Page 26 of A Sinful Trap

“Trunks and boxes?” Cam kept his face blank, concealing his interest from their innkeeper. “Bailey, any idea who they belong to?”

She peered at them over her fingers. “I’ve still never actually been up there. I’m not a fan of heights, remember? I do know that if it belonged to Pikeson, it left the day he did. He was very attached to his things.”

If those trunks weren’t Pikeson’s or Bailey’s, there was a chance what he was looking for was up there. Waiting. He squeezed Davide’s shoulder in silent communication. “It sounds like a fire hazard. We’ll head back up there this week to go through it and clean it out.”

“You sure you want to? What about the scary ghosties?” Bailey asked sarcastically.

“Don’t be so cynical.” Davide sent her chiding look. “You heard them laughing. I know you did.”

“It could be anything.” She gestured wildly with her hands. “You say it’s crowded. A broken pipe can leak air and sound like music. There could be a bird’s nest behind one of those trunks. Sometimes a spider is just a spider.”

“I didn’t see a spider.”

No, but she had, Cam remembered. A giant one had chased her into his arms. Twice. This time, he’d seen it before he caught her. “Are you saying the innkeeper who gives discounts for psychic readings doesn’t believe in magic?” he asked blandly.

She stared at him a moment before bursting out laughing. “You have no idea how much I believe, Boots. I’ve seen things that would straighten your Davide’s beautiful hair. One of my best friends is a professional psychic. She’s been here plenty of times, but she never sensed a thing.”

Davide smirked. “You don’t believe in ghosts but psychics are real?”

“I believe in proof,” she corrected, the stubborn tilt of her chin irresistible. “And Kaya proves it more often than I’d like her to. It’s horrible, really. You brush by her and… Well, you’d have to meet her to understand. She’s a huge buzzkill at parties, and it really narrows down her dating pool, that’s all I’m saying.”

A true seer then, Cam thought. He should avoid her until he had the chance to tell Bailey the truth about what he was himself. “I can only imagine.”

Now Davide was intrigued. “You say she’s been here, but has she ever been in the attic?”

“No, and I’m not going to ask her to hold a séance or anything, so don’t go there.” She studied him. “You still haven’t eaten and you’ve been out in the sun all day. Why don’t we go downstairs so you can sample one of Ava’s sandwiches?”

“Because you think I’m hallucinating? Or are you trying to take care of me, too? I could use a neck pillow.”

“Whatever works for you, D.”

Cam caught the possessive expression on Davide’s face. And something else that shouldn’t be possible. He had to be wrong. Either that, or he needed a hell of a lot more information.

“We’ll meet you downstairs,” he told Davide firmly, hoping he got the message.

“If you keep sending me away, I’m going to start feeling unloved.”

“Sure you are,” Cam said wryly. “I need a minute with Bailey, that’s all. Then we’ll go home for the day.”

Together.

Bailey covered a chuckle with her hand when Davide slapped Cam’s ass as he passed.

“I’ll be back soon, sweet,” he told her. “We’re not finished yet.”

“Promises, promises,” she teased. “Also, be aware that if Mr. Olyphant starts ghostbusting in the middle of the night, I’m blaming you.”

“But will you punish me?” With that and a wink, he jogged down the stairs toward the kitchen, leaving Cam and Bailey alone again.

He couldn’t process what he’d sensed coming from Davide, so he set it aside and concentrated on her. “Do you know how old this inn is?”

“That’s what you want to talk about?” He took an inordinate amount of comfort from the fact that she looked disappointed. “Okay, well, let me put my tour guide hat on. The building itself is over a hundred years old. It was turned into an inn around seventy something years ago? I have the paperwork Pikeson made copies of when he was trying to see if the historical society would give him a write-off.”

Cam slid his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her. “Do you know about the first owners of the inn?”

“The sisters?” Her expression softened. “There are a lot of stories about them, but not a ton of provable information. They turned their inherited house into a bed-and-breakfast when Hollywood started filming all their westerns here. They were extremely successful for two single women alone. So successful that most of the legends about them end sticky. Because patriarchy.”

Damn, she was adorable. “Sticky?”

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