Page 3 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

“I don’t know the full story of the Beach Bum—that’s what I call him.

My theory is that he’s someone who was wandering home after a night out and went the wrong direction.

Like into the ocean wrong direction. If you’re out here at night—especially after a night out at The Haunt and you’ve had a drink or two—chances are you’ll have company.

Footsteps in the sand, following you all the way home.

Some people like to leave him a beer, opened on one of the picnic tables.

That’s how you win him over, according to my friend Nick. ”

A couple of tourists made intrigued noises, and Tristan had to hold himself back from doing the same.

Well, damn. Maybe she didn’t need dramatic flair.

He wanted to know more about the Beach Bum, which was of course a sign of a good storyteller.

Where had Sophie’s stories come from? While he encouraged his employees to riff on the script according to their location, his stories were all based off that first ghost tour script he’d written back in college.

Had Sophie been inspired by the beachside location and made up something ocean related? He wanted to ask her.

No, he didn’t. He was pissed at her. All that talk at the bar about being a local, but there was no way. She had to be new in town, just like he was. Sure, maybe she’d beaten him here by a few weeks, and gotten her tour up and running faster. But Boneyard Key was still up for grabs.

And he was going to grab it. He needed to.

“We’re coming up on the end of the tour now.

” Her voice was bright, cheerful and happy, and it lit something up in Tristan’s chest, almost against his will.

The lamplight bounced off her glasses and made her dark hair shine as it tumbled down her back.

“We’ll head over to where we started, at Hallowed Grounds.

I can see from here that the light is on.

Nick has very generously offered to keep the place open, in case anyone wants any coffee to go.

And as a thank-you for spending some of your evening with me, I have two-for-one drink coupons for The Haunt, right down the street that way.

If you’ll follow me, I can give those out and we can say good night. ”

Tristan knew he should stay in the shadows.

Once the group had crossed the street and gone safely into Hallowed Grounds, he was home free.

But he found himself coming out from behind the ice cream cart and taking a step toward them, wanting to follow them inside.

Wanting to see Sophie again. Get some answers. And maybe another shot at that smile.

But then his phone vibrated in his hip pocket, ruining everything. Tristan’s heart sank when he checked it. So much for talking to Sophie.

“Hey, Dad.” He kept his voice light as he turned his back on Hallowed Grounds, walking quickly toward The Haunt before his voice could carry.

“How’s my investment?” Sebastian Martin wasn’t one for pleasantries.

Tristan took a stab at answering the vague question.

“The condo’s great. I got in around noon, and everything was smooth sailing.

The management company left the key at the office, and the utilities are turned on.

Thanks again for letting me use it while I’m in town.

” He paused outside The Haunt. Once he wrapped up this phone call maybe he’d stop for another beer.

He had a feeling he’d need one. “The wraparound balcony’s to die for, and the living room has these huge picture windows.

Incredible view of the Gulf of Mexico. You’d love it.

” Okay, he was babbling now. Talking about the virtues of Sebastian Martin’s latest real estate holding as though the man was ever going to set foot in this town.

“Good to know,” his father said, but his tone said wrong answer. “But I’m talking about my investment in your company.”

“Ah.” Yeah, that made more sense. And what terrible timing, since Tristan’s mind was still spinning about that. “Well, I’ve hit a little snag.” He looked over his shoulder, where the light in the window at Hallowed Grounds was a bright dot in the darkened street.

“What kind of snag?” His father’s voice sharpened, and Tristan’s spine straightened in an automatic response. He reminded himself that he was twenty-seven and far too old to be grounded, but try telling that to his lizard brain.

“Not sure yet. I’m still trying to figure that out.” Tristan pressed a thumb to the space between his eyebrows, staving off the headache that threatened. Maybe that second beer had been a bad idea, though the more likely cause was this conversation with his dad.

“You better figure it out fast, son. You have until October first, remember.”

“Dad.” A sigh gusted out of him, but sadly the tension in his shoulders remained—also caused by this conversation. “It’s February.”

“I’m well aware. I’m also well aware that I invested in Ghouls Night Out—ridiculous name—after you graduated with your business degree. I gave you five years to turn a profit, and those five years are up on October first.”

“Yes, and—”

But he continued as though Tristan hadn’t spoken. Typical. “That’s when you turn your books over to me, and I judge whether or not you created a viable, profitable business geared toward long-term success, or if you wasted your time on a vanity project that’s gone nowhere.”

“The books are fine, Dad—” That was mostly the truth, so he didn’t feel too bad saying it.

“If it’s the latter, which I strongly suspect it is, I pull my investment. And you come work for me. That was our agreement.”

“Dad.” His voice was approaching a whine, making Tristan sound like a teenager on the verge of being grounded, but dammit, that was how he felt. “You can’t just pull your investment. We’d—”

“You’d never recover.” His father finished the sentence for him. “That’s the point. You shouldn’t need my money anymore. After five years? You should be able to stand on your own.”

“Dad,” he said again, sharply enough that a couple passersby glanced in his direction and his father finally stopped talking. “You know we had a pandemic, right? Remember when the country all but shut down? That kind of killed the momentum. We’re regaining it now, but it’s still…”

“Still rocky. I knew it.” There was a pause. “You have a good brain, son.” His voice had softened. It was still terrifying, but softer.

“Thanks.” That may have been the biggest compliment he’d ever gotten from his father, yet Tristan’s response dripped with sarcasm.

“I hate to see you waste it on this. It’s too much like that theatre crap you did while you were in school.”

“It’s not crap. And neither is Ghouls Night Out.

We’re turning a profit in almost every location, so expanding here in Boneyard Key makes perfect sense.

You should see this place, Dad. This town is made for stuff like this.

Once I get this one established, it’s going to be a real moneymaker.

The books are going to look great by October first. I guarantee it. ”

“Hmph.” His father didn’t sound convinced, but apparently Tristan had pled enough of his case to satisfy him for the night. “Just make sure you take care of the condo. Don’t trash it.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-seven, Dad. My frat boy days are long behind me.” Okay, maybe not that long, but he was old enough to understand property values. The last thing he was going to do was destroy his father’s investment. Either in the real estate market or the ghost tour business.

He needed to make this location work. If his father pulled his investment, then everything he’d been working so hard to build for the past five years would disintegrate like a sandcastle at high tide.

Worse, he’d have to go work for his dad.

And while Sebastian Martin was considered one of the country’s foremost investment bankers, Tristan would make a terrible finance bro.

As much as he hated to admit it, his dad’s call came at a good time.

Because as much as Sophie intrigued him back at the bar and he wanted to get another look at her smile, his mind needed to be on work.

And if she was running a competing ghost tour, well.

She’d just become the enemy. And in business, you don’t flirt with the enemy.

You crush them.