Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 02 - How to Blackmail a Ghost (11 page)

Isabelle appeared at the exit promptly at ten minutes after seven in the evening with the sun a ball of brilliant red on the western horizon. I jogged over to her with a bright smile on my face. “Isabelle, hello.”

“Good evening, Libby. Did you have an appointment at the hospital?” Doubt shaded her question. Her reception wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t cold or unkind either. I thought back to the time she’d told her brother he should not date me and wondered if I had somehow misinterpreted her meaning. Well, she never went out of her way to chat with me, and she dismissed me each time we came into contact with an excuse about being busy. What else could I think? Regardless, I determined she would not put me off.

I fell into step beside her as she walked toward the major street. “No, I was in the area for other reasons, and then I thought why not meet you? We haven’t had much time to chat. We both have so much going on, and since Clark and I are friends…”

I had no idea how I should complete that sentence. I didn’t want to insinuate Clark and I were dating or that it could be more. She must know by now Clark hadn’t contacted me for another date, nor had I sought him out. If anything, she might think I had brushed off her brother.

“Friends,” she repeated, not a question but not an acknowledgement either. Isabelle seemed to like keeping me guessing. She wore a smile on her face so like Clark’s, but feminine and pretty. I sensed a reserve as well.

“Yes, to tell the truth, I wanted to help him with the investigation into Sadie Barnett’s murder.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows rose. “Why would you want to do that?”

“It’s the right thing to do. I love our little town, don’t you? It would be a shame if crime of this nature took root, and Summit’s Edge became less of the haven it’s been for years, cut off in a sense from the bigger cities.”

She seemed to consider it. “Yes, that is possible.”

“What is?”

She looked into my eyes. “Darkness to take root and breed more.”

I felt sick. While Isabelle had said darkness, my mind insisted on interpreting it as Death. I glanced around us and then up at the sky. I had no wish to be out when the sun set. “Isabelle.”

“Yes?”

“Were you at the park the day Sadie died?”

The woman’s smile broadened even more, and amusement crinkled her eyes. “Are you questioning me as a suspect in her murder?”

“No, of course not,” I rushed to assure her. “I’m just wondering if you saw anything that might help Clark.” Throwing her brother’s name in might help. Isabelle protected Clark like a mama bear looked after her cub.

“No, I don’t believe I saw anything.” Somehow, I didn’t think Isabelle contemplated it at all. She placed a finger to her lips, and her gaze turned thoughtful. “I did assist Sadie by manning her booth.”

I gasped. “She had a booth?”

“Yes, this year she decided she would sell some of the wears from her shop. We had quite a few customers, actually. The tourists seem to love handcrafted items, and Sadie’s shop specialized in them. I don’t want to be insensitive to the family, but I’m thinking of negotiating with them for the purchase of Sadie’s shop.”

This was news. “But you’re a nurse.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll give it up to run a consignment shop?”

“Not exactly.”

She seemed reticent to tell me more, so I took a new tactic. “Is that why you were over near the hardware store?”

Isabelle stopped walking to face me. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Libby.”

I held up my hands. “No, I’m not saying… I just wondered…” I fumbled for words, anything that could lower her suspicion and get her to confide in me. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re guilty at all. Please don’t think I mean that. It’s just that Ken said—”

“What did Ken say?”

I had no choice but to tell her about his indicating she had a secret. Isabelle’s mouth tightened for a moment. I continued, determined to obtain useful information since there was no turning back now.

“I saw you the other night near the shop. You were carrying a large bag, and well, you looked around you as if you worried someone might see you. What were you doing?”

Isabelle said nothing for a good minute, and I waited in silence, hoping to prod her without words. At last, she tilted her head to the side and swatted at me with one hand—a swat but no connection. “Don’t be silly, Libby. Now, if there’s nothing else, I really must be going. I have to pick up a few groceries before I go in for the night, and Clark’s dinner can’t be late, or he’ll be even grumpier than he usually is. Good night.”

I opened my mouth to ask her to hold on, but she whisked away with a determined step and disappeared around a corner. Rather than run after her, demanding she answer my questions, I let her go. I was not a fool. Isabelle Givens knew more than she let on. I couldn’t say with confidence she had nothing to do with Sadie’s death and my blackmail letters, but if she were just scouting Sadie’s store that night and nothing else, she would have said so. More than ever, I wanted to find out the truth.

Chapter Eleven

Monica and I sat at my kitchen table, her drinking coffee as usual, and me with a cup of tea in front of me, more for comfort and a sense of normalcy than anything else. She chattered on about her day and the customers at Gatsky’s. I listened with half an ear, my thoughts on Isabelle. When Monica frowned at me, I snapped out of my reverie and tried to pay attention.

“How are things with the new girl at the library?” I asked. “Is she catching on?”

“To how monotonous it is? Yes.”

“Monica.”

She shrugged and chuckled. “Well, she’s already figured out she can do her nails and send out several emails via cell phone in the time it takes Jane to return from lunch.”

“Probably more than that,” I said, commiserating.

“Depends on her online social life.”

I made a noise of agreement. “I talked to Isabelle today.”

“So you did catch up to her?”

I nodded and shared all that I had learned. Monica listened intently as she drained her cup.

“I wonder what she thinks she’ll do with that shop, but I don’t blame her for wanting to let go of nursing—except for the money, of course. Customer service can pluck your last nerve, and if they’re sick on top of it, it’s the worse.”

I shook my head. “Okay, Monica, you don’t want to be a nurse. Got it. Is Isabelle’s job change really the issue here? She’s hiding something. I just know it.”

“And it has something to do with you.”

I started, fear closing my throat. “Why would you say that?” My voice came out squeaky. Monica patted my hand and rose to wash both our cups.

“You said yourself she was over near the shop.”

“Mine isn’t the only one on Main Street.”

“She’s got it out for you since you dumped her brother.”

“I didn’t dump him, and there is no evidence that she ‘has it out’ for me. She didn’t seem angry at all. Distant, yes, but not angry.”

Monica turned from the sink and leaned on it. “Okay, if Isabelle doesn’t have it out for you, then she’s still got something going on. Ken noticed it. You did too, and she laughed it off. When you saw her, she wasn’t in the same block as Sadie’s consignment shop. The only place open on that street that time of night is the pool hall. Gatsky’s was closed, and she never goes there anyway. Isabelle likes to cook at home for her and the chief.”

“That’s true.”

“And what was with that bag?”

I thought back to it. “Yeah, when I mentioned it, she stiffened like she hoped I wouldn’t press.”

“Maybe she had a dead body in it.”

I laughed. “In a bag she had slung over her shoulder? It wasn’t that big.”

“Cut up?”

“Monica, you’re being silly.”

“Okay, well I say follow her some more. She’s a slippery one, but she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.” My friend winked at me. Only Monica could make my being a ghost an adventure.

We chatted some more, and then Monica cried out, staring at something behind me. I turned to find Ian standing in the doorway of my kitchen. Monica pressed a hand to her chest, gasping.

“I didn’t hear you come in. You were so quiet,” she complained. Then she squinted at him. “How
did
you get in?”

Ian didn’t hesitate or flinch at the suspicion in Monica’s tone. “The door was unlocked.”

I knew that was untrue, but I said nothing. In fact, I hadn’t stirred from the moment I laid eyes on his handsome face. I recalled the last time we were together and my realization, both of myself and of him. In a way, Ian had saved me more times than I could remember, and what I felt for him wasn’t gratitude. I knew the difference, just as I knew my affection for Clark—aside from him being a good man—stemmed from guilt.

Ian had no business barging into my home unannounced, but then I blinked into his home on a regular basis. He had never asked me not to. I vowed at that moment to respect his privacy better.

As I pondered my relationship with Ian, Monica glanced back and forth between us, and quirked the side of her mouth up. “Oh, I see.”

Alarm rose in me. “It’s nothing, Monica.”

A grin exploded over her face, and she turned her back to Ian to wink at me. “I will get out of your way.” I protested, but she leaned over to kiss my cheek and whispered, “I guess the chief never really had a chance, huh?”

I grumbled, but she giggled and swept from the kitchen, calling out a “good night” as she left. I shook my head, not meeting Ian’s gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

He took a step into the kitchen, and I winked out of view. Although he knew where I hovered, I felt safer out of sight. At my change, Ian paused, and I felt his gaze burning into me. “I wanted to tell you what I learned,” he said, and after a beat continued. “I did not think you would come to my house.”

He was right. I fully intended to avoid him for a while. I should have known Ian wouldn’t let our last visit lie.

I faced him. “Tell me what?”

“Sharon Roache is pregnant.”

“H-How do you know?” I didn’t want to ask the question, but it bubbled up inside me and erupted on its own. “Is it yours?”

“No. It is not.”

I waited for more, like him saying Sharon having his child was impossible. I preferred the reason to be he had never had any contact with her. Not that I thought he did since Ian tended to stay to himself, but I knew very little about the man other than his name and that he drank blood. At the least, I expected him to inform me he could not produce children. I knew of several TV movies that broke this rule regarding vampires.

I made myself visible and drew closer to him. He watched me with the same intensity he had the last time I’d visited him.

“Ian, how do you know?”

“I took a walk.”

That was his way of telling me he went out to feed. He used the terminology to spare my feelings, which I found interesting because he could be blunt. From the beginning, he never apologized for what he was, and he had even said so to me. He didn’t feel a need to explain away his existence or his activities. For him to behave almost gently with me, well, I couldn’t prevent my heart from responding. I should know better and suppress such warmth.

“You ran into her?” I asked.

“I did.”

“And you sensed it?”

He shifted where he stood, and I concluded it was the extent of Ian showing discomfort with the topic. On my behalf, not his. “I…
tasted
it.”

I cringed. I didn’t want to know what a pregnant woman’s blood tasted like. For that matter, I had no interest in anyone else’s. Just the thought made me want to change the subject, but if Sharon was pregnant, what did that mean for the investigation? I forced myself to calm down and think rationally. Was Ian right? He could notice the presence of certain hormones in her blood. Maybe not
what
they were but
that
they were.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Ian, tell me you stopped when you realized. You didn’t drink her blood, did you?”

He appeared offended. “I do not drink from pregnant women. The taste is not to my preference.”

“Of course
that’s
why,” I said with a sarcastic edge to my tone I had stolen from Monica.

He blinked at me unconcerned, and I began to pace the kitchen. To my knowledge no rumors had spread about Sharon seeing anyone. Dating and the state of marriages were the fastest-spreading gossip in town, so I assumed Sharon hid the details of her private life. I didn’t blame her, but I wanted to know if it had anything at all to do with Sadie’s death. I doubted Sadie ran behind the mayor to inform her of her secretary’s health. Still, one never knew.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” I announced. My words died away when Ian’s hand brushed my hair. I couldn’t feel it on a physical level, but I knew he touched me, and I turned to face him. His hand slid from my hair to my cheek. He cupped it and then raised my chin. I darted backward out of reach. “Ian, there’s no future for us.”

“You will find your body. I have said I will help you.”

“I know, but to tell the truth it feels hopeless. I’ve been thinking lately I should go away. Like you said, I can’t keep using Monica and keeping her life on hold. It’s not fair to her, and if I’m going to pass away, it might be better for Jake to face it now rather than later.”

None of what I said made sense. I panicked. Ian approached me. I started to back away, but he spoke in a soft yet commanding voice. “Stay. I will not touch you.”

“Ian.” I swallowed and forced myself to look into his eyes. “It’s not fair to you either. I don’t know much about your kind, but you have emotions. You…l-love.”

“Our humanity slips over time when we turn. We can try to hold onto as much of it as we like. That is easier when we spend time with humans.”

“I don’t think I count.”

“You do.”

We stood there in silence for a while, neither of us speaking. Then Ian seemed to come to a decision. “I will tell you more about myself. Will you listen?”

“Yes, definitely.”

He hesitated. “Another night.”

I sighed. “Okay, but promise me.”