Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (36)
Sleep took me as I hoped my monster would find me in my dreams for another dance.
The next day began with an alarm clock of the vacuum cleaner roaring and buzzing across, what I assumed was, more shag carpet. It was rude of me, but I waited for the sound to grow faint before sneaking out of my room and back downstairs into the swamp. I pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and enclosed myself in Ames’s varsity jacket. Even in a hurry to escape my surroundings, I took a moment to indulge in a breathful of his aroma. Oaky and slightly floral like . . . lavender. Awareness pricked at my senses as the smell brought back the memory of my dance with the skeleton man. No, that wasn’t possible. Clearly, my daydreams and night fantasies were merging in a fantastical and unhealthy way. The man I danced with was probably some town bad boy and I’d never know his true identity. I guessed he’d probably forgotten all about me.
My stomach grumbled and all but shoved me out the door in search of something other than the crumbly granola bars stashed in my bag. Droplets of chilled rain speckled my cheeks as I trudged up the gravel to my car. Mr. Moore, on queue, was sweeping the road, even in the rain. I hoped to avoid getting stuck in an awkward conversation with him, so I quietly clicked my door closed. Just as I thought I’d made it past the point of contact, their orange tabby cat jumped onto the hood. I rolled down my window and shooed him. “Hey, you’re going to get wet, go on,” I hissed.
The commotion was enough that after a few moments, Mr. Moore appeared with his broom tucked under his arm. He scooped the feline off my car and gave a small nod. “Good morning, Blythe. We hope you slept well in Ellie’s room last night. We should get an estimate on how long it’ll take to fix the basement later today.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate you letting me stay upstairs last night.” I hesitated a moment before asking, “Is Ellie your daughter?”
My landlord scratched under the cat’s chin, seemingly unaware of the rain that was picking up speed around us. “Yes, Ellie May is our daughter.”
Something about his forlorn tone made me not want to ask any more questions. “Well, tell her thanks for letting me use her room last night.”
“I’ll tell her.” He smiled faintly. “You still planning to join us for dinner on Monday?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, turning the crank on my manual window and rolling it up slightly as rain poured down now.
Mr. Moore sat the cat down, who walked off, very un-cat-like, through a puddle. We wished each other a good day and I rolled slowly out the drive, my windshield wipers flapping like crazy in the sudden storm. I checked my rearview to see Mr. Moore standing where I left him, broom still lodged under his arm. He could get sick standing around in the rain. I considered turning around and urging him to go inside but decided against it. The man was old but seemed of sound mind. Maybe he liked the rain.
My landlord was eccentric, no doubt, like the whole of Ash Grove. But the look on his face when he mentioned his daughter Ellie . . . was what made the hair on my arms stand up. She couldn’t have been the girl in the photos; that would be absurd. Maybe she collected vintage family heirlooms. For some reason, I found that hard to believe but a good enough excuse to stop thinking about it for a while.
“Gold Dust Woman” by Fleetwood Mac crooned on the oldies radio station, and I cranked up the volume as I drove to the diner. I had five dollars and some change after filling up my Honda’s gas tank. That was enough for coffee with free refills and some buttered toast. I’d take it.
I claimed my usual cracked leather booth, and my favorite waitress, Doris, greeted me with a fresh mug of coffee. “‘Morning, dear. What can I get you today?”
“Hi, Miss Doris. Can I get some butter toast, please?” I asked, thumbing at the dollars and change in my purse, making sure my math was right.
Doris’s wise and wrinkled eyes followed the movement before putting a hand on her hip. “He told me not to tell you, but I don’t take orders from that boy. Your tab is paid off indefinitely. Order whatever you want, sugar.”
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Someone paid for me to eat here?”
“That’s right, honey. We’ve got his card on file.”
“Who?”
Just then a man’s voice interrupted as he wrapped a gentle arm around the old waitress and tugged her close for a kiss on the cheek. “Doris O’Malley, you are looking particularly radiant today. Did you get a fresh perm?”
My waitress blushed and swatted Onyx’s arm as he slid into the seat across from me. She shook her head and gave me a pointed look. “Who do you think? And a word of advice? Order the most expensive things every day and make this troublemaker pay big.”
Onyx chuckled and I grinned, feeling a rise of embarrassment warm my face. “I don’t need you to pay for my food,” I mumbled to Onyx, who had casually draped his arm over the back of the seat, his dress shirt peppered with dots of rain. Little glimpses of the muscles were hiding under his formal attire. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Let me buy you unlimited waffles and coffee, will ya?”
Doris snorted. “You’ve got more money than sense is more like it.”
“That too.” Onyx smirked.
Rolling my eyes, I gave up the fight. I was starving, and this was the nicest offer I’d probably ever gotten. And someone picking up my breakfast tab was innocent enough, even though I hated being a charity case to these boys who’d decided to interject into my life in the smallest ways. “I’d love a Belgian waffle, please. Thank you, Miss Doris.”