Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Connor Grimm had met his share of prickly people in his line of work, but he’d rarely met a woman so adept at telling him to go fuck himself with nothing but a look. The moment Holly Celeste had entered the kitchen, he’d known she was the lynchpin of the family and the one he’d have to convince if he wanted a shot at Wicked Good Apples, and God he really wanted a shot at it. For four years he’d read of the strange goings-on at the farm with mild interest, but it was the photograph a viewer had sent him that had fanned that spark of interest into a raging inferno. The email address had been a throwaway, but the three separate experts Connor had paid to analyze the photograph had all agreed that the picture was genuine.

He tapped his jeans pocket where he carried a folded copy of the photograph: Aunt Daisy, the thin leather gloves she’d been wearing this morning absent, hovering her hands over a barrel of apples while inky smoke leaked from her palms. Behind her was the weathered Wicked Good Apples barn, its outdoor floodlight casting a cone of light over the older women while an eyelash moon dangled in the background. Rationally, he knew the photo was probably a trick of the light, or a setup. Hell, it was possible the aunt had staged the scene herself. And yet Connor’s instincts were whispering that there was something a little off about the Celeste family—something beyond a ghost haunting their property—and his instincts were almost never wrong. The Celeste women were keeping secrets. Every cell in his storyteller blood was buzzing with suspicion, and the investigator inside him was practically itching to be let loose.

Now that Connor and Erikson’s show was a success and they had the money and freedom to choose their own sites, Wicked Good Apples had gone straight to the top of their filming wish list. Connor had led the Celeste women to believe the ghost was his main focus, and he fully intended to investigate the haunting, but there were a dozen other locations he could have chosen if that were his only interest. Along with the photograph, there were the oddities he’d listed in the Celeste kitchen, and a dozen other strange happenings rumored to have taken place at Wicked Good Apples that he hadn’t mentioned. In his experience, that much chatter meant something paranormal—and he had plans to take Grimm Reality to the next level by exposing whatever it was. His show was a huge hit, but Connor wasn’t the kind of person to be content with good when better was still out there. They’d investigated paranormal happenings on their show in the past, but they’d never been able to prove anything. He intended to change that, and it all hinged on the cooperation of Wicked Good Apples.

Connor turned onto Main Street and tapped the brakes so a woman with three pugs on leashes could cross the road. Usually, people who were hesitant to let him film at their house or business were simply worried about appearing foolish on national TV, but he didn’t think that was the reason behind Holly’s reservations. She’d been hostile from the moment she’d met him, so either she disliked him personally, or there was something about Grimm Productions filming on her property that put her on guard. Her desire to send him packing only added fuel to his theories.

He rolled into the cracked driveway of the motel and stopped outside the tiny gray shack with green shutters that he’d rented for the weekend. The porch light didn’t work, and the white plastic chairs that sat out front were spotted with black mold. The interior wasn’t any better: papered with trippy green wallpaper, carpeted with matted orange shag, and sporting a 1970s polyester bedspread, its only virtue was that the sheets were clean.

Connor sat in his truck for a moment, the door open as he thumbed through his phone, scrolling for any mention of Holly Celeste on the internet. He’d done his research into the finances of the farm, but he hadn’t been able to zero in on who was truly in charge, not until the kitchen door had burst open and a woman with dark hair pulled into a sloppy bun had appeared, a coffee stain down the front of her tank top. Holly’s flashing hazel eyes had told him exactly who it was he needed to sweet-talk.

Then she’d opened her mouth, and he’d known there’d be no sweet-talking someone with that kind of spine.

He’d found her antagonism perversely refreshing. He was recognizable enough now that most people were fake with him, but Holly had made it clear she didn’t give a damn about how famous he was. In the past, women had gone to enormous lengths to meet him, but he knew Holly Celeste would never be one of them. She may have had a soft, curvy body that made his mouth go a little dry the moment he’d seen her, but he was pretty sure her will—and her dislike of him—were made of steel.

Connor glanced at the time on his phone. He was counting down the hours until she called. The moment Holly had told him she’d do anything for the apple farm, he’d known she wasn’t going to take the offer she’d bragged about. Whatever her reservations about Grimm Productions, she couldn’t afford to pass up the chance to keep the orchards open in exchange for a few weeks of filming. If she loved Wicked Good Apples as much as he thought she did, all of her skepticism about ghosts, her apparent grudge against him, and any worry about secrets were going to have to take the back burner.

His phone rang in his hand, and he grinned as he hit the answer button. It was an unknown number. “That was fast, Celeste. I thought you’d hold out longer.”

Silence.

“Holly?”

“This isn’t Holly.”

No, it wasn’t. The voice was raspy, like the caller was on oxygen or trying to conceal his true voice.

“Who is this?” Connor demanded. He didn’t bother asking how they’d reached his personal number. He had a system set up where his secretary forwarded him calls that he might find interesting.

“A concerned citizen.” The voice paused dramatically, and in the background Connor heard a cat mewl. “Leave the Celeste family alone. Some secrets are better left buried.”

Connor’s skin prickled as his temper heated. He hadn’t pegged Holly for someone who’d hire out her dirty work. If she thought a threatening phone call would scare him off, then she’d sorely misjudged his character. Connor had been voted Most Stubborn Ass one year in high school. He lived for stuff like this.

“What do you know about the Celeste secrets?” he asked. A sleek car tooted hello as it pulled into the parking space beside him. He gave an absent wave to his assistant, Charlotte, who was behind the wheel. He’d already booked her the motel cabin beside his.

“More than most.”

“Did Holly put you up to this? What’s she hiding?”

The man cackled, but the grating laughter turned into a long fit of coughing before he finally said, “She’s wicked, that one. They all are. If you don’t leave, bad luck will get you.”

“Is that a threat?”

A pause, then: “It’s a promise.”

Well, he’d set the guy up for that one. Before Connor could ask anything else, the line went dead. He texted the number to Charlotte so she could send it along to their private detective, but he suspected it would turn up as a burner number unless the caller was completely ignorant about how technology worked.

Connor tucked the phone into his back pocket and slammed the truck door behind him as he exited. Charlotte’s rear end was sticking out of her car as she fished in the back for her carry-on. As soon as she pulled it out, Connor took it from her and carried it to her motel door. Today Charlotte was wearing orange tights, a purple skirt, a hot-pink halter top underneath a neon sweater, and black lipstick. She’d twisted her dark hair into pigtails that brushed against her collar. At this point in their careers, Charlotte Hernandez was almost as recognizable as he was.

“Good flight?” he asked as he unlocked the door and handed her the key.

“Long flight.” Her voice was high and squeaky, and she looked half the age she really was. “I don’t know why you had me come out here if they haven’t even agreed yet.”

“They will.” Connor followed her inside and flipped on the light switch.

Charlotte gasped. “Oh my God, it’s hideous! This is the best you could do?”

“We’re in the middle of Nowhere, Maine, so yeah, it’s the best I could do. I’ve rented the whole place. We’ll be filming by next week.”

Charlotte arched a perfectly waxed brow and gestured to the luggage rack. Connor lifted the heavy suitcase and set it on top. “You seem awfully sure for someone who was called an ‘overconfident spook chaser’ today.”

Connor grinned. “I take it you spoke to Erikson.”

“He’s worried. He thinks you’re obsessed with this place.” Charlotte’s eyes scanned the peeling wallpaper and the two-cup coffeemaker by the sink. Connor hadn’t even known coffeemakers could be so small. “God knows why. This town is small, all the people dress the same, and there aren’t any vegan restaurants.”

“I’m not obsessed.” Connor stuck his hands in his pockets and gave her his most innocent look.

“Nuh-uh—I know that look. You’re mega obsessed.”

“I’m slightly interested, and getting more interested by the minute. I just got a phone call warning me off the Celeste family.”

Charlotte chomped on a piece of gum, and Connor could smell the juicy grape flavor from where he stood. “Well, that’s something. Usually the threats come later.”

“I’m on to a story, Charlotte. Strange things have been happening in that apple orchard for years, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“On national TV.”

“Naturally.”

She sighed and began to unzip her suitcase. “Your instincts haven’t failed you yet. If you say there’s something here, there is, even though I still believe that photo is a hoax. You really think that chick will come around? What was her name?”

“Holly.”

“Yeah, Holly. Erikson said she sounded like a real hard-ass.” She laughed again when she caught his expression. “I know that wolfish smile too. The challenge just makes it more fun for you, doesn’t it?”

Connor backed to the door and said, “It would be boring if it was too easy, now wouldn’t it? Settle in and I’ll check on you for dinner. There’s a diner about fifteen minutes away that serves salad.”

“Why does everyone think vegans only eat salads?” she shouted after him.