“Okay,” her father said with a sigh, returning his focus to his daughter. “Any man who offers to let me have a word with the woman who gave birth to him is a man I trust to drive you around this one-horse town.”
“I don’t need a ride,” she assured him, ignoring his conclusion. “Sian’s van runs just––”
“Does the driver’s door still not open?” Mr. Lawson asked with a grimace.
“Yes, but––”
“And the rear passenger door?”
“It’s helpful that way,” Delly assured him. “We know we can wedge stuff in and that side will never give.”
“Jesus save us,” her father grumbled, holding out his hand for the keys.
Delly huffed out a breath, handed over the set that was attached to a large crocheted evil eye, and then rounded on me. “Are you ready to go, Mr. James?”
“Just Shaw,” I reminded her. “And yeah, let’s go, kid.”
Before we could leave, a woman called out to Delly. She was standing at the gate that surrounded the little house, hugging herself like she was cold even though she had a heavy patchwork jacket on.
She groaned. “Come meet my mom.”
I understood then. Her mother must have seen Delly and me talking and had called her husband to make sure I wasn’t a threat to her child.
Walking beside her, the two of us reached the lovely woman Delly resembled. They had the same delicate bone structure, thick chestnut-brown hair, smooth tawny skin, matching dimples, and big warm espresso-brown eyes. They shared a smile as well, kind and sweet, that lit up their faces.
“Mrs. Lawson,” I said, offering her my hand, “I’m Shaw James.”
She took my hand in both of hers. “Mr. James, it’s a pleasure.”
I loved mothers. “Just Shaw, ma’am.”
“Shaw,” she said with the same sigh her daughter had given me. “Whatever are you doing here in town, dear?”
“I’m here to look into the concerns your daughter and Miss Coburn have about Mr. Grace’s safety.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” she said, glancing at Delly, the two of them sharing a look, both nodding excitedly before her gaze returned to me. “There’s a mystery to solve here, Shaw, you mark my words. Because even though Benji is working to protect us from harmful spectral activity, Delly is certain that whatever is threatening him is very human. And you have to listen to my daughter because she’s a medium herself, so she would know.”
I did a slow pan to Delly. “So not just auras and shadows, huh?”
“That’s right.” She sounded terribly imperious. “I’m a medium as well.”
I could feel the tension starting in the back of my neck.
I had to wonder if Jared Colter was laughing his ass off back in Chicago at that exact moment. I wouldn’t put it past him that sending me to hell was something he’d enjoyed doing.
2
“So that’s why my father hasn’t changed the name on the sign,” Delly explained as I drove. “Because everyone knows where the Garnet Bakery used to be, so he doesn’t have to give directions.”
It made no good sense not to change the name of a business because the locals, and old locals at that—the Garnet Bakery had apparently gone out of business during the Korean War—knew where it was.
“I bet you think that’s weird, huh?”
I was leaning more toward ridiculous.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Oh, yes, every word,” I replied, taking the turns as Delly directed.
“You should talk more,” she commented after several minutes of silence.
“Do I need to talk? Can’t you read my mind?”
“No, no, you’re confusing a medium with a psychic,” she imparted indulgently, like we were having a serious conversation. “I have these sort of flashes of intuition, and I can speak to spirits and ask questions if they want to talk to me, but I can’t predict the future or give you the winning lottery numbers or anything.”
Nothing practical. “And you see auras.”
“Precisely,” she agreed. “Besides, giving out the winning lottery numbers to others would be cheating the people who were meant to win, and holy shit, can you imagine the karma?”
I could imagine myself at home instead of on this whack-a-doodle assignment.
“I’m sorry my mother was so nosy about where you were staying, but she was not wrong when she told you that the Claiborne is a terrible hotel and you should steer clear of it. Lots of deaths there over the years. You’ll never get a drop of sleep with all the talking the spirits will want to do.”
Before we could leave, Delly’s mother had wanted to know where I planned to sleep that night and was horrified when she heard where my reservation was. “I’ll take my chances,” I stated resolutely.
“And also,” she explained with a grimace, “it’s really not a good hotel. Like, a ton of people got food poisoning there last summer.”
“Yes, but it’s the only hotel in town,” I reminded her, done discussing where I would sleep. “Okay, so where?”