Chapter 23

CHELSEA

I wake up to a pair of hands gently kneading my breasts and a head nestled between my legs. I lift the blanket to find Christopher there, his mouth working wonders on me.

“Well, this is a first. I’ve never been woken up by someone eating me out before.”

He glances up at me, grinning, before diving back into his task.

I thread my fingers through his hair, urging him to go deeper. I crave the sensation of his tongue buried inside me. At times, it feels like he’s licking my very core.

His tongue is long and skilled. I can feel it probing, flicking against my insides. I keep my eyes shut, surrendering to the pleasure he’s giving me.

His hands toy with my nipples, twisting and pinching them until they’re on the brink of pain. But the sensation of his mouth on me erases any discomfort.

I start to tremble as my hips grind against his mouth, chasing my climax until I come undone on his face. I gasp for breath as his tongue targets my clit, sending me spiraling into another orgasm.

He releases me and crawls up to my face. I pull him in for a kiss, tasting myself on his lips. He rests his head on my chest, pressing a kiss to my nipple.

“I love you,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair.

“You’re mine now. I want you and only you,” he declares.

“You’ll always have me, whenever you want.”

“There are things happening right now. People will try to sway you, to make you leave or believe their lies.

“I want you to stay and write your books, just like your great-aunt did,” he says, looking up at me.

His eyes are a different shade now. They’re a dark green, almost black. He dips his head and starts to suck on my breasts.

“I’ll do whatever you want, as long as you promise to never stop loving me.”

“I’ll love you until the day you die,” he promises, continuing his ministrations on my breasts. “But remember this. You are mine.”

I look down at him and nod. “Fuck me.”

He moves from my breast and positions himself between my legs. In a matter of seconds, he’s buried deep inside me. My head falls back as I gasp for breath.

LYNN

“Holy shit! I’ve traced the entire family tree connected to that house,” I exclaim, pointing at the screen. “All the names in these articles are linked in some way.”

Dan joins me as I piece it all together.

“Okay, it starts with Dr. David Headley, who built the house in 1902. He had no kids. His brother had two daughters, Paula and Clementine. So, when David died, he left the house to Clementine in 1932.

“Clementine didn’t have any kids, but her sister had a son named Daniel Smithson and a daughter named Dorothy.

“When Clementine committed suicide in 1961, the house didn’t go to Daniel, it went to Dorothy. Why did Dorothy inherit the house and not Daniel?” I ask, looking at Dan.

He shrugs.

“Alright, Dorothy didn’t have any kids, but Daniel had a daughter named Judy. That’s Chelsea’s mother. This house has been passed down through three generations and ended up with Chelsea. Why was Judy skipped?” I wonder aloud.

“When Crazy Willie came into your store, what exactly did he say? Can you remember?”

I drum my fingers on the counter. “He said the house was haunted, that someone was going to get hurt, which turned out to be Brian.”

“I checked Crazy Willie’s record. He was clean until 1970 when he was accused of murder. The charges were dropped due to lack of evidence, and he was fired from Strange Estates,” he informs me.

I gather all the news clippings and sift through them. I find the one about Clementine’s suicide and start to read more of the article.

“Bingo!” I exclaim, tossing the article down. “Willie Stiles was Clementine’s caretaker. He’s the one who found her hanging in the attic. She died in 1961, but he wasn’t accused of murder until 1970.”

“I think he was there when she killed herself and when Dorothy took over,” he suggests.

“Willie knew something. That’s why he came to me. He tried to warn me about the house,” I say, looking at Dan. “How did Willie die?”

Dan looks at me with wide eyes. “You won’t believe me if I told you.”

“What? How?” I press.

“When he ran out of your store the other day, he was screaming, ‘I didn’t tell them anything’ over and over with his hands over his head. He made it about a hundred yards into the park and then just dropped dead.”

“How did he die? Was there an autopsy?”

“Yes. He drowned and froze to death,” he reveals.

I stare at him, thinking, ~How in the world can that happen in August?~

He nods. “When my tech took his liver temperature, it was thirty-four degrees. The only way that could happen is if he was left in a freezer for a couple of days.”

“Someone or something with a lot of power killed our only witness,” I conclude.

Zoey reenters the kitchen.

“I’ve been listening. Why don’t you call that friend you had back in college?” Zoey suggests.

“Who? Jennifer Franks, the medium?” I ask as Zoey nods.

“What can she do?” Dan inquires.

“She’s a medium. Spirits come to her and communicate, asking questions or wanting to tell her how they died. Mostly to reassure their loved ones that they’re at peace now.”

“Will she be able to tell if a house is haunted?” Dan asks.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” I reply. “Let me find her number.”

DAN

Lynn manages to get in touch with Jennifer, who agrees to help us. We just need to pick her up from her house.

Lynn and Zoey hop into my cruiser, and we set off to pick up Jennifer. She’s waiting for us outside the bookstore. I pull up, and she slides into the back seat with Zoey.

“So, where are we headed?” Jennifer queries.

“We’re off to check out Chelsea’s new place,” Lynn informs her.

I steer us onto the main road, and soon we’re approaching the massive oak tree.

“Stop the car!” Jennifer shrieks.

I hit the brakes hard, bringing us to a sudden halt. She jumps out and strides toward the tree. I maneuver the cruiser into a parking spot.

We climb out and trail after Jennifer. She’s moving toward the tree, her hands outstretched, her fingers wiggling as if she’s trying to sense something.

“Many people lost their lives here,” she murmurs when she’s just a foot away. She reaches out to touch the tree, but jerks her hand back as if it burned her.

“What happened?” Lynn inquires.

“It felt like a shock, as if it didn’t want me to touch it,” she explains, moving toward the wooden cross about forty feet away.

“Poor Frank and Maggie. Their spirits are still here. He’s still holding her hand. I can only see half of him.”

“Did you tell her anything about this?” I whisper to Lynn.

“No, not a word. I didn’t say anything about the tree or the house,” she whispers back.

Jennifer stands with her eyes closed, her hand outstretched again. “They’re telling me they were murdered.”

Lynn glances at me, mouthing the words, ~What the fuck~!

“So much pain!” Jennifer exclaims, her eyes still closed. She lowers her hands and heads back to the car. “So sad.”

We all climb back into my cruiser, silent. I reverse and steer us toward Chelsea’s driveway.

“Wait!” she suddenly yells from the back seat.

We all peer through the windshield, and all we see is a dark tunnel of trees blocking out the sunlight. Jennifer gets out of the car and stands in front of it.