Page 76 of Ghost Walk
“Like Clara’s shawl.” Jamie guessed. “On the tour, you said it was left behind when she was taken.”
“You remember that part? I thought you hated my tours.”
“I remember everything you’ve ever said, slanderous or not.”
Grace shot him another smile. “I’m really glad you’re back, Jamie.”
“I never left.” His misty lips grazed her temple. “I never could.”
“Anyway,” she continued, feeling incredibly happy despite their morbid quest, “yeah. The shawl has gotta have her blood on it. All we have to do is find the darned thing.”
Which was easier said than done. Three hours later, all Grace had accomplished was tiring herself out and making a huge mess. Stacks of books, moth-eaten clothing, tarnished flatware, and old horseshoes were scattered up and down the aisles as she emptied box after box.
“Crap.” She sat back from a container full of tin soldiers and headless dolls, once again finding nothing useful. “This is crazy! Where could they have put the evidence from Clara’s death?”
“Perhaps it’s all gone. It’s been two hundred years, Grace. It could have been destroyed in a thousand different ways.” Jamie crouched down to examine a sword with half a blade. “God knows, everything else down here is falling apart.”
Grace ran a palm through her hair, unmindful of the dirt covering her hands. She was hot and sweaty, her body ached in a million places, and she was coated in a thick layer of cobwebs and dust.
…But she wasn’t giving up.
“No. It has to be heresomewhere.” Her eyes went to the broken saber that had captured his attention. It looked like something Errol Flynn would have swashbuckled with. A new idea popped into her head. “Hang on, they thinkyou’rethe killer, Jamie.”
He snorted. “No shit.”
“Don’t you get it? They think apiratemurdered those girls. They wouldn’t have stored the evidence in the ‘Local Revolutionary History’ section of the basement. They’d have put it with all the other boxes full of ‘Piracy’ stuff.” She bounded to her feet, getting her second wind. “That’s all stacked over here.” She started for a completely different row of shelves. “We just need to…”
Her words ended in a startled gasp as Robert stepped around the corner.
Her ex-boyfriend looked like hell. His normally neatly pressed suit was a rumpled mess, his hair uncombed and greasy. He clearly hadn’t showered since he’d been released from jail. From his red-rimmed eyes and unshaven face, she was guessing he’d been too busy drinking.
And getting fired.
There was a cardboard carton in his hands, which seemed to contain the personal contents of his office. Apparently, the museum board hadn’t been happy with their director being arrested. What would the donors say?
Jamie bit off a vicious oath in Gaelic. “Grace,” his voice was tense, “slowly move away from him, love. Very slowly. Donea set him off.”
Yeah, that seemed like a really good idea. Robert was hanging by a thread.
Grace edged backwards, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to gauge the distance to the door. Too far. God, it seemed waaaay too far.
“You’ve ruined my life.” Robert told her in an eerily calm voice. “Do you know that? You’ve cost meeverything. I don’t even have a job anymore, because of you.”
“Um… That’s a shame. I lost my job, too.” Somehow she didn’t think that was going to mitigate his anger, but maybe they could bond over their unemployment checks.
“Your job wasnothing!” He snapped. “But I was somebody in this town and you took that away!”
“You broke into my house, Robert.” Grace retorted, unable to stop herself. “It wasn’t my fault you refused to accept it was over between us.”
Robert let out a sound of pure rage and heaved the box full of desk supplies at her. “Itwasyour fault!” He roared as she dodged to the side to avoid getting hit with a stapler. “All of it was because ofyou!”
“Donea fucking argue with him!” Jamie stepped in front of Grace, like he simply couldn’t stop himself. “Stay calm. Three steps back is that sword.”
A sword? Was he kidding? Grace wasn’t a frigging pirate. What the hell was she going to do with a sword?
Her dumbfounded expression must not have registered with him, because Jamie kept talking. “It’s broken, but the blade is still sharp. Donea look at it. Just listen to me and I’ll guide you to it.”
She nodded, because she didn’t have a better plan. No way was it going to work, though. Jamie would probably call it pessimism, but it seemed pretty clear to Grace that she was going to be raped and murdered surrounded by spiders and broken dishes and wearing her stupid tour guide dress. Oh God.
