“Here comes the stubborn.” Cleo carried the pot of water to the stove.
“Determined. I like determined. So no, I’m not going to let some dead, murderous witch scare me off. It’s not her house. It’s mine. I don’t believe in curses, but if I did? If you can cast one, you can break one.”
Cleo picked up her wine, toasted. “That’s damn right.”
“It’s easy to say that when I’m sitting here with three people and two dogs, but I mean it.”
The music rang out. “It’s Gonna Be Alright.”
“The Ramones.” Owen walked in with a beer for himself, another for Trey. “Now we’re talking. You’ve got Trey’s number in your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Give it.” He held out his hand. “I’ll put mine in. You’re freaked, you call.”
Trey laid a hand over hers. “You’re not alone, Sonya.”
Sonya glanced toward the music. “That’s for damn sure.”
Chapter Fourteen
Monday morning, Sonya stood in the foyer with Cleo.
“You’ve got two capable men who’d come if you needed them. You’ll have company for your dinner party on Friday.”
As she spoke, Cleo took Sonya’s hand, glanced around. “Your mom’s coming the next weekend. Then I’ll be back.”
“Don’t worry about me. If you have worry to spare, save it for the innocents subjected to my first, very likely only, attempt at pot roast.”
“It’ll be great. When you set your mind to something, Son, you get it done. Maybe that’s why you’re here. Houses need people, don’t you think, or they’re just walls.
“I think, seeing you here, you needed this house. And it needs you.”
She wrapped Sonya in a hug. “I’ve got to go make that meeting. I’ll send some of my stuff with Winter when she comes. Just shove it out of your way until I get here.”
“See you in a couple weeks.”
Sonya watched Cleo walk to her car, load in her weekend bag. After a final wave, she watched her drive off.
The minute she closed the door, her tablet sang out with, “I Think We’re Alone Now.”
“I am not amused.”
To her surprise, the track stopped, then picked up with Joel Corry’s “Sorry.”
Sonya just shook her head, and went upstairs. Before she started work, she decided she’d start documenting “incidents.”
She backtracked as best she could and found something solid, even logical in making an organized list of the illogical.
Satisfied, she focused in on the Practical Art project.
For three hours, she worked undisturbed. The fire simmered, the house—and whatever inhabited it with her—stayed quiet, and the tests she ran, ran smooth.
“It’s ready to go live,” she told herself.
She texted Anna to give her a heads-up—and a request to send any desired changes asap.
She’d switch over to the caterer’s project, she thought as she got up to add a log to the fire. That would give Anna time to review.
She’d barely settled down again when she got Anna’s return text.
It’s perfect! It’s all perfect. Go!
“Okay then. Here we go.”
She activated the website, the new social media, sent the blast she’d prepared to Anna’s contact list—and the contacts she’d added to it.
Obsessively checked it all again on her desktop, her phone, her tablet. Shook her fists in the air, then texted back.
You’re up, and you’re beautiful!
Queen’s “We Are the Champions” rocked out.
“I’ll allow it,” Sonya decided.
And singing along, she went down to get a celebratory Coke. Then got back to work.
The day passed productively and so well she had to talk herself into taking a break and fitting in that daily walk.
While she stood at the seawall hoping to see another whale, she got a text from Trey.
Excellent work on Anna’s web page. Do you have any time this week to talk about doing the same for Doyle Law?
“Boy, do I!”
But she answered more professionally.
Absolutely. I can easily work around your schedule.
Wednesday? Four-thirty? Okay if I come to you?
That’ll work. As long as you bring Mookie.
He’s counting on it. See you then.
“All right. I will get this job.” She turned, looked at the house. She saw the shadow in the window. Not a trick of the light.
Someone—something—stood there, watching as she watched.