1. The Victim

THE VICTIM

T he Honey Hollow Bed and Breakfast is buzzing with the kind of energy that only a circus-like baby shower can muster.

The glass conservatory, that was once posh and premier, now resembles a plush toy factory explosion littered with gifts—tiny booties, mountains of diapers, and every imaginable baby gadget.

Thank goodness we’re past the age-old tradition of watching the gifts being opened one by laborsome one .

And with there being four knocked-up women they’re honoring here today, the estrogen levels in this room could serve as a scientific study on fertility.

What is in the water in this town, anyway? I muse, sipping my almosta-mimosa, and don’t get me started on the lack of alcohol in this place. I suppose they thought it was cute to tease us with virginal knockoffs, even though virginal is far from the theme of this gift grab.

But thank heavens I’m far past my baby-making prime. At my age, I get all of the fun and none of the threats of a two a.m. feeding.

My gaze drifts across the room, landing on the portrait of Miranda Lemon’s late husband—as handsome as sin and forever young in his frame.

I tried to land that man once, while he was still kicking and breathing. Alas, he was too devoted to his lemon of a bride.

But that new boy toy of Miranda’s—her new beau, Wylie Fox—now there’s a man with a naughty gleam in his eye that suggests he might be up for a bit of extracurricular activity.

In fact, I know he is.

I remember him from way back when. That’s when we were much younger and living in Hollyhock. He was married to Suze the Witch, and he stepped out on her at every turn. And just when I was about to hop onto that handsome merry-go-round, he up and ditched the witch and married some hotel heiress out in Fallbrook.

From what I hear, that ended badly. So badly, he faked his own death to get out of it.

But here he is, playing the part of the bartender and looking as scrumptious as any of those desserts they’ve piled into this place.

I waste no time in heading his way, and soon the hem of my skirt brushes against the makeshift bar.

“Wylie, honey,” I purr. “It’s been years. And I must say, it’s refreshing to see a man who can handle himself so well amid such maternal chaos.”

Wylie chuckles, his green eyes crinkling with all the naughty intent a woman can desire. With his dark salt and pepper hair and those dimples to die for, Wylie Fox is a true-blue silver fox indeed.

“Boy, you haven’t changed one bit.” He gives a dark chuckle. “It’s nice to see you again. I heard you were staying here at the B&B. I’ve been meaning to say hello.”

I run my fingers up his leg and he takes a little sidestep while another laugh bellows from his lungs.

“All right”—he says—“while you do know how to make a man feel appreciated amidst the diapers and the bibs, I have to tell you that one hundred percent of my heart belongs to Miranda Lemon.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a little room for others,” I tease as my hand brushes his arm. “A man with your talents could be, and should be, generous with the ladies. Starting with me.”

Wylie gives another laugh, this time low and indulgent. “You’re terrible. But I suppose I’ve been terrible a time or two myself.” He winks my way. “I’m sorry you missed the terrible boat. But this man is on the straight and narrow now. I can’t risk losing Miranda. I’m sorry, but I can’t play any games.”

“Not even a few harmless games? Those happen to be my favorite.” I lick my lips as I tease him.

Little does he know, games are something I play to win.

A crowd presses in at the bar and Wylie excuses himself to help the guests as I take another sip of my near-miss of a mimosa. The citrus bite is a perfect match for my sour mood.

The laughter and chatter swell around me, just as a familiar face catches my eye and they curl a finger my way.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I grumble.

What in the world do they want now?

And seeing I have nothing better to do, I set down my drink and follow along as we weave through clusters of chatting guests.

They lead me out of the conservatory and down a quiet hallway lined with vintage portraits, away from the incessant chatter of the baby shower.

The air grows cooler, and the muffled sounds of celebration fade into a haunting silence that begins to prick at my nerves—and rumor has it, this place is haunted indeed. I’ve yet to see an apparition, but I’ve certainly seen the chandeliers rattle, the lights flicker, and books fall from shelves all on their own.

I don’t know how Miranda has done it, but she’s somehow rigged this place to fool the public into believing in ghosts.

I certainly don’t believe in ghosts.

In fact, I’m certain that once you close your eyes forever, you simply cease to exist. That’s exactly why I live for the now —wild and free without hesitating to get what I want and who I want.

Wiley won’t be getting off so easy today. I might just lead him on enough to make sure he dumps Miranda in the process, too. Nobody rejects me for another woman and gets away with it.

“Where are we headed?” I snap to the idiot before me, but they don’t respond. They simply quicken their pace instead.

My heels click sharply on the old wooden floor, echoing in the empty space. I turn a corner and find myself in a dimly lit room as the door softly clicks shut behind me.

“Why the secrecy?” A ripple of apprehension courses through me as I take in the secluded setting.

Within seconds, my mouth is bound as a long knitted scarf is twisted around my neck.

My fingers claw to remove it as panic sets in.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t think.

Moments later, I hit the floor, and oddly enough, at the very same time, I seem to be rising.

I glance down at my body on the ground, crumpled in a heap, and gasp.

It seems I was wrong about that whole lights-out thing. Even though I’ve lost my body, I seem to be moving on without it.

I was wrong about life after death.

I was wrong about so many other things, too.

It seems my wicked games have finally caught up with me.