Page 6 of Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2)

CHAPTER SIX

As far as Nigel could tell, the diner was the only restaurant in Marrow. That was probably why they went back there to eat and regroup after leaving the library.

Not because Oscar wanted to see his old flame Josh again.

The diner was a bit busier today, though Josh still found time to pop out of the kitchen and greet them. They chose a table well away from the other customers; in this small a town, word would likely get back to Scott if his well-known and popular son was overheard talking about ghosts.

Oscar had been unusually quiet ever since the library, though he’d put on his normal charming smile for Josh. “Are you all right?” Nigel asked as they sat down.

“I’m fine,” Oscar said.

Nigel arched a skeptical brow at him, but let it go. Taking out his notebook, he said, “I’ve created a timeline from the articles we found.”

The cashier/waitress—Kayla, that was her name—carried a tray with four plastic restaurant cups on it. “Three sweet teas and a water with lemon,” she said.

Chris held up their hand. “I’m the water.”

She retreated again. Nigel took a sip of his tea, which was so thick with sugar a hummingbird could have drunk it. Oscar squeezed lemon into his, saying, “Let’s hear it, then.”

Nigel cleared his throat. “Cloven Oak Distillery was founded in 1872 by Ivan Corbett—which we already knew, of course. At the time, it was the largest employer in Marrow. Apparently there wasn’t even a town here before, just an unincorporated area, but the distillery drew people from all over to work at it.”

“Wow.” Oscar looked surprised. “So my ancestor was responsible for the town existing?”

“Pretty rad,” Chris put in.

“Corbett ran the company until his death in 1897,” Nigel went on. “His son, Edwin Corbett, took over from him, and continued on until he died in 1922. His oldest son then did the same, dying in 1947.”

Oscar let out a low whistle. “Every twenty-five years, like clockwork.”

Nigel blinked. “Oh—I hadn’t noticed.”

“Leave it to Oscar to figure out numbers,” Tina said.

Oscar’s lip twitched, as though the ghost of a smile tried to push through in response. “And there were twenty-five years between 1947 and 1972. Mamaw didn’t die, not then, but…”

A chill that had nothing to do with the wintery weather settled into Nigel’s bones. “It can’t be a coincidence. Did anything happen to that side of your family in…” he paused to do the math “1997? You mentioned a cousin who died while visiting—what year was that?”

Oscar rubbed at his forehead. “Julie. I don’t remember. I was pretty young. I mostly remember all the adults being upset, mom crying. She was buried in her home state, so we didn’t go to the funeral.”

Kayla picked that moment to return with their orders. Once she was gone again, Tina said, “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but 2022 is twenty-five years after 1997. And it’s still 2022 for a few more days. Maybe nothing happened in 1997, but if it did…”

“It’s due to happen again,” Oscar said. “Fuck.”

Nigel had picked up his pepperoni roll, but now he set it down again, all appetite gone as fear set in. It was already December 28—if there was due to be another death, it would happen soon.

Their visit had brought Oscar to the vicinity of something that wanted to kill him.

“We should leave Marrow until next year,” he said quickly. “At least until after New Year’s.”

Oscar shook his head. “If we assume something dangerous is going to happen in the next few days, Dad could be a target as well.”

“Then you have to try and convince him to leave too.”

Tina dragged her fry aimlessly through the ketchup, making abstract patterns. “He won’t even listen to Oscar about ghosts. If we start telling him he’s going to fall victim to a curse before New Year’s…”

“He’ll never listen,” Oscar agreed.

Nigel pressed his palms against the tabletop. He wanted to grab Oscar and drag him away from this place and its ghosts. Away from his family and whatever ‘curse’ might be stalking them, and to hell with Scott if he was too stubborn to save himself.

But Oscar wouldn’t abandon his family if he thought there was the slightest chance they might actually be in peril.

Damn it.

“How did they die?” Oscar asked. “The Corbetts who died at the distillery, that is.”

Nigel referred to his notes. “Ivan was crushed when some of the barrels in the aging warehouse fell on him. Edwin was electrocuted in the powerhouse, and the grandson, Jeff, broke his neck when he fell from a catwalk in the distilling room.”

“Barbara sensed a presence in there, remember?” Chris asked. “And she was talking to someone in the aging warehouse when something made her want to leave. Did Ivan threaten her for some reason?”

“Yeah.” Oscar frowned. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions about Ivan yet. As for Jeff, he must have been my great-great uncle. The one Barbara’s dad had a falling out with.”

“He was.” Nigel flipped to a page where he’d drawn a family tree and slid it over to Oscar. “I was able to piece together some marriage announcements and obituaries. Jeff Corbett died without ever marrying, but I couldn’t find out much about the cousin who inherited the property from him, no doubt because that branch of the family had moved away.”

“Would your parents know more?” Chris asked Oscar. “Maybe if you said you’ve gotten into genealogy, you could find out something.”

“Maybe,” Oscar said. He took a sip from his tea, seemingly lost in contemplation for a moment. Then he looked up again. “Mamaw thought the spirits of our ancestors might be trapped inside the distillery where they died. Sure as hell something was in there when she investigated. And if there’s a curse, it’s due to strike again in the next few days.”

“Agreed,” Nigel said cautiously, hoping against hope he was wrong about what Oscar was about to say.

He wasn’t. Determination filled Oscar’s brown eyes, and his back straightened. “This place has been taking people every twenty-five years, destroying their lives one way or another. I’m going to put an end to it, and I’ll need all of you to help me do it.”