Page 14 of Haunted By You
“Other than the stove and the locks on the windows? Let me make you a list.”
She said it sarcastically, but he didn’t seem taken aback. “Do that. Give me a list, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said, the response automatic, one she’d said a hundred times on her way to the top of her field.
He took a deep drink of his beer, holding her gaze, not even a little deterred. She dared not look away from his dark eyes. Why did he have to be hotandthoughtful? Him, of all people.
He set the glass down on the bar. “You have some visitors today?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What have you heard?” She should have known she couldn’t keep a secret in a small town. “Do you know who they are?”
His eyebrows went up. “Do I know who who are?”
“Deputy Thibodeaux thought kids might be sneaking into my house to scare me. Do you know which kids? Because you might want to let them know to keep their distance.”
His spine had snapped straight as she spoke. “Someone’s been coming into your house?” he demanded.
She frowned, tucking in her chin. “What were you talking about?”
“My mom said she was going to go by today to see you. I was wondering if she’d made it. What wereyoutalking about?”
A different kind of tension took over her chest, and she shifted her weight. “No, I haven’t seen your mom since I’ve been back.”
“So what were you talking about?”
“Just…there have been some weird things going on, so I had Deputy Thibodeaux come out and look over the house to make sure everything was safe. That picture? It was back on the wall when I got home from the bar, and all the lights I’d left on had been turned off, and the lightbulb on the porch was unscrewed. The deputy said it might be kids.”
His scowl had deepened as she spoke. “I don’t know who it could be. We don’t really have a lot of kids in town, to be honest.”
“Then why would he say that?”
“I don’t know. To keep from scaring you, I guess.”
That made her heart trip, because shewasgetting scared. The idea that kids were coming into her house was bad enough, but who else could it be? “What do you think it is?”
“Ah, me, I don’t know.” He braced his hands against the edge of the bar and straightened.
“Ghosts.”
Both of them turned to the man on the barstool next to Samson. The man couldn’t be fifty, but he had the leathery look of someone who had worked outdoors too long. He lifted his beer glass in Erielle’s direction.
“What are you talking about, Pete?” Samson demanded.
“Ghosts. Old man Benoit told me about ‘em. That woman what killed her kids, she was there at your house. Few others. Whole town is haunted, you know. Them pirates what got killed by the British soldiers out yonder.” He waved a vague hand toward the swamp. “You can see the lights out there every now and again.”
She thought about the light she’d seen in her rearview mirror the other night, but brushed the idea aside. Poachers, probably. “What are the lights meant to be?”
“Well, it’s them. The pirates. Your granddaddy knew. He wanted to bring ghost hunters out here.”
Oh, Lord. Her grandfather had told her these stories, had been intrigued by them, but she’d just let him tell the stories. She remembered the delicious thrill of fright his low, somber words invoked as he told her about the pirates in the bayou. She didn’t think he’d believed it, not really.
“Did any ghost hunters actually come?”
“Ah, he never got that far along in his plan, far as I know. ”
“What did he say about the ghosts in Erielle’s place? The Benoit place?” Samson asked.
She glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his tone. Cajuns could be superstitious, but someone close to her age? Most people in her generation had cynicism down to an art form. She didn’t think Samson actually believed in ghosts.
