Page 52 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Thirty-Seven

Tristan and Nick lingered at the door of The Cold Spot, in the way that men did when they had something emotional to say, but didn’t want to say it.

Inside the bar, Vince had been effusive as he’d handed Tristan a farewell to Boneyard Key beer on the house. “Come back anytime,” he’d said. “I need more people like you who know how to sing on karaoke nights. I can’t do it all myself!”

Now, outside, Nick cleared his throat. “I have to say, I’m sorry to see you go. Got used to you being around.”

This was practically gushing sentiment, coming from Nick. And Tristan could read between the lines. He wasn’t just talking about himself. Tristan nodded slowly. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I really loved it here.”

Nick gave a firm nod, then stuck out his hand. “Been good getting to know you, man. Have a safe trip back up north.”

“Thanks.” Nick’s handshake was firm and sincere. “Would you…ah…” Tristan wasn’t sure how to ask. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask.

But Nick could read between the lines too. “I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry.” His half smile was kind. “Been doing it for a long time now.”

“Thanks,” Tristan said again.

Another awkward moment of standing around, then Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “Safe travels.” Then he was gone, walking down Beachside toward the fishing pier and downtown.

It was the only road into town, so Tristan followed.

Golden hour was setting in, sunlight streaming through the Spanish moss that hung from the live oaks that lined this part of Beachside.

He took his time, walking slow, saying goodbye to all the spots in Boneyard Key that had touched his heart.

The fishing pier, with its view of Cemetery Island—he never had gotten around to checking it out.

That little side path, where something that definitely wasn’t a tree root had tripped him.

He’d never gone down there again after that night. Best to let sleeping ghosts lie.

By the time he got to Cassie’s house, Nick had already gone inside. Tristan lingered at the gate, smelling the cabbage roses that grew up around the picket fence. This had been the best setting he’d ever used for his pirate story, and he wasn’t likely to ever find a better one.

He wouldn’t need to, he remembered with a jolt. That part of his life was over now.

He mentally sent a farewell to Sarah Hawkins, who was somewhere inside Cassie’s house, and kept going.

Most of the souvenir shops were already closed, because of course they were.

He let himself rant internally one more time about the ridiculous business ethics some of these places had before continuing on.

His stomach growled, reminding him that The Cold Spot didn’t have a menu, and he still needed to eat something.

There was only one place he’d want to go for a last meal here in Boneyard Key.

Tony nodded at Tristan as he walked into The Haunt for what would be the last time. “Usual?”

“Please.” Tristan took his usual barstool—he’d been here long enough to have a usual barstool—and fiddled with the coaster that Tony had placed in front of him.

He’d just come from a farewell beer at The Cold Spot with Nick and Vince.

Maybe they were only being kind because he was leaving town, but it was nice to know there was no animosity there, even though he and Sophie were no more.

The next test was Tony. Would his beer be half foam? Would the majority of the oysters on his plate have gone bad? Tristan was pleasantly surprised to find that his beer was crisp and cold, and the oysters couldn’t have been fresher.

“Heard you’re out of here.” Tony wiped down the bar to Tristan’s left and straightened the salt and pepper shakers.

Tristan squeezed a wedge of lemon over his oysters and picked up the Tabasco. “Good news travels fast, I guess.”

“Nah.” Tony tossed the rag under the counter. “You’re one of the good ones. Sorry to see you go.”

“Thanks.” He took a sip of his beer to clear away the choked feeling in his throat. This was probably the biggest show of emotion that he’d ever seen from Tony. The guys in this town—at least the ones he’d met—were not particularly expressive.

The oysters were, as usual, excellent. Add that to the list of things he was really going to miss about this town. Tristan turned down a second beer—he’d already had two, and still needed his head clear this evening—and headed home.

Tristan’s father’s condo looked exactly as it had the moment he’d first walked in all those months ago: stark white walls, stainless-steel appliances, and white leather, steel, and glass furniture to match.

There was a new seashell in the middle of the glass coffee table.

The original one hadn’t survived the storm.

The other difference was that retractable hurricane shutters had been installed. Tristan liked to think of that as his contribution to the place; Sophie couldn’t be expected to rescue every single person who might stay here.

Sophie. It had been two weeks since he’d walked out her door, and one week and six days since she’d told him not to come back.

He’d stuck it out through two more weekends of ghost tours, his trusty top hat helping him get into character when all his nerves were on edge, hoping he wouldn’t run into Sophie and her tour, while also wanting nothing more than a glimpse of her.

Eric had programmed the site to stop taking reservations for the Boneyard Key location after the last weekend in September, so Tristan was done with all that now.

The movers had come the day before to collect his boxes, and tomorrow morning he’d take the world’s longest Uber ride to the nearest airport.

He was about to leave Boneyard Key the way he’d arrived: with no one noticing.

There was one last stop he had to make, one last thing he needed to do before he left.

He tapped the edge of the sealed manila envelope on the kitchen counter, and the sharp sound echoed off the bare white walls.

It made him remember the warm, cozy nest that was Sophie’s place, and there was that ache in his chest again.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, bringing him out of his gloomy thoughts. He gave the phone a wry smile as he looked at it. Thank God for Eric.

“How you holding up?” The fact that Eric could even ask that, could even be sympathetic, when Tristan’s failure had cost them both their jobs, spoke volumes about what a good friend he was.

“I’m okay,” he lied. He let the manila envelope drop back to the counter. “Did you send the final report to Dad yet?”

Eric shook his head. “It’s not due till October first. Today’s the twenty-ninth.”

“But everything’s accounted for. Shouldn’t we just rip off the Band-Aid, send it in?”

“Nah. Screw him. October first is the deadline; he gets it at four fifty-nine on the first.”

Petty till the end. Tristan huffed out a laugh.

“At least we have the next month to wind down everything. I’ll send the emails out to all the locations on the first, let them know that they have to operate independently after Halloween.

” Man, he’d really been looking forward to seeing what Boneyard Key did for Halloween.

Bet it was epic. “We’ll tell them all they can keep the scripts too. Fuck it.”

“We can put something a little more formal in place than ‘fuck it, keep the script.’?” Eric sighed. “Listen. You did the best you could. Besides, you’ll be okay. Your dad’s got something lined up for you.”

“Don’t remind me. And don’t worry; I’ll have him bring you in somewhere too.

” While the possibility of working in the inner circle of a finance company sounded exciting to a spreadsheet-oriented guy like Eric, Tristan was less than enthused.

He thought about the future that waited for him.

The suits. The meetings. Long days spent indoors.

Long nights spent working late, instead of walking around small towns, telling stories about pirates and their lovers.

Not a lantern or frock coat in sight, much less a top hat.

God, it sounded depressing.

Eric changed the subject. “You give it to her yet?”

“Not yet.” He picked up the envelope again. “I’m being a chickenshit.” An easy thing to admit to his best friend.

“Well, knock that off. Put on the top hat. That always gives you confidence.”

“Oh yeah. It’ll look great with my shorts and flip-flops.”

After hanging up, Tristan turned the envelope over and over in his hands as he watched the sun set over the water. He was really going to miss this. He was going to miss Boneyard Key. He was going to miss Sophie.

He let out a sigh. Talk about ripping off the Band-Aid.

Envelope in hand, he strode out the front door of the condo before he could change his mind. The walk from his door to Sophie’s was about ten steps, but it felt like an eternity. One more deep breath to try and calm his racing heart, and he knocked on her door.