Page 11 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Seven

Even though she wasn’t descended from the Founding Fifteen, everyone seemed to assume that Sophie was psychic or something. That just because Tristan was running a ghost tour and she was running a ghost tour, that she was privy to all his information.

“What do you think of that new ghost tour in town?” Theo Berington turned a page in the file he was going through, keeping his eyes on his work instead of looking over at Sophie.

Smart man, that Theo. He sounded innocent enough, but the question alone made Sophie want to punch a wall.

She’d probably only hurt her hand if she tried.

“It’s started?” She blinked her attention away from her laptop. Not this again. She’d really thought that here, in the back room of Boneyard Books, she’d be able to get away from Tristan and his Instagram-ready ghost tour. Because hiding her head in the proverbial sand would make it all go away.

Theo froze, a deer caught by a hunter, as he looked up slowly. “I don’t know, actually. Soon, though, I think. He came by last week sometime.”

“Great. Did he leave you his business card too?” Another business card, announcing his presence all over town. God forbid he have an actual conversation with her. You do ghost tours, huh? Me too. How about I leave town entirely, get right out of your hair? No, that would be too easy.

“Oh, he did that a while back. But don’t worry.” Theo turned back to his file, a smile curving his lips. “I threw it in the trash after he left.”

Sophie pressed her lips together to hide a smile of her own, but she couldn’t keep it out of her voice. “Good.”

“I sold him a copy of Boneyard Key: A Haunted History , though.”

“What?” Now, that was a surprise. She glanced down at her own copy on the table in front of her.

It was studded with little red flags, one for each inaccuracy.

Sophie had grown up believing this book was a true history of the town.

It was also the reason that she and Theo were here in the Boneyard Key Cultural Center and Museum, which was a fancy way of saying they were in the oversize storeroom in the back of Boneyard Books.

Theo ran both businesses, though the former was less a business and more of a vanity project for him.

History was his jam, and as it turned out, it was Sophie’s too.

For the past few months they’d been going through the book together, chapter by chapter, noting inaccuracies and outright fabrications in the stories chronicled there. Along the way, they’d both noticed stories that were conspicuous in their absence and made note of them too.

Sophie didn’t know what they were going to do with all this information once they were finished compiling it.

There was a part of her that loved the idea of publishing it—a book with her name on it (well, both of their names on it) existing in silent, smug correction next to the one that was filled with lies.

She may not be part of the Founding Fifteen, but she could still leave her mark on this town that she loved so much.

Every time she thought about the hundreds of people over the years that she’d led through the streets of Boneyard Key who had then gone home with their heads full of stories that she now knew were inaccurate, she was a little sick to her stomach.

She’d lied to so many people. Sophie hated lies.

“Anyway,” Theo added. “He mentioned he was planning to do a soft opening in the next week or so. Which seems quick to me, if he was just picking up research books.”

“Bold of you to assume he was actually doing research.”

Theo snorted. “Bet he’s got a hitchhiking ghost story planned.”

A giggle burst out of Sophie, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Maybe a guy with a hook for a hand?”

“Oh, for sure.” Now Theo’s smile was a grin. “Probably lurks under the fishing pier, or some crap like that.” Her giggle became a full-throated laugh, and Sophie found herself regretting those years she’d thought that Theo Berington was an aloof asshole. He was just quiet. And particular.

Theo turned back to his work, but Sophie’s gaze wandered around the room at the displays and framed photographs that composed the museum.

There was a grouping of pictures of the old graveyard out on Cemetery Island, showing its condition over the years.

Her gaze snagged on a painting on the wall right over their heads.

Well, right over Theo’s head. He always chose the chair underneath this painting.

It was a portrait of a woman wearing a high-necked dress, a cameo at her throat.

Her blond hair cascaded in a long swoop over her right shoulder, and her deep blue eyes stared at something in the distance.

“Who’s that?” She indicated the painting.

“I don’t know.” Theo’s face softened as he studied it, his eyes tracing the lines of the woman’s face.

“I wish I did, though.” The words were soft, and Sophie blinked in confusion.

She’d never heard him talk about something—or someone—with so much yearning before.

Was it the unsolved mystery? Or the woman in the painting herself?

He shook his head once, hard, then turned back to Sophie. “It was a donation to the museum. The Monahans found it in the attic when they sold the house and weren’t able to tie it to any of their ancestors, so they thought I might want it for the museum.”

“It fits in here really well.” Sophie moved to his side of the table, peering up at the painting. “What’s that signature there?”

Theo followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s the artist. Niilo James Lewis. I did some research on him. Finnish-American painter in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Mostly portraits. So that all tracks, but doesn’t get me any closer to finding out who she was.”

“Hmmm.” The woman was beautiful, and something in her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. They reminded Sophie a little of Tristan, but she banished that thought as soon as it formed. “She must have lived here in Boneyard Key at some point, right?”

“I’m sure she did,” Theo said. “Maybe back when it was Fisherton. On the original island.”

“Could be.” Sophie’s voice was small. Something about that made her sad. It made her acutely aware of her aunt Alice, and how Sophie was the only descendant she had. Once Sophie was gone, who would remember Aunt Alice? Who would remember Sophie?

“Anyway.” Theo cleared his throat as he turned back to his file.

“I talked to Mrs.Erikson over at Eternal Rest. She has some documentation of the family’s history, dating back to when they bought the motel in the 1930s.

Once I get it I’ll cross-check it with what we have here.

If you remember, Mr.Lindsay said in Haunted History that there wasn’t any activity at all there.

So we’ve got lots of new ground to cover. ”

Sophie nodded. “Something else I’ve noticed? Mystic Crystals.”

“The crystal shop? On the corner there across from Spooky Brew?” He pushed his glasses up his nose, eyes narrowing as he thought. “I don’t think they’re in the book.”

“Exactly.” She flipped through the pages of Haunted History quickly, like an answer would jump out at her.

“A member of that family’s been doing psychic readings in the front parlor there for generations, and it doesn’t get a mention?

Doesn’t that seem suspicious?” She didn’t wait for confirmation; she knew she was right. “I’m going to talk to Aura about it.”

—

But Sophie wasn’t right. There was nothing suspicious at all.

“Sorry, Soph.” Aura shook her head, her dark purple-brown hair swinging down her back, her eyes sympathetic.

“There’s not a lot to tell. My great-great-great-grandma”—she counted off the great s on her fingers—“died in the Great Storm, and she’s stuck around ever since.

I mean, yeah, we monetized it. So there’s always a Keefe doing readings up front.

Right now it’s my mom and my aunt Susie, trading off. ”

“And eventually, it’ll be you.” Sophie knew how that went. The Keefes were one of the Founding Fifteen—descendants of the families that stayed behind after the Great Storm destroyed the original settlement. Those families by and large had psychic abilities that Sophie couldn’t even imagine.

Aura’s smile slipped a fraction. “Yep,” she said. “Eventually.”

“And they’re just…talking to great-great-great-Grandma.”

“Something like that. She’s good at delivering the other-side gossip.”

A loud squawk came from behind Aura, and they both turned their attention to the bright blue-and-gold macaw sitting behind Aura on a high perch.

“Einstein,” Aura said in a chiding voice. “Can’t you see I’m talking?” The bird ducked her head, looking almost shamefaced. “Sorry,” Aura said to Sophie. “She craves attention.”

“I remember.” Einstein had practically been the mascot of their high school class, spending much of the day on Aura’s shoulder, headbutting in a bid for snuggles or attention.

Now the bird climbed from her perch to Aura’s shoulder, and Sophie stretched up on her tiptoes to lean across the counter, stroking the macaw’s beak with a fingertip as she thought of her next question.

“But if that’s been going on for all this time, why isn’t it in the book?”

Aura shrugged. “No idea. That book was written way before our generation. But I know the family was glad to be left out of it. Who knows what kind of relationship my folks had with the Lindsays. My theory…” Aura raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to know my theory?”

“Of course I do.” Sophie straightened up. There was nothing like Boneyard Key gossip; there was always at least one haunting involved. Would this be something she could use? Einstein, missing the attention, shifted his weight from one foot to another, making Aura wince slightly.