twenty-one
I flipped the sign on the door to Closed.
GD curled on the haunted rocking chair, eyes shut, exhausted from a long day of doing … Well, as far as I could see, his day consisted of eating, napping, and ignoring me. When I die, I want to come back as a museum cat.
Sighing, I did a quick cleanup. A spider had snuck its web into a corner, attaching to the shiny, black crown molding. I knocked the web down with a broom, turned off the lights, and slipped through the bookcase.
From the tea room closet, I borrowed the dolly and wheeled it to my pickup. I was getting kind of tired of hauling the grape press around.
The sun hadn’t quite set, and the alley lay deep in shadow. I craned my neck.
Mason’s apartment lights were on.
Enough was enough. Taking a deep breath, I left the dolly by my tailgate and trudged up the narrow concrete staircase. I stopped in front of the metal security door. My stomach flipped, tight and empty.
I smoothed my hair and the front of my Paranormal Museum T-shirt, and I knocked—shave and a haircut. The door clanged beneath my knuckles. He’d know it was me because I always stopped before the two bits part.
A bolt slid back, a chain rattled. The door opened, and there stood my worst nightmare—the young woman I’d seen in the motorcycle shop, taller than me, thinner than me, prettier than me. Long auburn hair fell in gentle waves past her shoulders. There were faint lines on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, and I sensed they weren’t from a lifetime of laughter.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Maddie Kosloski. Is Mason here?”
“He’s in the shower, but he should be out any minute.”
The shower. A cold dagger plunged into my heart. Stay calm. Stay calm. “Do you mind if I wait?”
She edged aside, and I stepped past her.
A blond-haired boy slumped on Mason’s black leather couch. He stared between his shoes, propped on the glass coffee table, at a video game on Mason’s big screen TV.
Takeout boxes piled high on the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room.
I glanced toward the glass bricks that formed a barricade between the bedroom and living area. Something shifted behind them, a door opening. Mason emerged, neck bent, head buried in a towel. He wore a fresh pair of black jeans and a T-shirt.
Mason had done more than just get in touch with his ex. It looked like she’d moved in.
“Did I hear someone at the door?” He straightened, whipping off the towel. Slowly, his arm lowered. “Maddie.”
“Hi, Mason. Your shop’s been closed for the last two days. I was getting worried.” Tell me there’s an innocent explanation.
“Yeah, sorry. I should have called you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is Anabelle. I mentioned her to you.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I should have introduced myself. Mason’s told me so much about you, Maddie.”
“And you must be his old girlfriend.” That sounded catty. “I don’t mean old. You’re not old. Just, um, Mason, could you help me get a dolly into the back of my truck?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
In silence, the two of us walked down the stairs and into the alley. I unlatched the tailgate, and Mason easily lifted the dolly inside.
“She seems nice—”
“I’m sorry, I should have called,” he said at the same time.
I sat against the open tailgate and studied him. His glacier-blue eyes were downcast, his expression uncertain.
My throat squeezed. Oh, God. We were breaking up. He’d fallen in love with her again.
He looked away. “He’s my son.”
I gripped the edges of the tailgate. “What?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was pregnant when I returned to the military. Neither did she. And then when I didn’t come back to her, she found someone else, got married, and never told me about Jordan.”
“Your son?” The words came, broken monosyllables I struggled to push past my lips.
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I didn’t know how to tell you, because I’m still wrapping my brain around the situation.” He clawed his hands through his mane of golden hair.
I shook my head, rallying. Mason hadn’t known. Of course it was a shock. “Why did she decide to tell you now?”
“Her husband passed away last year and things fell apart. She lost their house.” His voice dropped, and he glanced up at the lit apartment windows. “They’ve been living out of a van for the last three months.”
So she’d told him about his son when she’d needed him. My jaw clenched. The thought was unfair. He deserved the truth from her, no matter the motivation. “How awful for them both.”
We stared at each other, silent.
“A son,” I finally said. “That’s a lot for anyone to process. How are you handling this?”
He laughed, bitter. “I pushed you aside and stopped working. That’s how I handled it. Badly.”
“Mason—”
“He’s my son. I can’t let them live in a van.”
The door to the Fox and Fennel clanged open. Adele, in her black turtleneck and apron, staggered outside carrying a garbage bag. She glanced at us and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then returned to the tea room. The door banged shut.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Right now, they’re living with me until she can get a job, get back on her feet.”
Living in his studio apartment? A chasm opened in my chest. My mouth opened, but no words formed.
He watched me.
I couldn’t read his face. Hope? Expectancy?
Mason would do the right thing. He’d always do the right thing, and that was why I loved him. Of course he’d take care of his son. I swallowed. “You can’t let them live in a van. In your shoes, I’d do the same.”
“It’s only temporary.” He grasped my shoulders. “I meant what I said, Maddie. I love you. This doesn’t change my feelings.”
I nodded, wooden. He loved me, and he was living with the mother of his child. Temporarily. But what else was he supposed to do?
I wanted to ask if he was sure Jordan was his, if he could trust her. But I didn’t. Those were all questions Mason had no doubt asked himself and didn’t need me to echo.
A roar of sound flooded from the upstairs windows—the video game. There was a shout, and someone turned down the volume.
A smile flit across his face, not reaching his eyes. “I should get back up there. You’d be amazed at the destructive capacity of a ten-year-old boy.”
I nodded and he released me, stepping back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sure. Tomorrow.” Watching him jog up the steps to his apartment, I slid off the tailgate.
I couldn’t blame him for something that happened ten years ago, something he hadn’t even known about. And I couldn’t blame him for doing whatever it took to keep Jordan and his mother off the streets. So why were my lungs tight, my stomach twisting with nausea?
Turning, I slammed the tailgate shut. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I blinked them back. I was better than this. I hadn’t lost Mason. This was the twenty-first century and lots of families were blended. What was I worried about?
And why did I have to find out about this the hard way?
He’d had to take some time. Mason needed to sort his feelings before talking to me. That was all. It wasn’t unreasonable. By taking Anabelle and Jordan in, he was choosing the right, the responsible path. That was what I loved about him.
I needed to go. The haunted house was opening soon.
But my legs, leaden, didn’t want to move.
My keys pressed into the flesh of my palm. I unlocked the alley door and returned to my sanctuary, the museum.
GD looked up from his spot on the rocking chair, his emerald eyes unblinking.
“No ghosts tonight?” I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice cracked. I tried to keep my hands steady as I flipped on the computer, but they trembled. I tried to tell myself I was overreacting, that I wasn’t losing Mason, but I didn’t believe it. My imagination was a curse.
Or was it? I’d sensed something was off early into Mason’s self-imposed disappearance. My imagination had been right; our relationship had been wrong.
The bookcase eased open and Adele walked in. “Maddie? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
She approached the counter. “I saw you and Mason talking. You didn’t look all right then, and you don’t look all right now. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t bother you. But are you sure you don’t want to talk?”
I opened my mouth, shut it. But Adele was sensible where it counted. She’d put my imagination in its place. I unburdened myself, telling her everything.
She listened, her expression grave. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Do?” She expected me to do something? “It’s not Mason’s fault this happened.”
“No, it isn’t his fault, but it has happened.”
“And I don’t know what else he can do. He can’t let Anabelle and his son live on the street.”
“I’m assuming he doesn’t have the money to put them up in an apartment of their own?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about money.” And it didn’t feel like it was my business to question his decision. “Mason’s still in shock. I’m in shock. And I feel like I’m overreacting. He didn’t cheat on me. This happened years before we met. And the only thing it says about the man he is today is that he’s responsible and trying to set things right.”
She nodded, her eyes dark with sympathy.
“I’m not overreacting, am I?”
She patted my hand. “You did the right thing,” she said. “You found out what was going on, and you didn’t react in anger. Of course the situation has thrown both you and Mason.”
The wall phone rang, startling me. I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Maddie, it’s Harriet. I was so intrigued by your little mystery that I began researching the mysterious Mr. Paul Wesson right away. It wasn’t hard—I really don’t think I should charge you for this. He’s all over the Internet.”
“Of course, I’ll pay,” I said faintly.
“A wedding announcement in Cambridge, Mass. I’ve just emailed it to you. October 15, 1922. He married someone else. Later, he went on to become a rather successful chemical manufacturer on the east coast. The wedding took place only a week after Alcina was killed.”
“Huh.”
“I wonder if he even knew she’d died?”
I wondered if he even knew that he and Alcina were engaged. “Thanks. That’s helpful.” We murmured goodbyes, and I hung up.
“What was that about?” Adele asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Just the grape press mystery.”
She angled her head to one side. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll call Harper. You can drive me home, and we’ll uncork a bottle of reserve wine.”
“I’m not up for a pity party.”
“There will be zero pity, I promise. Why should there be? You’re not a wronged woman. There’s nothing pathetic about the situation. It simply requires large quantities of friendship and wine.”
Her family’s reserve wines were awfully good. And I really didn’t want to deal with the grape press. “All right. Let’s go.”
We locked up. Adele called Harper, and I drove. We stopped at the local doggy daycare to pick up Adele’s pug, Pug. She clasped him to her chest. He wriggled, shedding tawny fur across her black turtleneck.
“Did you miss me?” she cooed, scratching the dog’s fawn-colored head.
We drove out of town, into the vineyards. The temperature had dropped and I rolled up my window. The setting sun blinded me, turning the sky to fire.
Wincing, I lowered the truck’s visor. “Adele, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Oh?” She arched her neck, evading Pug’s pink tongue.
“Mrs. Bigelow from Ladies Aid said there was something odd going on among the local vintners. She thought you might know something about it.”
“Odd?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to pry, but I overheard an argument between your parents. Is something happening at the winery?”
She blew out her breath. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Okay.” I didn’t have the heart to push.
“Someone made Daddy an offer,” she burst out.
“An offer?”
“To buy the winery. And he’s actually considering selling! Can you believe it?”
“Is it a good offer?”
“Of course it’s a good offer. That’s why he’s considering it. Daddy has always been a businessman first, a vintner second. He’s in it because he likes being his own boss, and my mother’s in it because she loves making wine. They’re a perfect team. I guess I didn’t understand that to him, it’s not the family business, it’s just business. But I grew up on Plot 42, and he and my mother spent so much time building their Haunted Vine label. I’m trying to be objective, but selling out feels like a betrayal.”
“Who’s the buyer? Not the vampire?”
“The vampire? What are you talking about?”
“Tall, pale, good-looking in a you-can-never-be-too-rich-or-too-thin sort of way?”
She snorted. “Oh, him. Yes, he’s the one. He represents one of those big international wine conglomerates.”
I frowned. Others had told me outsiders wanted to invest in San Benedetto’s wine industry, not buy it up. Was it the same investor? Or had I misunderstood?
I slowed, turning down a long dirt driveway and parking beneath an oak tree.
Adele stepped out, setting Pug on the ground. On stubby legs, he bounded up the porch steps of her wedding-cake Victorian. He raced back in forth in front of the screened front door, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
I followed, my feet hollow on the steps as she unlocked the door. The setting sun made long prison-bar shadows of the rows of grapevines. An oak trembled in the uneven breeze, drizzling dried leaves atop my truck. I zipped my hoodie higher. It felt like autumn, the last traces of summer warmth vanished with the darkening sky.
Pug raced inside, through the all-white living room and into the kitchen. Crunching and snuffling sounds drifted through the house.
“Don’t they feed him at that daycare?” I asked.
Adele laughed. “You know Pug. There’s never a bad time to eat.” She headed for the kitchen.
I sank onto the snow-white couch and stared into the unlit, white-brick fireplace. A branch scraped against the window.
“Mind if I start a fire?” I asked.
“Go right ahead. There’s wood in the basket beside the fireplace.”
I set up the fire. By the time I had it crackling, Harper had arrived. She’d changed out of her pinstripes and into jeans and a caramel-colored knit top.
Harper took two glasses of blood-colored wine from Adele and passed one to me.
I rose in front of the fireplace, and we clinked glasses.
“To good friends,” Harper said.
Adele and I echoed the toast. I sipped the wine, savoring the flavors of dark berries and black pepper and licorice. “Reserve” meant “expensive,” and one didn’t gulp reserve wine like cheap beer. Not that I have anything against cheap beer.
“What’s going on, Maddie?” Harper asked.
We sat on the snowy couch and I told her about Mason. Adele puttered in the kitchen, heating hors d’oeuvres. “Mini quiches?” she called out.
“Yes, please,” Harper shouted back. Scratching her jaw, she turned to me and sipped her wine. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t see a whole lot of options. Either I go along with the program, or …” Or what? Break up? My mouth went dry and I took another sip. Was breaking up really a possibility? I wasn’t a fan of the first option, but the second sickened my stomach. I couldn’t make a decision tonight. I’d sent myself halfway to Crazy Town because of Mason’s silence, and I wasn’t sure I was thinking clearly now.
Someone knocked on the front door.
“Can one of you get that?” Adele called from the kitchen.
I lurched off the couch, setting my goblet beside a stack of wine and travel magazines on the coffee table. Trotting to the door, I opened it.
Mr. Nakamoto stood on the porch. The chill breeze ruffled his thinning gray hair. A Haunted Vine windbreaker flapped around him, too large on his narrow frame. “Maddie. Hi. I was looking for my daughter.”
I stepped away from the door. The Nakamotos often popped in and out of each other’s homes. “She’s in the kitchen,” I said.
He strode past me and into the kitchen. I returned to my warm spot on Adele’s couch and reached for my glass.
A shriek from the kitchen split my ears, and my hand jerked. The goblet tilted. Fumbling, I caught it before zinfandel could spill onto the white shag rug.
Harper winced. “Did I miss something?”
Adele ran into the living room, her father following more slowly behind her. “We’re not selling! Plot 42 and Haunted Vine are still ours!” She clapped her hands together, doing a little dance. Pug hopped around her heels and barked.
Mr. Nakamoto grimaced. “So you girls heard.”
“I didn’t,” Harper said. “You were thinking of selling the vineyard?”
He nodded.
“I heard there were investors in town,” I said. “And a big investor?”
“I don’t know about the others, but the group I spoke with is certainly big. They’re trying to buy up a collection of vineyards.” Mr. Nakamoto frowned. “The other vintners won’t be happy.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“It’s an all-or-nothing deal. If one winery doesn’t sell out, no one can. For this to work, Pryce needs a large block of land—not little pieces of vineyard here and there.”
“Which other vineyards are involved in the deal?” I asked. Chuck hadn’t said anything about selling, but the vampire had been hanging around his place as well. And he’d been talking to Jocelyn.
Mr. Nakamoto shook his head. “The company rep played things close to the vest. They made us sign a confidentiality agreement. He wouldn’t tell me which other wineries were involved, and no one else is talking.”
“This is the guy who looks like a Regency-era vampire? He was at your house a few nights ago when I came by to pick up Adele?”
Mr. Nakamoto’s dark eyes twinkled. “Pryce, a vampire? No wonder you agreed to take on the Paranormal Museum. What an imagination.”
“I thought Pryce looked like a consumptive Victorian dandy,” Adele said.
Laughing, he kissed her on the top of the head. He said goodbye to us and left, the door snicking shut behind him.
“This calls for a celebration,” Adele said. “It’s time to break out the reserve wine.”
“I thought this was reserve wine.” Harper eyed her glass askance.
She faltered, biting her lip. “Oh. Right!”
“Adele …” I began.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks pinking. “Well, the reserve is expensive, and I’m a small business owner on a budget.”
I reached for my phone, wanting to talk this over with … the thought stumbled in its tracks. Mason. I couldn’t call him. Not now.
My vision blurred. What had happened to us?