelegant snort. “Not hardly. I always come to these things. Somebody’s got to keep tabs on the crazies from both sides.”

  “From both sides?” Rory reached out a hand to steady the woman before she fell into the table. A tingle of energy of a much less pleasant kind hit her as soon as they touched. Rory withdrew her hand.

  “Margaret believes in ghosts. She just doesn’t believe in ghost hunters. Margaret Vincent, this is Aurora DuMont. She’s Lorena’s niece, and she’s living in the cottage now.”

  The woman gave Travis a withering glance. “I keep up with the gossip, too.” She turned an even more withering stare on Rory. “I know all about the witch who’s moved into town.”

  Rory struggled to roll out her polite manners. “Wow, and I was afraid I’d have to spend weeks getting to know everyone. Guess I’ll have to get used to how word gets around in a small town. And it’s Rory. Aurora sounds a bit too celestial.”

  She extended her hand to Margaret, who ignored both it and her comments. Though she’d promised to keep her intuition in check tonight, Rory couldn’t help taking a glimpse at the woman’s aura. Something about her gave off some really strange vibes. That kind of hostility from someone she had just met usually came with issues on their side. After only a few seconds, she shut her third eye down. Drunk or not, this Margaret had some serious disturbance going on under the surface, and it didn’t all come from alcohol. The dirty mustard-colored shadow around her radiated pain in pulsing waves.

  Rory worried for a minute that she was losing her touch when it came to surreptitious snooping. Margaret glared at her as if she knew what Rory had done, and she wasn’t happy about it. Then the look was gone. What replaced it wasn’t any friendlier, but at least her expression didn’t have the outright venom it had before.

  “I don’t believe, I know for a fact.” Margaret peered at her through bloodshot eyes, and Rory felt a shiver run along her spine. “I’ve seen ghosts, seen them up close and personal.”

  For a moment Rory thought Margaret had seen inside her as well. Something in the disdain on her face gave more meaning to her words than the surface would indicate. But then her expression twisted back into a sneer.

  “And a bunch of idiots running around with cameras and weird-ass doodads aren’t ever going to see them. Ghosts would laugh in their faces.” With that pronouncement she stumbled off, leaving Rory curious and a bit relieved.

  “Well, that was fun.”

  “Yeah.” Travis nodded. “Margaret’s always a great addition to any gathering. You can think of it as a warm-up for the rest of tonight’s entertainment.”

  “I’m hoping the rest of our audience is a bit more congenial.”

  “You hang on to that hope.” Travis held out his arm to her. “I see Jane’s waving everyone to their seats. Looks like we’re up.”

  Not sure that she wanted to touch anyone again, Rory laid a careful arm on his and really hoped she was up for this.

  Chapter Two

  I’ve got to get used to the sea spray, at least while I’m here, Rory thought as the mist pelted her. Running along the coast was becoming her morning routine. It gave her the chance to see the rolling waves and connect with the creatures that played there. When she first arrived in the small town, she’d followed her long habit of introducing herself to the native spirits of the land and water. Lobster Cove’s elemental community was a playful one.

  Sitting for morning meditations, however, was a habit Rory had never been able to develop, in spite of all Aunt Lorena’s efforts. Moving stimulated her senses far better, and she’d discovered in the few weeks she’d been here that the pounding waves were wonderful background noise for opening her chakras. She wondered if she would be able to keep running once the sea mist mingled with the winter chill. It was the first week in October, and already she noticed the change. Fall colors enchanted her senses, but she’d lived in Denver for enough years to know how fast they could change to winter white. Once winter really hit, she’d probably wimp out on her runs and turn into a couch potato for the duration. Hibernating indoors with a stack of old movies and an endless supply of junk food might not be a good moving meditation technique, but it was a great way to hole up and heal. She’d come here to relax, after all. It would give her the quiet and the isolation she’d told herself she’d find in the little Maine town.

  Thinking about potential relationships had her mind wandering back to last night. She smiled as she thought back to the surprise debate. In her own humble opinion, she’d run circles around Travis Reed’s logical and unemotional arguments against the possibility of the existence of ghosts. Of course, she’d been playing to a more sympathetic audience. Still, her personal touch had them eating out of her hand. It was the first interaction of any depth she’d had with the locals, and she thought it went stunningly well. She’d told a few stories they enjoyed, and nothing went beyond the surface of common ghost-hunter lore. Now if she could manage to stay away from any more conversations with her enthusiastic neighbor, she might never have to do it again.

  Rory headed down the path that led to the center of town. She’d never dared run along the highway back in Denver but the streets in Lobster Cove felt much safer. Maybe it was the fact that there were about a million less cars on them. It had been a long time since she’d been out of the big city. Rory had to admit it was a nice feeling.

  The long stretch of highway melted into the pretty town square where the fall colors were even more beautiful. She slowed to a walk to cool down as she passed the yard of a plantation-style house that had to be one of the older structures in Lobster Cove. Birch trees with shimmering red-gold leaves dotted the lawn, creating the perfect scene of fall color. Her artist’s eye honed in on it and filed it away for a later visit when she had her camera with her. Years of working as a graphic artist for museum exhibits and displays were her ace in the hole for self-employment. At least that was what she’d been telling herself since she’d arrived here. The beauty of the Maine coast and of Lobster Cove itself would work nicely on postcards and prints, things she could design with her now unemployed time.

  As she rounded the front of the building, she noticed the name on the heavy front door. The Shucker’s Booktique. Clever, she thought. A glance through the window told her it was a place that needed a longer look. From what she saw, it held the potential to be a boon for the business she had in mind. She glanced down at her ratty running attire and decided an introduction to the owner should wait until she was more impressively dressed. Just because she was unemployed didn’t mean she needed to look like it.

  Her stroll took her down the sidewalk opposite the Booktique as she perused the other assorted businesses lining the town square. There were some interesting places, and she mentally planned a shopping day as she walked along. It couldn’t hurt to get to know some more folks in town, especially if she wanted to make some business contacts.

  One window caught her eye and her appetite. Poorly dressed or not, Rory told herself she’d earned one of the mouthwatering little pas
tries filling the case in the window. Surely she’d run long enough to indulge in just one. That was her story and she was sticking to it, she told herself as she walked past the window and through the door of Sweet Bea’s.

  It was like walking into everyone’s fantasy idea of their grandmother’s kitchen, all warm and homey. Even the air smelled sweet, although with the aroma from the collection of goodies sitting there, waiting to be devoured, Rory didn’t see how it could smell like anything else.

  The place was busy, with all three tables occupied along with two of the five stools at the counter. The tiny bell on the door kept up a steady ringing. A red-haired beauty behind the counter was busy flirting with an attractive guy in a park ranger uniform. Rory took advantage of her distraction to browse the cases. There in lie every kind of decadent pastry her imagination could have imagined, from giant iced cookies to elegantly frosted cupcakes and a hefty slice of what was labeled vanilla cake with raspberry filling. With a reluctant sigh, she let her gaze wander past the vanilla cake with the promise of a longer run and a slice of it later. She compromised on a cinnamon scone, telling herself it was at least reasonably healthy.

  “Come on, you’re not really going to settle for something without frosting, are you? After last night I’d have thought you were braver than that.”

  Rory turned like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She raised a brow at Travis, who stood grinning at her. The suit was gone, replaced by worn jeans and a black T-shirt that said “Maine Attraction” in big bold letters. Underneath the words was a grinning lobster wearing sunglasses. He still looked yummy.

  “I don’t like to think of it as settling. I like to think of it as a responsible, logical choice in the pursuit of good nutrition.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing in Bea’s cases fits that description. If you’re looking for food that follows the arbitrary rules of nutrition, you need to come to the school cafeteria. They are firm believers in no frosting there.”

  “Dispassionate, logical and unemotional believers?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They don’t even have a passion for cooking. It’s just part of the job for them. Now Bea on the other hand—” he waved a hand at the redhead behind the counter “—has got cooking down to an art.”

  “So I should choose carefully, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “If it were me I’d choose one of each. I’ve found that usually works out best.”

  “Ah, but you have a classroom full of preteens to help you work it off. I, on the other hand, have to run an extra mile for every tablespoon of frosting.”

  “Are you trying to argue my customer out of her purchase, Travis?”

  The redhead smiled up at him as she walked over.

  “Not at all, Bea. I’m trying to argue her into buying the whole damn case.”

  “And sharing a goodly portion with you, is that your plan?” She leaned over the counter and stuck a hand out to Rory. “I’m Bea, Beatrice O’Brien. Welcome to Sweet Bea’s.”

  “Rory. Rory DuMont.”

  “Ah, Lorena’s niece. Welcome to Lobster Cove.”

  “Thank you.” Rory glanced down at her clothes. “I hope you’ll forgive the casual look. I was out for a run and ended up in front of your window. Your case was too good to pass up.”

  “Now that’s what I like to hear. So what can I take out of there for you?”

  Rory pointed out her choice then turned back to Travis as Bea pulled it out for her.

  “I’m actually glad I ran into you this morning. I wanted to apologize for any hard feelings after our little…discussion last night.”

  “You know if you really want to make it up to me you could sit with me and eat your treat. I’ll even spring for coffee to go along with it.”

  “I’m not up to any more debating and—” she glanced down at her clothes “—I’m kind of sweaty and gross. Your friend might not want the smell competing with her baked goods.”

  He laughed. “That’s a long way around to tell me you don’t want to sit with me. Nice of you to try and make it all about you but I think I can hack the smell. I’m headed back from picking up some samples out at the bay myself, so my own aroma isn’t exactly pleasant. Together we might be a threat, but I think Bea’s goodies can take us.”

  The man had too much charm. Rory decided she’d earned a little more indulgence this morning. “In that case, make it tea and you’re on.”

  Rory glanced around as Travis went to get their drinks. The timing was perfect as the young couple at the far table were leaving. She scooted over to snag the table, happy to finally sit down. And happy to watch Travis as he moved in and out of the other customers. He moved very well for a man so big, and the picture was one that whet her appetite for more than the scone. His ever-present grin was firmly in place as he spotted her at the table.

  “I see you found us a place far enough back in the corner not to smell out Bea’s customers.”

  He set two cups and a small basket down in front of her. “Pick your poison.”

  Rory looked at the selection of herbal teas and smiled. “You brought herbal.”

  “My mom trained me well. I can even tell you what most of them will do to and for you.”

  “Is that the science part of you or the maternal training?”

  He laughed. “A bit of both. Although my mom made her own herbal teas, so the training was pretty good.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Really?”

  “Yep. She made most things like that from scratch.”

  “Ah, so she was Susie Homemaker.” Rory thought of her own mother, whose entire life had been spent making certain her father had nothing to complain about from the time he got home until the moment he left for work again. At least not on her end.

  “No, and you’d be in for a feminist lecture of epic proportions if she heard you say that.” Travis chuckled. “She was Susie Earth Mother. Making things from scratch was how we connected to the land, how we respected what the earth gave us. And how we stuck it to the man by avoiding the exploitation of the industrial complex. Although that last part was more my dad’s philosophy.”

  “Sounds very ’60s.”

  “For them it was more the ’70s but yeah, both of them were true hippies, heart and soul. That’s how we ended up in Lobster Cove.”

  “There sounds like a story behind that.”

  He nodded. “A protest. They came to join the protest against the pollution of the coast. While they were here, they stumbled on Lobster Cove and fell in love, with it and with each other. They still live in the house my dad built on the other side of Grant’s Lake, where all six of us kids grew up. In true hippie fashion though, they didn’t marry until I was in third grade.”

  “Six?” Rory’s eyes grew wide. “I can’t imagine what it would be like with six kids in the house.”

  “Only child, huh?”

  “Yep, the one and only issue from William and Katherine DuMont. So what persuaded them toward matrimony? You kids?”

  “No. It never bothered us that they weren’t married. They were happy so we were happy. It was that times had changed. Living together had gotten normal. By then everybody was doing it. People were avoiding marriage right and left. It was more common, less of a statement. So one day they woke up and decided, what the hell, they’d become legal.”

  Rory took another bite of the scone and a sip of the chamomile tea she’d settled on. “I have a hard time reconciling the logical scientist I met last night with that background.”

  He laughed. “I’ll have to take you to a family dinner sometime, and you’ll completely understand the reason behind my transformation. You’ll also find them willing to commiserate with you over my lack of excitement over things like ghosts, along with other assorted strange beliefs they feel I should share. As to the science part, I had a biology teacher in middle school who opened my eyes to the world. He would let me come over on the weekends, ostensibly to mow his grass, but once I was done I could hang out in
his library. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with books, and absolutely none of them had anything to do with anything New Age. And it was quiet. I had found my nirvana.”

  “A biology teacher, huh? That does explain your present condition.”

  “Too true. So, enough about me. Let’s uncover the deeply intriguing past of our new local witch.”

  “You want to know more after the debate debacle?”

  “I’m not looking for ghosts, just the skeletons in your closet.”

  “It’s really obvious that you spend most of your time around pre-teens. You push the boundaries without batting an eye.”

  “They might not get everything right, but they do understand that if you bat your eyes you might miss something important.”

  “I don’t know how important my life story is. Believe me, it falls more to the boring side. And I think we’ve probably tied up this table for long enough.” She settled her cup on her now empty plate.

  “Come on, I know you aren’t afraid of ghosts, so what’s got you nervous about letting a few skeletons out of your closet?”

  Rory shook her head. “You aren’t going to let up, are you?”

  “Nope. But, if you’re worried about freeing up Bea’s table space, we could continue this conversation at dinner some time.”

  “Are you asking me for a date?”

  “Sure am. Ned’s Lobster Shack has a great special Friday nights, and if we get there by seven, we’ll be sure to get a seat. We could find another table in the back, and you can tell me all about Aurora DuMont.”

  “I don’t know. My Fridays, well…I’d have to check my calendar.”

  He looked at her and started to answer then his mouth turned down into a frown. “Hey, where were you?”

  “What?”

  Rory glared at him like he’d lost his mind before she realized his gaze wasn’t on her anymore. He waved one arm over his head, and she turned to see a group of three young kids standing at the counter. The girl pretended to ignore Travis’ wave by staring intently at the cookies while the other two boys gave up and walked over to their table. They looked like typical twelve-year-olds in typical Saturday morning attire to Rory, but her experience with kids was pretty limited. They wore clothes that were fashionably sloppy and had hair of varying shades of brown. Travis turned a stern stare to the tallest one.