Page 51 of Too Sinful to Deny
“In town?” He swiveled to face her. “Where in town?”
“In the sand behind the buildings, for one.” Susan wracked her brain and had another flash of insight. Of course. There were no missing children—only a missing box. “The grave garden! I mean, the gravesite. In the rock garden. At Moonseed Manor. Someone has definitely been digging there, too. Which means the box could be anywhere.”
Dead Mr. Bothwick rose a few inches off the ground in excitement. “You said you know where to get hold of a shovel?”
“Er, actually what I said was, they’d searched themselves and couldn’t find whatever it is they’re looking for.”
“No, no, no.” Dead Mr. Bothwick’s features blurred with each shake of his head. “They don’t want tofindanything. They want to keep everythinghidden. I’m running out of time. Without that box...” He snapped into focus. “We’ll have to dig it up. Tonight.”
“We’ll what?”
“You’llhave to, that is.” He nodded slowly. “You were right. I can’t do this without you. Someone human will need to open it once we’ve dug it up.”
A ball of ice formed in the center of her stomach. “W-where am I digging?”
“The rock garden, of course. At Moonseed Manor.”
Dig amongst the graves? Was he barmy? She wasn’t stepping foot anywhere near that garden of forgotten bones, tonight or any night. One ghost at a time was bad enough.
“Er, I’m afraid that one’s going to be a ‘No, thank you.’” She tried for a smile and failed. “But I’m sure there’s something else—”
He was already shaking his head. “It’s the only way.”
“There aredead peoplethere! What if I dig up a corpse? Anunhappyone?”
Dead Mr. Bothwick did not seem to care. After all, he was dead, too. And not particularly happy. What was one more ghost to him? Susan tipped her face to the murky sky and considered screaming. Or tearing her hair out. Or both.
“Without your help,” he said softly, “I will never be able to fulfill my mission. I need you.”
Argh. That’s what she was afraid of. She’d have to find a shovel... and pray she didn’t get caught digging.
Chapter 20
Evan hauled the old rowboat ashore and hid it upside down in its usual place—right out in the open. Nobody else was fool enough to take a tiny speck of a watercraft like that out on waves as vicious as these. But he’d needed to think, needed to release pent-up energy in some way other than chasing down Miss Stanton and pinning her to a wall. Much as he’d have preferred the latter.
He trudged back toward town with his hands in his pockets. His arms were a pleasant sort of heavy from all the exercise, his back and shoulders just as tired as he was. Perhaps he’d stop by Sully’s before heading up the sheer cliff leading to home. Have some laughs, and a pint of whatever swill was on tap this week.
Wait. What was happening up ahead? Evan paused at the edge of town, far enough away he doubted he’d be noticed, yet close enough to have a reasonably good lay of the land. Gordon Forrester, by all appearances, was angling for a lay of his own.
The holier-than-thou magistrate had one foot in the sand and the other on the second step of the dress shop porch. He had his arms crossed over his bent knee as he leaned forward in conversation with Miss Dinah Devonshire. Whom the magistrate no doubt imagined as pure and self-righteous as himself. They made a pair, all right. Evan hoped Forrester did succeed in winning Miss Devonshire’s obsessive attentions.
Invite her to the damn assembly,Evan channeled in Forrester’s direction. For all that’s holy, get her out of my hair.
There was no chance in hell that Evan would be caught dead at that stupid assembly. Bath was just far enough away that they’d be forced to stay the whole weekend. Besides, he held no interest in restorative waters that couldn’t be distilled into something with a little more punch.
Miss Devonshire’s high-pitched jabber assaulted Evan’s eardrums, even at this distance. Forrester, apparently deaf to chipmunk frequency, merely inclined his head toward her and smiled.
Perhaps Evan would be better off not walking any farther into view. He could wait to have lukewarm ale another day, if it meant he might finally be wriggling free from Miss Devonshire’s talons. The last thing he wished to do was inadvertently catch her eye and ruin everything Forrester was working toward. Although why anyone would want to court a woman—any woman—remained beyond Evan’s comprehension.
He dropped to the sand and leaned back on his elbows to wait. And watch. Hopefully Forrester would try to steal a kiss, because then Evan would run forward screaming, “Saw you! Saw you!” and compromise Bournemouth’s two most upstanding citizens right then and there.
A figure appeared on the horizon.
What started out as a small dot in the distance was looking more and more like the delectable Miss Stanton. Gesticulating anxiously and deep in discussion with herself, as was her wont. Evan wished he found her quirks alarming instead of intriguing. Perhaps if she’d just froth at the mouth a bit he could finally get her out of his head.
He wasn’t the only one to notice her steady, hip-swaying approach. Forrester nearly broke his neck turning to watch her. As it was, the magistrate lost his balance and half-fell, half-leapt from the porch.
Based on the scowl contorting her typically wrinkle-free face, Dinah Devonshire was not amused by this turn of events. Neither was Evan.
