Page 76 of Real Fake Hauntings

“Are you lying again?”

“I want to claim one of the many favors you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you that many favors.”

“You owe enough. I’m cashing in one.”

“Okay,” I said warily. “What do you want me to do for you?”

“I want you to promise you won’t run away.”

That was easy. “Sure. I won’t run away.” Where was I going to run to?

“All right. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure, but, wait, you didn’t answer.”

“Good night, Hope.” With that he hung up.

I stared at the phone, then at Grandma’s spellbook on my dresser.

“Grandma, why are men like this?”

Unfortunately, Grandma didn’t appear to have any wise words for me, so I had to go to bed with my unanswered questions and the knowledge that I could never face Ian again because either he thought I was full of myself, or he’d laugh at me for the rest of our lives for asking something so silly.

I woke up bright and early, surprised at how easily I’d fallen asleep considering my conversation with Ian.

It was of no matter. I would find the truth about this mate thing, and if Ian found it hilarious, I’d find a way to get back at him.

“Leave the mistakes of the past behind you and strive to make each new day one you can be proud of.”

And what better day to do that than Halloween?

Excitedly, I took out my witchy Halloween costume of black blouse, fluffy black skirt, black leggings with a pattern of silver stars, and black sneakers—which wasn’t very witchy, but this witch had to stay on her feet all day long.

Humming to myself, I took a fast shower and did my best to blow-dry my hair into a semblance of order.

But as I studied my reflection in the mirror and applied my green makeup and dusting of glitter, a multitude of questions returned, this time having to do with the murder of Crane. I was fast running out of time before he was reported missing to the police, and with every day that passed, his murderer could be getting farther away.

“Why my shop?” I asked myself, securing my witch hat headband. And since I had no answer, I added, “And how did they get in?”

Dressing with more care than usual, I reran my list of subjects through my head. I had been so busy focusing on who would want to kill Crane that I’d forgotten the mechanics of the murder itself. My shop. My security system. My locks.

Who had access to a copy of the keys and the alarm code?

“Not Dru,” I told Grandma’s spellbook as I placed my hands on top of the soft embroidered fabric of the cover. With a deep inhale, I allowed all the goodness that was my memories of Grandma to fill me with renewed determination.

I wasn’t powerful, but I had friends and cunning on my side.

If not Dru, who else? Mark? Hutton? Who else had been around the shop long enough to?—

No.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Grabbing my sneakers, I ran down into the shop, almost slipping and braining myself on the stairs.

Bursting through the bead curtain, I switched on the light and glared at the shop.

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