Page 54 of Mourner for Hire
After my third round of cornhole, I’m all peopled out.
“Connor?” I lightly touch his shoulder. “I’m going to be right back.”
He nods and immediately returns to his conversation with Jenna. I probably could leave and walk all the way to the cottage and he wouldn’t even notice for hours. Connor is sweet, and I’ve appreciated this night, but socializing with the living isn’t really my specialty anymore.
I glance back at the picnic table and see Annabelle sitting with Marylou, Sully, Bernie, and Carlos. She’s laughing, tilting her head and listening to whomever is speaking. If I were seeing her for the first time, I wouldn’t know she’s a ghost. Her laughter fades, and her smile drops briefly, a tired, almost sad expression in her eyes.
I blink away. I don’t have the stamina to ask about her feelings in the afterlife. I barely have the stamina to reconcile my own feelings.
When I reach the end of the cobbled street, I slip off my Jesus sandals, sling them in my fingers, and walk toward the water. The grains of sand have absorbed the coolness of the night, making chills run up my spine while the salty wind of the ocean whips through my hair. I walk until the soft sand turns hard, dense, and wet. The cold ocean water tickles my toes before retreating back into the abyss.
The ocean is intimidating at night—black and inky with no signs of life and roaring loud enough to drown out every sound from the town party. It’s calming, too, to have something so large drown out all my thoughts.
I breathe in the salty air, contemplating heading up the beach to the cottage instead of saying goodbye. I’m tired and lonely, and I have to be up at eight to buy a shell necklace from the farmers market in the morning. All I want is a cup of tea and a warm blanket.
The thought of hot tea tips the scales. I turn to start walking south to the cottage and am met with the shadowy figure of Dominic Dunne.
“Here to murder me?” I ask when my heart recovers.
“Thinking about it,” he mutters, tossing a shell into the ocean.
My gaze follows as it plunges into the retreating wave with a plunk. The scowl on his face and the way he seems to hate me would suggest he is fully capable of homicide, but it slowly morphs into an unintentional smirk and I can’t help but laugh a little, remembering who he was the night we met.
“Maybe next time,” I say and start walking again. I know he doesn’t want to talk to me. There’s no point in pleasantries, so I get straight to the point. “I’m not going to take the money.”
“Are you going to donate it to some dog shelter?”
“No,” I answer, then tilt my head, considering. “That’s not a bad idea, but I was going to give it back to you.”
His expression is cold, eyes ablaze. “You think I’m pissed about the money?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. I mean, I assumed… It’s a lot of money, and you don’t know who I am, and I just thought?—”
“How dense are you?” he grits out through his teeth. “It’s the principle of it, Vada. You weaseled into my mom’s life; she put you in her will, you’re going through her stuff, and now you’re just…around.”
Words freeze on my tongue. I can’t be honest and tell him I wanted to walk away but his mother’s ghost is going to haunt me until I do what she says. And I certainly don’t think he’ll entertain any notion of me defending my profession.
“I—”
“And now, you’re dating Connor!” he bellows.
I squint at him in the moonlight.
“It’s not a date. He just invited me to the Apple Festival, and by the looks of that street, I would have been the only one around who wouldn’t have attended.”
He shakes his head. “Shellport sure knows how to throw a party. I just didn’t think you’d come to it.”
I nod once. “Well, I’m sorry I did. I had no intention of ruining your night.”
I start to walk away but his words interrupt my steps.
“You didn’t.” The pause leaves me almost hopeful that his guard his crumbling. That is, until he adds, “Careful, though. Connor is known for serenading the most unsuspecting women.”
If I didn’t know him better, I’d say there was a smile in his warning.
I scoff lightly. “With what? The joys of living in a small beach town?”
“No. A guitar,” he answers humorously.
