Page 25 of Real Fake Hauntings

Everyone knew that the key to small businesses in cities like Olmeda was to feature local talent.

She pondered that for a moment. “I might at that. Thank you.”

“If I see the owner, I could suggest your name too.” If the owner ever showed up. I was starting to feel a little sad they hadn’t yet. We were to be next-door neighbors! All I’d gotten so far was a folded note under the door with a schedule for the renovations.

Folded notes under my door had yet to bring me good news.

The door opened again, and Mark the berserker stepped in, tall and wide like most of his kind. I watched him with suspicion. Talk about bad news coming through the door.

“Delivery done,” he announced.

Dru nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

“We had a delivery request?” I asked, all excitement again.

“Yes,” she answered. “But someone wasn’t here to deliver.”

I winced. “Sorry. Couldn’t be helped.”

“Could be helped if you hired an extra person,” she muttered.

Mark grinned and leaned on the counter like this was his home. He tipped an invisible hat. “At your service, ma’am.”

Hah. If I were to hire an extra hand, it’d be Key, not him. “Do you even know how to make tea?”

“It’s shoving a glass under the water urn, Hope, not doctorate physics,” Dru muttered as she attacked a mug in the small sink behind the counter.

Fine, she got me there. “Thank you for helping,” I said politely to Mark, adding a you can go now stare.

With the same grin, he slid onto a stool that had just become unoccupied. “I think I’ll have the day’s special as payment for my services. Oh, and a Halloween muffin.”

“Did you do anything interesting last night?” I asked casually, putting the muffin on a small plate in front of him. I supposed he deserved this much.

He attacked the orange baked good with relish. “Was working at the Crawler.”

Mark was a bouncer for Ian’s favorite pub in Guiles and Romary. “All night?”

“Pretty much.”

I twirled a short strand of my hair. “Pretty much until when?”

He shot me an amused glance. “We closed at about three. Why?”

“Just wondering. Did you happen to walk back home?”

“Got my own ride. What’s the interest?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” Part of me wanted to do mental gymnastics to make him appear guilty, but my less-used rational side couldn’t see a reason for him to go around Olmeda painting pentagrams in blood. “Did you see anything suspicious on your way home?”

“Suspicious how?”

“Someone acting weird, like they had something to hide.”

He huffed a laugh. “Lady, this is Olmeda.”

“So, nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not even a fly.”

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