Page 56 of Murder By the Millions

My French was nearly nonexistent—I’d taken Spanish in high school—but I recognized the wordaccusein her sentence and knew thatJe nemeant “I won’t,” so I breathed easier.

“I’ll be charm personified,” she added and shimmied her shoulders.

“Hello, Patrick,” she crooned as she entered the room.

He was stretching. The hem of his work shirt had risen above the waistband of his jeans, revealing a firm set of abs. Quickly,he lowered his arms. “Hi, ladies.” He shifted the gum he was chewing to the inside of his cheek. “I stopped whistling.”

“Not on our account, I hope.” Tegan used a lusty come-hither voice. “I like when you whistle.”

Patrick’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Actually,” she continued, “I wanted to talk to you about your specialty diet. You’re a raw-food omnivore, I hear.”

Phew. She didn’t lead with mud.

“Meaning you eat raw eggs and raw meat and raw vegetables, but cooked foods and processed grains are a no-no, right?”

He nodded.

“And yet you eat muffins.” She winked at him, and I had to marvel at how perfectly she was acting, having never taken to the stage.

“I have a weakness.” He chuckled shyly.

“Allie tells me you went caving last night,” she said.

Sheesh. Too direct.I held my breath.

“What’s it like?” she continued. “I’ve never been caving.”

His nervousness eased, and he became animated. “It’s, like, so cool. I could take you sometime.” His hands soared through the air. “The bats are amazing.”

“Bats? I love bats.”

Liar.She didn’t like spiders or anything creepy-crawly. Once when we were tweens, we sneaked into an abandoned house. We’d ridden our bikes to get there. Someone had told us ghosts inhabited it. We didn’t encounter any, but we ran into so many cobwebs, our hair was covered with spiders. Tegan screamed and screamed. After I batted the spiders off her and made sure my hair was spider free, we raced home … and never told a soul.

I grinned. “What she means is, she likes Batman.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Patrick’s mouth curved up on one side.

“The comics, not the movies.”

“Ditto. And I like goblins and ghosts—”

“Allie has a ghost kitchen.” Tegan motioned to me.

“I’ve heard of ghost kitchens. Is there really a ghost in yours?” Patrick made an eerieoohsound and wiggled his fingers.

“I sure hope not.”

As if roused by spirits, the bookcase that was separated from the wall to my right pitched forward. I pushed Tegan out of the way. Straight into Patrick’s arms. A split second later the bookcase crashed to the floor. Dust billowed. Tegan eeked.

“Whoa!” Patrick said, holding her tightly. “Did not see that coming. You okay?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, but she wasn’t. She was shaking like a leaf.

Tegan was so spooked, she didn’t press Patrick further about the mud—neither did I—and she elected to stay the night at the inn, supposedly to protect her mother, though I was pretty sure she wanted her mother to comfort her.

After assuring her ghosts didn’t exist at the B&B, nor did any spiders or bats, I went home. But, admittedly, the event had freaked me out. For a long while, I cuddled Darcy to calm myself. Once my nerves were steadied, I started in on the scones and muffins for tomorrow’s delivery to Whispering Winds, a rival bed-and-breakfast to the Blue Lantern. The inn rarely ordered from me, only when their live-in cook was sick or on vacation.