“Everett didn’t say it in so many words… Oh, hell, yeah, he knows.”
“You said his mama was a witch like you?” Blanche forked a fry. “Dominion over plants?”
Ivy chewed and nodded.
“Funny, I didn’t get a single bit of witch from him,” Auntie Abitha said. “Just seems like a regular good looking hunk of man.”
Ivy lifted a finger. “He does have that charm.”
Mama gave her a look. “Charm? What charm is that?”
“The kind that makes old biddies like you fall all over your dang selves when he’s around,” Blanche said.
“We didn’t fall all over ourselves when we met him,” Abitha said. “We were just being polite to Ivy’s new friend.”
“Better have been just politeness,” Roby growled, “or the man gets keelhauled.”
Abitha patted her husband’s arm. “There’s no one for me but you, Roby sugar.”
“So what happened with the tiara?” Blanche said.
“Well, we found it.” Ivy went over the story, the stolen counterfeit, the fact that the real tiara hadn’t actually been seen in twenty years. She left out the part about getting a big fat check.
Mama pushed her plate away. “That’s quite a story, honey. Are you gonna make a habit out of this detective business?”
“Oh, I can see making a habit out of Everett,” Abitha said. This earned a glare from Uncle Roby. Which earned him another reassuring pat on the arm.
“I saw Abitha staring at his butt.” Moira appeared in the parlor, sitting in her usual chair. Their current stray cat leapt up from sleep, looked around, and darted away. Moira patted her lips with a forefinger. “Or maybe that was me.”
Blanche gave the ghost an evil stare.
“You should probably tell your hot brother all about it,” Moira said. “After all, you did borrow his boat.”
Ivy thought that was a good idea. She hadn’t let on about the detective or the previous case. This one didn’t involve getting tied up by magic-sucking leech creatures. After she helped with the dishes, she wandered down to the lighthouse dock.
Hey, Bro-chacho.
Ivy focused, breath in, breath out. She let go of all sensation, the cooling night breeze, the bob of the slip beneath her heels, the lap of the chop.
And—nothing.
You sleeping, Harmon?
Many a time, her brother had woken her from a sound sleep with their mental connection. Ivy was more courteous about contact, but she was sure it should work the other way. She focused, focused. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the night wind. Her breathing increased.
Harmon?
Harmon!
Ivy was shocked by an impact. She came out of the trance, and found herself lying on the private dock. She was panting as if she’d just ran a marathon.
Moira appeared beside her, and crouched down. “Ivy, honey! Ivy! Are you all right? Should I call 911?”
Technically, Moira would have to get Blanche do the actual dialing. Slowly, feeling an ache in her limbs, Ivy sat up. She swiped perspiration off her face. “No, I’m okay.”
“What happened? Do you have a case of the vapors?”
“No, I—I tried to get in contact with Harmon.”
Moira looked a question at her.
Ivy shook her head. “I couldn’t contact him.”
The question remained on the ghost’s face. She didn’t move. However, every window in Light House flashed and flickered as if lightning lived inside. Without another word, the ghost faded away. Ivy could hear every TV, every radio, every cell phone blatt out a sorrowful cacophony into the night.
This had never happened before. Ivy had always been in contact with her twin brother. Now, Harmon was lost.