Page 6 of Ghostridden
Ricky shook his head. “She takes care of everybody except herself.”
“She said you’re her godson? But you said nephew…” I lifted my eyebrows. Hey, I was fishing, but I liked to get my facts straight. Nothing’s more embarrassing in ghostwriting than a research error.
“Both, actually, but the godson part came first, and that ranks higher in Tia’s eyes. Now.” He turned the full force of his gaze on me and I might have zoned out for an instant. “Tia said you have a problem with your locks?”
I swallowed thickly, trying to bring my brain back online. “Yeah.” I gestured with the Scooby keychain. “The locks seem like they’re jammed with something. Looks like sawdust maybe?”
“Let’s have a look then.”
He climbed the steps, and yeah, I watched his ass. Because it was very nicely outlined by his untrendy Wranglers, and exactly the kind I liked—not tight and gym-toned, but still rounded and grabbable.
If, you know, I was inclined to do anything like that without the grab-ee’s consent, especially after knowing him for all of two minutes, which I definitely was not.
He hunkered down and peered into the keyhole. “Just as I thought. Mason bees.”
“Mason bees?”
“Yep. They’re the primary pollinators around here, especially in early spring, now that the wild honeybee population is pretty much gone. They seek out protected holes like this to lay their eggs in.”
I gulped. “So are we killing the primary pollinators?”
He glanced up at me, humor glinting in his eyes. “They’ve already hatched. This is the detritus they leave behind. They get the front door too?” I nodded. “Okay. I’ll take care of this one, then clear the other while you go inside.” His smile turned a little crooked. “I guess you’d like to see what your new house is like.”
My brows drew together. “You know this is my new house?”
He shrugged and then turned back to the keyhole, a long tool with an odd scooped end in his hand. “Taryn’s a friend. We both grew up in Ghost. She told me she’d found Oren’s beneficiary, but no details, so don’t worry about a lawyer-client confidentiality breach.”
“I don’t. Didn’t. Won’t.”
“Glad to hear it.” He finished poking in the lock and pulled what turned out to be a tiny vacuum out of his toolbox, judging from the mini-whirring of its little motor. “There.” He stood up. “I could test it, but I imagine you’d rather do the honors yourself.”
I confess, my throat got a little thick, and I had to swallow a couple of times, because Ricky was empathetic enough to understand what this moment meant to me.
I approached, Scooby in my hand. The key went in easily and though it didn’t turn smoothly, it did turn. I opened the door.
And stepped insidemy housefor the first time.
“It’s okay to breathe, you know,” Ricky murmured.
Because, yeah, I was holding my breath, so I let it out in a rush.
I was standing in what was apparently a slate-tiled mud room, and it had more doors than walls. The one to the right probably led to the garage I’d passed on the way to the backyard. The swinging door midway down the left wall clearly led further into the house, since, you know, that’s where the rest of the house was.
The left-hand door immediately to the left was ajar, revealing a… what did they call them when a bathroom only had a sink and toilet? Powder room? Half-bath? I should know this stuff—I’d ghostwritten enough real estate copy, but for some reason, I couldn’t dredge up any of it from long-term memory.
Straight ahead, almost flush with the right-hand wall, an open door revealed a landing with stairs leading both up and down. To the left of it, the walls sported shelving at my head height andagain about even with my shins.
Ricky’s breath hitched, and I glanced at him in concern. His eyes just cleared my shoulder and his gaze was fixed on a red fleece jacket that was hanging from one of the row of brass hooks that lined the wall under the upper shelves.
He caught my gaze. “Sorry. I just hadn’t realized some of Avi’s stuff would still be here. That’s his jacket.” He jerked his chin at the boots on the lower shelf—one pair of wellies and another pair of hiking boots. “His boots.”
“Do you think all his other belongings are here, too?” I asked, whispering for some reason, as if we were sneaking in and didn’t want to be discovered.
“Could be. He and Oren owned the house jointly, and Oren didn’t return after Avi’s death, so it’s probably something of a time capsule.
Oh god. Rats. There are bound to be rats.
I sighed and flicked the switch next to the door. The pendulum light in the center of the mudroom flicked on. Taryn had promised to make sure the utilities were connected, and she was clearly a person who followed through on her commitments.
