Give Up the Ghost Read online

  Maribelle thinks about this. “You’re right. I guess I’d feel the same way if it was Sebastian.”

  It warms me inside to think my brother and Maribelle have found happiness, but I keep thinking of Dwayne’s words on the train, about how TB might drive off a mountain one day. That old friend fear creeps up my spine and squeezes my chest and it’s all I can think about.

  “Call Clayton.”

  I can tell from Maribelle’s tone that she isn’t happy about bringing her nemesis back to Emma’s Cove but it is the right course to take.

  “The best answer to worry is to do something constructive.”

  I flip open the phone and Clayton answers on the first ring.

  “Vi, what’s wrong?”

  I explain what we found at the Chattanooga store, including the disfigured angel statue and the bank lender. I end with mentioning TB’s not answering his phone.

  “He could be in class, studying,” Clayton says, his tone like a father’s calming down a nervous child. “But I’ll make some calls to the school to check.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Meanwhile, we’ll call this store, find out who’s been in today and see if they have security cameras.”

  “Appreciate that as well.”

  There’s a long pause and I hear Clayton sigh. “Regardless, Vi, we need to meet. Can we get together in the morning?”

  “Yeah, sure. But you said regardless. Is there’s something else going on?”

  Another pregnant pause, and yes, I’m probably using that phrase because of my condition.

  “Is Maribelle with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it needs to wait until the morning.”

  A shiver runs down my back all the way to my toes. “Some reason why?”

  “I’ll explain more in the morning.”

  We exchange goodbyes and I hang up, call TB one more time, then a couple of his college friends, but no one has seen him since he left campus two hours earlier.

  “He said he was heading home to study,” his math study partner says.

  “He could be at Sebastian’s,” Maribelle adds. “If they’re busy doing carpentry work, they won’t hear their phones.”

  Maybe I’m overreacting, I think, trying to steady my anxiety as we drive homeward. Finally, we pull up to the motel and my neighboring houseboat but TB’s pickup truck is absent from the driveway. For that matter, so is Sebastian’s Toyota. Maribelle and I stare at the empty spaces and I swear she’s thinking the same thing.

  “Something’s wrong, I can feel it,” she whispers.

  Suddenly, my cell rings, startling us both. I flip it open immediately.

  “Sebastian,” I say.

  And then my whole world comes crashing down.

  Chapter 11

  I run down the hospital hall like a lopsided penguin but I can’t get to TB fast enough. I enter his room to find Sebastian off to the side, arms wrapped around his middle, while a doctor and nurse huddle over TB’s bed.

  “He’s my husband,” I exclaim as I squeeze in between and reach his side, my fearful voice scaring me as much as everyone else in the room.

  I have no idea what to expect. Sebastian had told me that TB’s truck hit a bad patch of road a couple of miles outside Emma’s Cove and tumbled down a ravine. The impact totaled the truck but TB never lost consciousness, was clear-headed enough to call Sebastian who immediately dialed 911, then me.

  “It can’t be that bad,” Sebastian told me on the phone as Maribelle and I rushed into Lightning Bug. “He called me first, expecting me to drive over and get him. But I called an ambulance anyway.”

  TB lights up when he sees my face, but my blood pressure soars when I see his. There’s a large bandage around his head and both eyes remind me of the makeup LSU frat boys wear on game days, a dark shade of purple.

  “Hey Babe,” he says, trying to smile but the cut on his lip makes him grimace.

  I take his hand and examine him like a mother, checking arms, chest, peering under the blanket.

  “He suffered a head wound,” the doctor says, “but otherwise he’s fine.”

  “Air bag saved me,” TB mutters.

  “That’s where he got the black eyes. We think he hit his head on the truck window when it flipped over.”

  That panic friend returns. “Flipped over?”

  “It was long ride down,” TB says with a slur and I realized my husband’s drunk with drugs.

  “We’ll keep him overnight for observation for the concussion but otherwise he’s a very lucky man.”

  Lucky? In the last few years we’ve lost a daughter, our house and city to an overgrown hurricane, and now we have a lunatic on our heels threatening to kill us. My breathing intensifies and I feel the nurse to my right gently pushing me into a chair that she’s pulled up next to the bed. I’m starting to see stars again but I hear Sebastian on my other side telling me to relax, all is well.

  “But it’s not well,” I manage through my ragged breathing. “It’s never going to be well.”

  “Is she okay?” the nurse says over my head.

  I feel Sebastian squeeze my shoulder and the two begin a conversation but it all blends into the haze.

  “Vi,” a voice whispers.

  I look over and TB’s trying to rise on his elbows, studying me intently. “What’s wrong? I’m worried about you.”

  I let out the breath I’m holding and laugh, think back on the years since TB and I met at LSU, how I chalked up our relationship only to sex, our marriage because of Lillye. Right now, witnessing the care in his eyes, his unconditional support and love, I can’t imagine a moment without this sweet person in my life.

  I lean my head onto the bed, feel his chest beneath the blankets, and start to cry. TB’s hand strokes my hair.

  “It’s okay, Vi. I’m fine.”

  But it’s not okay. I did this. I failed to take Dwayne seriously, thought he was gone for good, and now the son of Lucifer’s playing his cards.

  I lay there forever, comforted by the rhythm of TB’s chest, his hand petting my hair, the soft voices above me discussing TB’s care. I wonder where Maribelle wandered off to, what caused TB’s truck to roll off the road. I think back to our lesson in the Chattanooga shop. Find my balance. Don’t let fear push me off center. Right now, with my breathing still labored, I can’t imagine pushing fear aside and facing Dwayne. All I can think about is packing up the houseboat and getting the hell out of town, giving up the ghost forever.

  When TB’s hand goes still, I realize my husband’s drugs are doing their job. I look up to find him fast asleep.

  Sebastian tugs at my sleeve. “Let’s go get a coffee.”

  I shake my head, not wanting to leave TB’s side.

  “He’s out for at least a few hours. Nurse said so.”

  I stand up but I’m not leaving. I might resemble the Karate Kid before he learned to stand on that pole like a bird in flight but I’m determined to face whatever or whomever tries to hurt my family.

  “I’m not leaving him alone,” I tell Sebastian.

  My brother nods toward the hallway where Clayton’s enormous outline fills the threshold. He’s standing with his back to us, hands firmly planted on his hips. Over his shoulder, I spot Maribelle’s face, angry and frustrated, as the two engage in a heated, although quiet discussion.

  “What’s going on?”

  Sebastian sighs and looks at his feet. “I don’t know. Maribelle won’t tell me. But Clayton assured me he or another agent would be here until we got back from the cafeteria.”

  We head out, careful to step around the two gazing at each other like foaming mouth pit bulls. When we hit the cafeteria, we both exhale.

  “What the hell?”

  “Something Clayton found out about Maribelle, something to do with Maine. She’s royally pissed.”

  That old fear returns, causing a rush of shivers through me.

  “She didn’t kill her husband,” Sebastian insists
emphatically, as if he reads my mind.

  I think back on that old Shakespeare saying — our mom’s one of the world’s foremost Shakespeare scholars so these things are branded into our brains. When I would argue something of dubious worth that I knew was wrong, my mom would quote from Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  “Has your love of Maribelle clouded your thinking?” I ask softly.

  He huffs and shakes his head, turns toward the coffee carafes.

  “I care for her, too, Sebastian, but maybe we’re not thinking clearly here.”

  Sebastian pours himself a coffee while I choose a decaf loaded down with milk. A painful silence falls and he’s avoiding my eyes, silently angry, but I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking the same thing. We pick a table away from the crowds, mainly two nurses huddled over sandwiches while badmouthing a boss, and a doctor chatting on a cell. Neither of us says a word until finally Sebastian breaks the silence.

  “She’s under a lot of stress right now.”

  “About Jack?”

  Sebastian shakes his head, plays with the salt and pepper shakers on the table that, I realize, are bright orange and sport the University of Tennessee logos with the word “Volunteers” blazoned across.

  “There’s a group of investors wanting to buy the property next to the motel,” Sebastian tells me. “They want to turn it into a resort, the kind with zip lines, spas and motor boats. Mare is freaking out about it.”

  Mare?

  “She took out a loan for the herb shop and the renovations of the buildings so she doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer and fight this.”

  I lean forward. “Fight what? It’s her land.”

  Sebastian finally looks up and meets my gaze. “These men are ruthless, Vi. And the thing with Jack? If Clayton finds evidence they think links her to his death, and they arrest her again, it could unravel everything.” He turns the pepper around and around. “And I mean everything.”

  I could argue that Mare might be guilty and worthy of arrest, could inquire if Sebastian’s money is tied to hers and therefore subject to his unraveling. But I’m of like mind, don’t want to think worst of my friend and neighbor. Even if that gnawing suspicion sits in my belly, punching me in the gut.

  Or maybe that’s a tiny foot. I shift in my seat trying to get comfortable now that the twins are up and moving.

  “You okay?” Sebastian asks.

  “August can’t get here fast enough. I think there’s a hand inside my rib cage playing with my liver.”

  “Your liver isn’t inside your rib cage.”

  “Uh, it kinda is.”

  “Whatever.’

  I take his hands and push those god-awful orange shakers aside. What the hell are “Volunteers” anyway? I’ve always wondered. And just what does a Volunteer mascot do? Come on to the football field and sign up for something?

  “Vi.”

  Sebastian brings back my wandering brain. How did he not become as ADHD addled as I am?

  “I have to do something tomorrow, Sebastian. Once we get TB home and settled, do you think you could watch him while I go to work?”

  “I thought you were off on Wednesdays.”

  “I am but there’s something I need to do, something important.”

  Sebastian shrugs. “Sure.”

  “I made a protection circle around the houseboat and so far, I think it’s worked well. Aunt Mimi taught me so I’m confident it’s done right.”

  Sebastian squeezes my hands. “There’s no wrong or right way, Vi. You need to believe in yourself and your abilities.”

  Tears rush up so fast they choke me. “Like keeping TB safe?”

  “You didn’t cause this.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  I remove my hands from his, turn away, and take a large gulp of coffee but it doesn’t relieve the lump in my throat. I hear Sebastian call my name but the world turns blurry. Finally, I feel a finger at my chin and Sebastian turns my gaze back to his, wiping the tears that have fallen on my cheeks.

  “This wasn’t an accident, Vi. Someone messed with TB’s truck and he never saw it coming. There was nothing anyone could do to stop him from rolling down that ravine.”

  “But Dwayne said he would harm him, Sebastian. He warned me.”

  “There’s more to this than Dwayne.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re being attacked on all sides, Vi. Can’t you feel it? Dwayne’s at the center of it all but he’s only part of the problem. Something’s brewing and it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Like what?”

  Sebastian shakes his head looking down at what’s left of his coffee. “I don’t know, Vi. Maybe Dwayne’s talking to the developers, maybe he’s stirring up trouble in town.”

  I think back on the bank lender who may have told Dwayne where we would be today.

  “Wouldn’t Clayton know if Dwayne was around, if he was influencing people?”

  Sebastian’s eyes turn dark. “If he’s looking in the right place. He seems dead set on putting Maribelle in jail.”

  History repeating itself? I wonder, thinking of those angry men jealous of the Cove’s success, storming Emma’s homestead and killing Caroline. What evidence does Clayton have? And will it unravel us all, as Sebastian predicts?

  “Thanks for the inspiring talk,” I whisper.

  Sebastian attempts a smile but fails. “We have to be vigilant and we have to be fearless.”

  I think back on Maribelle’s lesson, given an opportune time after witnessing Dwayne’s little altar at the rear of the store. I rub the back of my neck wondering about the coincidences when my twin makes a comment that sends shivers through me, no doubt my twins feeling every one.

  “There are no coincidences, Vi.”

  I believe that, I truly do, but what if Dwayne isn’t involved and Maribelle planted the altar and harmed TB to distract the FBI and the men trying to purchase her land? Dwayne would be the perfect diversion from a murder investigation, allowing Maribelle to remain free to fight off the resort and finish her herb shop.

  But if that’s the case, a murderer is shagging my twin brother.

  We finish our coffee and return to TB’s room where an agent is standing watch at the door. I look for Clayton but Agent Sheridan — it’s on his lanyard — informs us the boss has retired for the evening and will visit again tomorrow. I spend the night in TB’s room while Sebastian leaves to check on Maribelle and our houseboat.

  “Be careful,” I practically yell as he leaves the room.

  There’s a pull-out sofa by the window so I make myself comfortable, which is a relative term. Nothing is comfy these days due to the enormous belly protruding from my middle, but I make the best of it.

  TB wakes at the crack of dawn, complaining that his head might split open, but still all smiles. The man amazes me. The nurse gives him a thorough going-over and more drugs — this time the pill form — and we’re released, required to exit the hospital by wheelchair. Where I would balk at being wheeled to my car like an invalid, TB enjoys the ride, waving to the little kids in the waiting room like a float rider at Mardi Gras. Everyone laughs but me, the worries of the world still firmly planted on my shoulders.

  Plus, I have to visit the bathroom for the tenth time this morning.

  Sebastian’s waiting for us at the exit and we pile into his Toyota, Michael gazing down from the dash toward his heir in the passenger seat, his angelic foot still firmly planted on the dragon, sword held high in his outstretched hand.

  “I’m sorry about the truck,” TB tells me as I lock his seatbelt into place.

  “What? Who cares about the truck?”

  For the first time this morning, his smile fades. “I do. That was my first truck, saved for years and bought it when I graduated high school.”

  I gaze into his French chocolate eyes and wonder if he realizes what happened here.

  “You could have died, sweetheart. The truck doesn’t matter.”<
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  There are times in winter when the sun shines brightly on your face and it warms your soul, but then a cloud passes over and chills invade. That’s how I feel looking at my husband who’s now realizing he lost control of his beloved truck. My angelic husband who routinely sees trouble coming and works to save those in its path.

  I place my check close to his and whisper, “It’s okay, my love. We’ll figure it out.”

  We drive back to Emma’s Cove in silence, TB’s cheerful attitude long gone. Sebastian notices and glances at me through the rearview mirror. I shrug from the back seat but I know what TB’s thinking, that somehow he missed the danger, like when he had failed to sense Dwayne at the train station. He’s failing to conquer the dragon.

  We pull up to the houseboat and get settled inside after a careful search of the place, Sebastian insisting we wait in the car until he determines the coast is clear. It is, my protection circle working — that or Dwayne isn’t chancing visiting our home. Once inside, we settle TB on the couch with a soft pillow while Sebastian cooks up breakfast. Stinky immediately jumps into TB’s lap, smelling him up, checking him out. My psychic cat turns to me as if I have the answers.

  “Not yet,” I say. “But I’m working on it.”

  “Working on what?” TB asks.

  I smile. “Nothing.”

  There it is again, that haunted look. I sit next to TB on the couch and do my mommy thing again, check him out all over.

  “I didn’t see it coming,” he whispers to me as I’m examining his arms for bruises.

  I sigh, try to diffuse the topic. “I know, sweetheart. You were probably worried about your upcoming math test.”

  He shakes his head. “My brain is muddled, Vi. It’s been that way for a while.”

  I pull the couch blanket over his lap, even though it’s warm outside, and Stinky immediately starts kneading the material, purring like an engine.

  “College will do that to you,” I say, trying to keep the subject in one direction.

  The smile’s not returning, so unlike my happy-go-lucky man. “You don’t understand, Vi. I can’t feel anything.”

  I look him over with alarm. Did the doctor miss something?