Page 17 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

Be friendly. Be open. Think of all the people you know who’ve been physically attacked by a ghost. Can’t think of any? Yeah, me neither. Spirits just want to know you.

—Evie Oxby, Bluesky

The next morning, Beatrice woke to the sounds of the bed-and-breakfast moving around her.

She stretched, resting in the puddle of sunshine that shone on the foot of the bed.

Something clunked closed, a cabinet maybe, and then two different voices laughed before murmuring words she couldn’t quite make out.

The sounds were so different from the noise of an all-male household, so much more melodious.

When the boys were with her and Grant, the day started with bathroom clattering and shouts about missing items. When it was just the two of them, Grant always got up before the break of dawn and thumped out of the house, on his way either to the golf course or to work.

He’d always said he liked to beat everyone to the office so he could work in peace.

She’d never given that a second thought.

When she’d realized that morning must have been his time with Dulcina (he didn’t stay out late and liked to go to bed early), she’d felt like such an idiot.

The pain that came from thinking about Grant now wasn’t sharp, like she would have guessed it would be. Instead, it was a sickness rising from her gut into her gullet, a roiling mass of anger bigger than anything she’d felt since Naya’s death.

No, no, fuck Grant. He didn’t matter.

(He did. He had. But she couldn’t let him matter. Not anymore.)

Because she was changing everything . Today.

Starting now.

A tap whispered at the door and she opened it to find a silver tray waiting on the rug, beautifully set with a silver carafe of coffee, two different muffins (one chocolate, one poppyseed), a small plate of sliced cheese covered with a linen napkin, and a pot of peach yogurt.

She sat on the bed and ate, surprised by how hungry she felt.

New life, new start.

Staying in this town for a while was a preposterous idea.

It was a huge and bold and terrifying idea, and the worst part was that there was no safety net.

The low gut-roll of fear and elation felt like free-falling into a roller coaster’s descent.

How was she supposed to figure out which emotion was which?

She would figure it out. That was what she did, after all—she figured things out and managed them.

Soon she’d call her father, and figure out exactly what had happened in the past and why he’d lied.

It would all be new information, and potentially overwhelming, so she might wrangle it into a spreadsheet somehow.

Heck, even magic might benefit from a pivot table.

Magic.

Nope. She could almost hear the clang of the mental bars she dropped around the idea.

Later, she might think about things that didn’t exist.

But now, she would explore the town, which was very real.

She left the bed-and-breakfast, walking the streets that slanted and turned, continually winding away from the water and then weaving back again.

She stopped to admire a particularly riotous summer garden, filled with roses and zinnias, only to be shocked that when her eyes focused at the rear of the property, she was looking at the ocean yet again.

Probably, on a small island like this, water views were the norm, not the exception, but she was used to the ocean being in one place, and one place only: to the west. Here, naturally, the town was surrounded by it, and the knowledge rushed through her with a surprising intensity.

It felt nice to be encircled by the sea. No, it was bigger than that. It felt right somehow.

The houseboat that was for sale, according to Minna, the Forget-Me-Knot , kept popping into her mind.

Which was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

She supposed it couldn’t hurt, though, to go down to the marina and look. First, though, when she reached the main street, she stopped at Java Express. She’d had only a quick swallow of the coffee on her breakfast tray, and she needed more caffeine, stat.

The barista with the bushy eyebrows who’d served her two days before was behind the counter again. Fritz, was that their name? They grinned as she entered. “Well, heck, you sure got me good the other day, didn’t you?”

Smiling sheepishly, Beatrice said, “I honestly didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know—”

“I heard . Twins separated at birth? Can’t wait for the Netflix series.” They gave a wave. “I’m Fritz. Jackie of all trades, master of foam.”

She waggled her fingers back. “Beatrice, master of the spreadsheet and lover of caffeine.”

“Extra-hot cappuccino?”

“Good memory.”

“It’s on the house. I figure it’s the least I can do after you almost died sitting outside my coffeehouse. Want a churro?”

That was the cinnamon smell in the air. “I’m okay for now.”

“You sure? They’re your niece’s favorite.”

Beatrice filed away that potentially useful fact. “Truly, I’m good.”

Fritz looked carefully at her. “Really? No aftereffects?”

“Fine.” She vaguely remembered them standing in the small crowd that had formed around her. She remembered the feeling of being pushed before the blade sliced through the air. “Did you… um, did you notice anyone around me? Right before it happened?”

Fritz yanked the levers of the shiny espresso machine. “Nope. Just glad you’re okay. Having to clean up all that blood would have been bad for business.”

“Jesus, Fritz!” The woman sitting at the table nearest them looked horrified. “She’s not going to know you’re joking.”

The woman looked familiar, but it took Beatrice a second to place her. “You’re the bookseller, right?”

Dark brown twists framed the woman’s face, and multiple silver chains hung from her neck. “Sorry I tried to force the book Cordelia ordered on you the other day. You had me pretty confused, too.”

Fritz offered, “Keelia is a good person to know. She knows, like, everything and everyone.”

“Oh, stop.” Keelia flapped a hand.

“Seriously. There are people in town who trust her more than the internet.”

Keelia raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘people,’ you mean you?”

“Can you blame me? It’s easier to call you when I need to know something than to type it into Google. Faster, honestly, because I don’t have to sort through the ad results. Plus, you’re nice.”

“And that is why I let so many of my calls go to voice mail.” But she winked at Fritz and said, “I’m Winnie’s sister. The person you met on the boat?”

“Oh!” While there was no chance of Beatrice forgetting who Winnie was, she wouldn’t have guessed on the first try that Keelia, with her dark skin and brown eyes, would be the sister of the pale psychic who had white-blond curls and an ice-blue gaze.

Half siblings? Adopted? Oh, right. None of her business. “Sure. Yeah.”

“Winnie’s an amazing person, with a real talent I can’t explain, nor do I want to try. It does not run in our family, thank god.” Her gaze sharpened.

Beatrice fumbled with the cup Fritz handed her, tightening the lid. Did Keelia know what Winnie had told Beatrice? “It’s a talent I’m not that familiar with, I guess.”

Keelia’s voice was mild. “She’s setting up a side hustle in the annex of my shop, offering tarot readings and that sort of thing.”

Fritz sounded surprised. “Wait, Winnie’s staying?”

A nod. “She’s decided to start her whole life over.”

Was it in the water here?

“Why hasn’t she come in for coffee yet? Did she mention me?” Fritz bent to glance at their reflection again in the side of the espresso machine.

Keelia barely glanced at them. “Anyway, Beatrice, I know she’d love to see you again.”

“Did she tell you… um…”

“She doesn’t read and tell. But—” Keelia paused. “I know she was pretty shaken up, whatever it was.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” Enough of that—she didn’t want to go there right now. “So. I’m dying to shop at your store. Books are my love language.”

“We’re open nine to six every day.”

Fritz said, “You should do the Book Concierge!”

Keelia shot him a look. “Okay, thanks. But we don’t push strangers into major purchases over coffee, okay, friend?”

They held up their hands. “I’m just saying. If it’s good enough for Oprah…”

“Don’t mind them,” Keelia said with a smile. “They’re my best marketer, but they get a little carried away.”

“Wait, that’s you?” That was why Keelia had been so familiar to her.

Not just from the few seconds they’d talked in the bookstore doorway, but from the bookseller documentary she’d watched a few months ago.

The Book Concierge was a service that, for an eye-watering price, the bookshop (which had looked adorable with its dark wooden shelves and high ceilings) would close the entire store just for you, and the proprietor (Keelia) would spend hours filling bags with books that suited your reading tastes precisely.

Oprah Winfrey, Stephen King, and Jennifer Garner had used the service, and had waxed rhapsodic about it in the documentary.

“That’s me! Let me know if you’d be into it.”

She would . Books were a better escape than anything else in the world. “Sadly, I’m only here temporarily, and the carry-on I brought with me is small.”

“I’m happy to ship, too.” But Keelia’s tone was light. “So, how temporarily? Are you staying with Cordelia?”

“No, I’m at a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Will you move here, now that you’ve found each other?”

I have a life. But really, did she anymore?

“I’m just visiting.” But then, as if her brain hadn’t heard her own mouth, she found herself saying, “Someone mentioned a houseboat for sale in the marina?”

Keelia’s fact lit up. “Oh!”

Fritz said, “That’s Hector. Forget-Me-Knot ’s a sweet little thing, although I’m not sure it’s really the kind of houseboat that leaves her dock. Needs a bit of work, I think. Probably won’t sink, though.”

“No, I’m not going to buy it.” But… maybe she could rent it for a week or two?

The B and B was nice, but a houseboat sounded picturesque.

“If I did stay down there for a little while, what should I be concerned about?” Was there a problem with crime in a place like Skerry Cove?

Meth, of course, might come into play. In a town like this, there was probably a good amount of it—young people got bored everywhere, didn’t they?

Keelia grimaced. “Friday nights can be difficult down there.”

Oh, no, could there be gangs in a place this small?

“Yeah,” agreed Fritz. “Avoid at all costs the southernmost boathouse on Fridays after six.”

This was exactly what she needed to know. “Tell me.”

“Cranky Al’s ukulele jam. It used to be pretty mellow, but since he invited the accordion players, it’s been a mess down there.”

Were they kidding? Beatrice couldn’t tell. Were they teasing her?

Keelia shook her head. “Right? They sure screw up the parking down there. For hours. I never knew there were so many accordion players in the whole world, let alone here in our little corner of the world.”

Beatrice looked at Fritz. “You’re not kidding.”

They fist-bumped her. “Welcome to Skerry Cove.”

“Seriously, I’m not buying a boat.”

Keelia didn’t look convinced. “I recommend earplugs.”