Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Holly dove for the hedgehog, shielding him with her body, and Connor pivoted off the couch and threw himself over Holly. His crewmembers cried out as chaos ensued, and through it all Amy stood in the center of the room shrieking like a banshee. Connor hunched over Holly, his head ducked close to hers and his arms braced on the floor. Glass rained down on them, pricking his skin and the back of his neck like annoying gnat bites.

After the tinkling glass had settled, Connor lifted his head. Shards of glass fell out of his hair and sprinkled onto the ground. He brushed aside the dark curtain of Holly’s hair so he could see her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, but she popped one open when her cheek was exposed. “Is it over?”

“Yes.” He stood and reached for her, pulling her to her feet while more glass tinkled to the floor. The hedgehog was rolled into a frightened ball on the hardwood. “Are you all right?”

She nodded shakily, and he scanned her body for signs of injury. Aside from her bloodless cheeks and trembling fingers, she appeared fine.

Holly’s gaze fell to the little droplets of blood welling on his arms. “You’re hurt!”

“Just a few cuts.” Now that he knew she was all right, he was furious, even though he wasn’t quite sure whom or what he was angry with. The shattered window wasn’t Holly’s fault—wasn’t anyone’s fault—but as he surveyed the room, it was clear there were a lot of people shaken up by the freak accident.

“Is anyone injured?” he called out.

There was a chorus of nos as his people shook glass out of their hair and brushed off the equipment, but there was one resounding YES !

It belonged to Amy. She was shaking with rage and had one long, fake nail pointed in accusation at Holly.

“This is your fault!” she shrieked, her cheeks and neck flushed. “You brought that stupid, ugly hedgehog to terrorize me. Wasn’t it enough that you emotionally damaged me and broke up my marriage? Now you’ve shattered my window and sliced my arm!” She thrust her arm forward where the tiniest bead of blood sat on her skin. “I’m going to sue the shit out of you, you wicked witch. But first I’m going to stomp that little rodent into dust!”

Amy took an angry step toward the hedgehog, which had just begun to uncurl. Connor moved fast, but Holly was faster. She leaped in front of the hedgehog, her dark hair tumbling down her back and her eyes snapping. “If you touch that hedgehog I’ll … I’ll curse you.”

Amy recoiled, the blood draining from her cheeks. “You’re evil.”

“No, I’m just a woman with a hedgehog.” Holly pulled a work glove from her back pocket, tugged it on, and scooped up Prickles. “Let’s get out of here, baby,” she murmured to the creature, and she marched across the room, her boots crunching over the glass and her chin held high.

Connor’s crew observed the spectacle with undisguised entertainment. Connor had spent the last ten years chasing oddities, and this was still one of his strangest days filming.

“Well,” he said, swallowing the sudden desire to laugh, “if everyone’s all right, let’s sweep up. Karl, will you board up the window while I speak privately with Miss Gordon?”

His crew jumped into action while they speculated about the strange incident. “Bad omen,” he heard whispered more than once. The crew was a superstitious lot—not entirely unexpected considering what they did for a living—but Connor wondered if they were right to worry. He thought of the photograph of smoke curling from Daisy’s hands, the phone call warning him that the Celestes were wicked, the unpredictable bouts of bad weather, and now the shattered window. What exactly had he gotten them all into?

Amy was still standing in the middle of the room, her fists clenched and her makeup beginning to smudge under her eyes. “You had better watch your back,” she spat before he could suggest they move somewhere more private to speak. “Holly’s apple farm is wicked and haunted. Trust me, you’d be safer staying anywhere else. I have a spare room you’re welcome to use. I know my boyfriend wouldn’t mind. He’s Holly’s ex, and he knows all about how weird that family is.” She smoothed her fingers over her hair-spray-hardened curls and gave him a seductive smile. Connor noticed she had lipstick on her teeth. They’d have to edit that out. Amy coyly tilted her head, and the gleam in her eye was similar to that of a vulture’s about to descend on a meal. “My boyfriend doesn’t stay over often. You could protect me at night when I get scared.”

Connor ignored the unsubtle invitation to join her in the sack. “What happened today was an accident. I hope you realize that, Miss Gordon. Holly’s apple farm might have a haunted past, but that doesn’t mean she made that window shatter. You saw her crawling toward her hedgehog just as I did. The window was at least six feet away.”

The flirtatious smile vanished. “She’s responsible,” Amy insisted. “Somehow, she’s responsible. I’ve never trusted her or her sisters. Half the town is scared of them, and the other half only likes them because of their cider. You should hear some of the stories Jeremy tells. Holly was awkward and strange even in high school, and she still is. Who keeps a pet hedgehog for fuck’s sake?”

Connor did his best to tamp down his anger. He was in a professional setting, and there were ears everywhere. “Despite your high school feelings about Holly, there are a number of witnesses to today’s event. I suggest you think long and hard before filing any lawsuits. You wouldn’t want to be exposed as a fool.”

It took a moment for Amy to realize he wasn’t flirting back and that he had no intention of heeding her warnings. She scoffed in disbelief.

Satisfied that she understood his warning, Connor was about to turn away when he added, “And by the way, Amy, I like strange and wicked. It’s kind of my thing.”

An hour later Connor and his crew had finished cleaning Amy’s house and had packed away their gear. Amy spent the entire time pacing back and forth in the living room, her heels clacking on the hardwood and her thumbs flying across her phone screen, only pausing long enough to throw the occasional vicious look his way. She was no doubt contacting every lawyer she knew, Connor thought with a sigh. Small-town dynamics were always fraught with complicated relationships, and it seemed Holly had her share of haters.

The entire time he worked, the words that had been angrily slung back and forth that afternoon rang in his ears.

“Holly Celeste, you wicked witch!”

“If you touch that hedgehog, I’ll curse you!”

“You’re evil.”

“Holly’s farm is wicked and haunted.”

Connor had little experience with witches, and he’d never been able to prove they existed. He’d had brushes with what he swore were supernatural beings, but never before had he had so much evidence to go on. The language being used by the town to describe the Celestes wasn’t an accident, and there was the not-so-small matter of someone sending him that photo—someone who was obviously familiar with the women. That feeling of knowing flooded his bloodstream, even if in the back of his mind he acknowledged that everything didn’t fully fit. For example, if the Celestes were witches with the best apple cider in town, why was their apple farm on the verge of bankruptcy instead of thriving?

Holly’s response to his ungraceful accusation in the orchards had been to deny she was a witch, but if she were a witch, that’s exactly what he would expect her to do.

Connor was helping Tom load the last of the camera equipment into the van when he spotted Holly sitting in the cab of his truck. He was surprised she hadn’t called one of her sisters to come pick her up, but then he looked down at his feet, where he’d set her purse. Oh, of course. She’d left her purse inside, and her phone was probably in it. She’d chosen to sit in the car and wait instead of reentering the viper’s nest, and he couldn’t blame her.

He waved off Tom, picked up Holly’s purse, and carried it to the truck. When he opened the door, she didn’t look at him, but continued petting the flat spikes of the little hedgehog napping in her lap. Connor set the purse on the console between them, buckled his seat belt, and started the ignition.

“So,” he said, “that was interesting.”

Holly groaned. “Sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t make that window shatter.”

She glanced down at the tiny snoozing Prickles. “I shouldn’t have brought him. I meant to taunt her with him, but I changed my mind, except by then he’d already escaped.”

Connor thought of the vision she’d made creeping across the floor on her hands and knees to catch the hedgehog, and fought back a smile. Never in a million years would he forget the moment he realized she was chasing down a loose hedgehog in the middle of his interview.

“Was anyone hurt?”

He shook his head. “A few cuts, but nothing major. We’re lucky no one was standing by the window, or it might have been a different story.”

“Is Amy going to sue you?”

“I think Amy wants to sue everyone.” He let a few minutes of silence pass and then said, “What did you think of her interview?”

Holly drummed her fingers on the handle of the door. “Although Amy Gordon is an attention-obsessed bitch, I thought she was telling the truth about the ghost.” She shifted in her seat, the belt pressing between her breasts in a way Connor silently scolded himself for noticing. “You’ve heard her story before.”

He nodded. “From more than one person. Run-ins with Councilman Miller are the most commonly cited incidents on your farm. Haven’t you read any of the speculative sites associated with Wicked Good Apples?”

“I’ve browsed them,” she admitted, “but I’ve never seen his name mentioned. People describe only a nineteenth-century man. How did you discover his identity?”

“Research.” The instant he’d seen the photograph he’d become fully invested in the paranormal activities at Wicked Good Apples, and he’d devoted every spare moment over the past year working on identifying the ghost. He’d spent eye-watering hours narrowing down the time period in which the ghost had likely lived based on the apparition’s clothing, and then even more time hunched over genealogy books and calling local historical societies. Eventually he’d discovered a birth announcement for a male child born with a blind eye, who’d later become a powerful town councilman. Connor had learned that the old building where the town’s three-person council used to meet still stood, and he’d contacted the current owners. They’d enthusiastically sent him snapshots of several artifacts that had come with the house, and one of them had been an oil portrait of the council. The intensive effort had paid off in spades: almost immediately his interviewees had corroborated that Councilman Miller was the ghost.

“In the stories people share, sometimes the councilman is standing, sometimes he’s seated under a tree. He’s been seen peeling an apple and eating an apple, but it’s almost always in the old orchard where we were pruning today. Amy is the first person who’s claimed to have talked to him, though.”

Holly chewed on her bottom lip. “Amy said the ghost offered her a poisoned apple and then implied that eating a poisoned apple was how he died. You think Councilman Miller was killed by one of our apples two hundred years ago, don’t you? That that’s why he’s haunting our orchards.”

He slowed behind a minivan. “I do. What I can’t figure out is why now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where has he been the past two centuries? There aren’t any records or indications of hauntings, and then—bam—four years ago he suddenly appears in your orchards, moaning about something that happened two hundred years ago and scaring off your customers.”

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Holly’s hand pause over the hedgehog’s spikes and her breath catch. He pounced on it. “What happened four years ago?”

Holly resumed stroking the hedgehog and said with an even voice, “How would I know?”

He might have believed her if it weren’t for the way her free hand fisted at her side.

“You think one of my ancestors gave him the poisoned apple,” she accused.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Two hundred years ago your great-great-grandmother, Autumn, married a farmer named Thomas, but not everyone was pleased with the union. In particular, the head of the town council, Jonathan Miller, had a serious problem with her, although I haven’t yet found any reputable records that explain what the dispute was over.”

Her knuckles turned white with pressure along her thigh. “Why did you ask me about my family history in the orchard this morning if you already know more than I do?”

“I was curious what you would share.”

“You were testing me.”

He shook his head no. “I was corroborating the story with another source.”

“You said you wanted to search the attic and cellar for a particular name. Is it Jonathan Miller’s?”

“Yes. If I can find some mention of him in a letter or diary, I might be able to learn more about his relationship with your great-great-grandmother and her husband.”

Holly glared at him, and he didn’t miss the fire in her eyes. “You said this episode would be good for business, but I hardly think accusing one of my ancestors of murder via poisoned apple, on national TV, is going to entice people to visit our apple farm.”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t make that leap, but of course she had. It was true that backlash was a small possibility once the episode aired, but the greater likelihood was that the old story would inspire people to visit, whether out of morbid curiosity or simple perversity. He’d learned that humans liked to do what they were told they shouldn’t. “You could rename the farm The Poisoned Apple,” he joked. At her severe look he sighed and said, “Truthfully, I think it’s going to draw customers, not repel them.”

Prickles opened his eyes and yawned, and damned if he wasn’t cute as hell.

“Any other secrets you want to share?” Holly asked, her knuckles still white.

Yeah, there were a few more things, but considering the day they’d had so far, he didn’t think now was the best time to mention them.

He turned into her driveway without answering and let his eyes drift upward to the stretching branches of the budding maples. It would be absolutely gorgeous in the fall, when the leaves were a brilliant red against the crisp sky.

When he pulled to a stop in front of his trailer and climbed out, he spotted her Aunt Daisy sitting on the porch swing, her stark white hair drifting behind her with the gentle movement. She could have been a ghostly fixture of the house if it weren’t for the hot-pink Daisy Duck sweatshirt she was wearing.

“Yoo-hoo!” Aunt Daisy called, waving them over with a black-gloved hand. He narrowed his eyes at the gloves as he waited for Holly, who hurried to his side with Prickles cupped in her palm. “There you are, Holly. Jeremy stopped by. He said he tried texting and calling but couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“Jeremy?” Connor murmured. “As in your ex-boyfriend and Amy Gordon’s current boyfriend?”

Holly wrinkled her nose. “Yup, that’s the one. He always knows the worst time to call. It’s a freaking talent.” Then to her aunt she said, “Thanks, Aunt Daisy.”

They climbed the shallow, warped porch steps, and Connor made a mental note to shore them up the next day, telling himself it was because he couldn’t risk any of his crew members falling through.

Daisy’s eyes were milky white, and Connor frowned as they approached, realizing she’d called out to them as if she could see. Daisy had the same features as the younger twins: a sweet snub nose with freckles and snow-white hair that must’ve been as bright red as theirs when she was younger. The family resemblance between all the twins was remarkable. Holly, on the other hand, might as well have been born into a completely different family for all the similarities she had, with her dark hair and high cheekbones.

Aunt Daisy turned and looked at him as if she could see straight through him. “Connor, what are you and that assistant of yours doing for dinner tonight?”

“He’s busy,” Holly answered quickly. “And Charlotte’s a vegan.” She turned and started to push him back down the porch with her free hand. “There’s a new Indian restaurant in Augusta, about twenty minutes south. You should try it.”

Aunt Daisy tutted. “Nonsense! It wouldn’t be right for our new neighbors to have to drive into town for supper when we have plenty ten feet away.”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be right , Holly,” Connor taunted with a grin. And because he knew it would irk her if he accepted, he said, “We would love to eat with you.”