Page 10 of Married to Mischief

Knock knock.

Liam and I spring apart so fast I ram my head into the headrest. An older woman stands outside my window scowlingat the two of us beneath bushy gray brows, and I hesitantly roll the window down.

“This isn’t a make out spot,” she snaps.

“Itisquite romantic.” Liam flashes the woman a flirtatious smile and… the woman scoffs. She’s immune! I’ve yet to see it happen, and this brings me so much joy.

“I’m so sorry. My boyfriend got scared of your chickens and needed comforting. I can’t bring him anywhere.” I push open my door and step out next to the woman. I extend my hand. “Serena Cruz.”

The woman stares at me, then my hand, and raises her eyes slowly back to mine. “Betty Powel,” she says, without shaking my hand.

I slowly lower mine. “Nice to meet you. I actually wanted to ask about a woman who lived here many years ago.”

Betty raises an eyebrow. “And who was that?”

“Lydia Hale.”

At the name, the woman’s face softens, and she turns around. “Come on then. You can leave your pansy boyfriend in the car.”

Pansy?I bite back a laugh and glance at Liam, who is fuming. This day keeps getting better and better.

“It’s safer out here, sweetheart.” I talk to him like he’s a baby. “I’ll be back soon.” He narrows his eyes as I hold up the key fob and lock him in the car. “Sucks doesn’t it?” I say, then spin, following Betty to the house.

She doesn’t wait for me and walks straight through the front door. “I’m assuming you’re here for the treasure.”

I stumble over the threshold. “Uh, excuse me?”

“You and everyone else before you.”

I didn’t realize we were that late to the game. “May I ask whotheywere?”

“Didn’t catch names. Not the most civil. One was a real looker though—tall, broad and tan.”

I swallow. There’s no other way to describe my ex, Sebastian. But he’s in prison, so if he came here, it was at least a year ago.

“The last one that came was the worst. Self confident jerk. Always yapping and trying to flirt with me.”

I swallow. Liam’s dad.

“What did they want to know?”

The woman stops in the library and runs her hands over a row of books.

“Where the treasure was, of course. But I don’t know. As if I’d still be living in this blasted cottage with wealth like that.” She tips a book out of its spot on the shelf and walks over to me. “There are some journal entries written throughout this book. I never could make sense of them though.”

She holds out the book and I reach for the old, worn copy ofRomeo and Juliet.

“Keep it. I don’t want it in my house anymore.” She releases it and I barely catch it from falling to the floor.

She can’t be serious. “But it's a limited edition book. This alone is worth a couple thousand.”

“Not with all that blasted writing in the margins.” The woman rolls her eyes. “It’s only been worth thousands in suffering. My grandfather moved into this house when he was a boy. That’s when he learned about the treasure. He became obsessed, but he never found it. Neither will you. But at least I’m done worrying about it.”

I clutch the well-worn and well-loved book to my chest. I worked in a museum for two years. This book is a treasure, and if she truly wants to get rid of it, I’ll take it.

“Are you sure?” I ask, but the words are barely out of my mouth before her lips turn down and her eyes narrow.

“Stop asking questions, girl. And get out of here with that weird boyfriend of yours.”

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