Page 31 of Just One Little Bargain

Me: see you soon

I put the phone down and finish packing containers while the dishwasher cycles through its final rinse. When it beeps, I unload the clean dishes into their proper places. Plates by size, mugs by color, silverware sorted in the drawer. Everything’s where it belongs.

The morning has turned bright and clear by the time I leave the inn, and I’m halfway down the front steps when something tiny lands on my sleeve.

A ladybug rests there, its red shell dotted with black. It inches up my sweater toward my shoulder, and I hold my breath, the same way I did as a child, when ladybugs meant wishes and luck.

When it reaches my collar, the ladybug pauses, then opens its wings and flies away.

I look back down at the empty street. Houses with drawn curtains, parked cars, a lone dog barking somewhere blocks away. Everything as it should be.

But something feels off.

The hairs on my arms rise. I scan the empty sidewalks and vacant road, but there’s no one there. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.

I tighten my grip on the keys and hurry to the car, fumbling once with the lock before I get inside and hit the button. I sit there staring at the perfectly ordinary street.

“Get it together.”

I start the engine and pull away from the curb, but even as houses blur past my windows, the prickle between my shoulder blades clings to me.

Chapter 10

Evie

Iadjust the tote higher on my shoulder as the houses give way to storefronts. The plastic container of cinnamon rolls shifts and digs into my ribs.

I’ve been walking this route since my legs were short enough that every block felt like an expedition. My mother used to hold my hand along this stretch, and I remember how her grip tightened at the corner where a root buckles the sidewalk. It’s still there, but bigger now. The crack widened so much that the town filled it with asphalt last spring, leaving a dark seam through the pale concrete.

The Burton house has the same crooked shutter it’s had for as long as I can remember, and their kitten has stationed herself on the porch railing, passing judgment on everyone who dares use her sidewalk. A garden hose lies coiled on their lawn, collecting dew in its loops.

The houses in this area sit close together, porches nearly touching, yards small enough that you can hear your neighbor’s coffee grinder through the wall if the windows are open. Which they are, because everyone in this town treats the weeks between summer heat and fall cold as sacred.

People always ask me why I never left.

I don’t know what they’re expecting. Some tragic anchor. Some failed escape attempt. A boyfriend who kept me here, or a dream that fell through, or a mother who needed me too much for me to go.

The truth is less interesting. I like knowing where I am. I like that the Abernathys’ dog still barks twice when I pass. That the mailbox on Elm Street leans slightly to the left. That the church bells run two minutes slow and nobody has ever bothered to fix them. I like that nothing here surprises me.

The Moores have propped a ladder against their porch at precisely the wrong angle, creating an unavoidable bad-luck tunnel directly in my path. I’m halfway across the street before I even register why.

I snort at the irony. Here I am, dodging ladders, while something potentially supernatural stalks my life. Priorities, Evie.

September in Brindlewood means fat orange pumpkins appear on every porch, and Mrs. Mercer spends an entire morning arranging hers by size.

Sandra’s five-foot-two and has never let that stop her from looking down on anyone. Her auburn bob hasn’t changed in color or length since I was in kindergarten. The lipstick, always one shade too pink, bleeds into the creases around her mouth. She’s wearing her good jeans, quilted vest, and gardening gloves that have clearly never touched soil, because Sandra doesn’t do dirt.

I can see her from here, crouched on the wooden steps of her home, absorbed in getting the pumpkins perfectly spaced. Her head snaps up.

Great.

“Evie, sweetheart.” She rises to her full height, dusting her palms against each other. “I heard the police were at your place last night.”

So much for keeping this quiet. “Nothing serious.”

“Everything alright out there?”

“Just someone with the wrong address. It’s sorted now.”