“Well, no shit!” she shouted, waving her hand in the air. “Maybe you should listen to your instincts. Your mother was murdered there. You recently found out that the killer had you trapped in your closet. You were eight years old, Ellie. Eight!” she said, her eyes blazing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone needs to take care of the inn.”
“That’s bullshit. What’s the real reason?”
“Because Daddy hid notes to me in the house and I have to find them.”
“And have you found any since you banished those evil badgers?”
I scowled. “No.” I turned toward the door and put the key into the doorknob. “We need to clean my apartment. I want to be home when David gets back from work.”
“Ellie. It’s me, Claire. I know you better than probably anyone alive. What’s the real reason?”
Tears filled my eyes. “I let him down, Claire.” My voice broke. “I have to try and save it.”
She leaned forward and grabbed my wrist, guiding me to the chair next to hers. Then she reached under her seat and grabbed a paper bag that I hadn’t noticed. After pulling out a second bottle of beer, she popped the top off and handed it to me. “Here.”
I took a long sip, then placed the cold bottle against my chest to help me cool off. “You came prepared.”
She took a drink from her bottle and shrugged. “I was going to make you talk one way or another. Getting you drunk was Plan B.”
“And Plan A?”
She grinned. “Asking you.”
I chuckled softly and took another drink. Claire was right. She knew me better than anyone. Being best friends with someone for fifteen years wasn’t for nothing.
“You seriously think you let him down?” she asked.
“Of course I did. In every conceivable way. I refused to relearn the curse after Momma’s murder. If only I’d listened to him—”
Her hand covered mine, her eyes pleading. “Ellie. Enough. We’ve rehashed this every which way left of Sunday. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. We all have things we wish we’d done differently, but what good does it do us to dwell?”
“Maybe Marlena wouldn’t be dead right now if I’d known enough to figure out what Collin was up to. Maybe Daddy would still be alive too.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She took another drink. “How in the world could you have stopped Okeus’s lackey from killing Marlena? And Ahone demanded a sacrifice—your father. All the knowledge in the world wouldn’t have prevented either of their deaths.”
“I have to blame someone, Claire.”
“Fine, then blame Collin. Blame Okeus. Blame Ananias Dare and his cohort, Manteo. But stop blaming yourself, because that’s just bollocks, as your Brit likes to say.”
I grinned. “I’m quite fond of my Brit.”
“No wonder. He’s hot and he’s great in bed.”
My mouth dropped open in protest. “I never said he’s great in bed.”
“I know. I’m reading between the lines. You’ve told me all about all the awful experiences you’ve had. The fact that you won’t tell me a thing about sex with David speaks volumes.”
“I never told you about sex with Collin either.”
She lifted her beer bottle in salute. “Exactly.”
I laughed and we drank the rest of our beers. Once we were done, Claire pulled out two more bottles, then stopped, her gaze drifting down the landing toward my neighbor’s door.
“What are you looking at?”
She shook her head and handed me the drink. “Nothing.”
“We’re supposed to be cleaning,” I said, taking the proffered beer and checking out the door that had caught her attention. Claire was lying to me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
“Your apartment isn’t going anywhere,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy. “I seriously think you should reconsider.”
“It’s too late, Claire. My landlord has already rented it out.”
We were quiet again, the silence more heavy this time. “Tell me more about your honeymoon,” I finally said. “You’ve been home for two weeks and every time I ask you about it, you change the subject.”
She shot me a grin, but she looked somehow nervous, a first considering that she was a chronic oversharer. “Now who’s trying to get sexual exploit details?”
“Please. You’re the queen of TMI. But that’s not what I’m asking and you know it. Tell me about Charleston. You’ve been dying to go there your entire life and you finally got to go. What was it like? Were the ghost tours fun?”
She took another sip from her bottle. “We need to take care of your apartment.”
“Claire. You and Myra have something in common: you’re both acting strange. Her since she moved and you since you came back from your honeymoon. If I wasn’t full of so much self-confidence, I might start getting paranoid,” I teased.
She was silent for several seconds, her face turning pale.
Oh, shit. Something was wrong. “Did you and Drew have a fight?”
She shook her head with a wry smile. “No. Drew is perfect.”
“Then what happened?”
She leaned forward, fear in her eyes. “Promise me that you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“Are you serious? You’re one of the sanest people I know. You keep me sane. How could I think you’re crazy?”