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CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Mia sucked in her breath and faced the man in the wire-rimmed glasses. He glared at her with a pinched expression. All the people at the surrounding tables stared at her. Mia knew she should say something, but her mind went blank. The whole situation was embarrassing and confusing. Why was this strange man insulting her? In front of the whole town? What was his problem?

“What did you say?” Sylvie said, turning toward the man.

“You heard me,” the man said. “That last show of yours, ‘The Haunting at the Black Cat Inn’? The way you treated your guests, discredited everything they told you. You don’t believe in Salem. You don’t believe in our history.”

“Who are you, the mayor?” Sylvie said indignantly in her most over-the-top New Jersey accent.

Tandy growled again, but Mia petted his head reassuringly. She was just about to defend herself when Hugh Wolfe walked up. He slid his empty tray on the counter before turning to the man with the wire-rimmed glasses. His companions, the somber man and three women, took a wary step back.

“Listen, you can’t insult my customers,” Hugh said. “I’m going to ask you to leave now. And if I ever hear you speak to Ms. Bold in that unpleasant tone again, I will permanently ban you. Do you understand me?”

The people at the nearby tables looked away, no longer wanting to be associated with the fast-devolving debacle. Mia peeked out from behind Hugh’s intimidating height and strong arms, which were folded in a posture of determination.

“Of course, just a friendly disagreement,” the smaller man said and dipped his fingers into his pocket. He withdrew a card and handed it to Sylvie. “The answer to your question,” he said with a sinister smile. With that he turned and followed his friends out the door. The minute they were outside, the umbrellas came up and Mia realized with a start that the sky was drizzling rain outside.

How did they know it would rain?

she thought, amazed. The weather report had said there was zero chance of precipitation just this morning.

Hugh turned to Mia. “Listen, are you all right?”

Mia nodded. “I’m fine. I don’t know why he attacked me like that. I love Salem.”

“Listen, Mia,” Hugh said and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let a guy like that get to you. You belong here. You know more about Salem than most of the residents.”

As their eyes met, Mia felt a nervous flutter in her stomach.

“Duty calls,” Hugh said and walked over to the barista to pick up a second batch of coffees. Then he disappeared into the crowded restaurant.

“Are you two done ogling each other?” Sylvie said.

“That was sweet of him,” Mia said.

“Adorable,” Sylvie said, and held the card up so Mia could see it. There was a strange occult circle with arrows pointing in all directions in the center of the card. In most places, that might be a little odd, but not in Salem. The words that curved around the image read simply,

The Society of Spirits

. There was no contact information, no address, no phone number, just the odd symbol. Sylvie turned the card over to see if there was anything on the back. There was a simple phrase:

Protecting Salem since 1626.

“Sixteen twenty-six?” Mia said. “That’s when Salem was founded.”

“Sheesh,” Sylvie said and handed Mia the card. “Just when you think this town couldn’t get any weirder.”

Mia tucked the card away in her pocket just as Hugh Wolfe came back carrying an empty tray. He slid behind the bar and walked over to Mia.

“I was hoping you’d come by,” he said. “It’s been crazy busy, but I was worried about you.”

After what happened on the last podcast, Mia wasn’t surprised he was worried. During the show’s exploration of the Black Cat Inn, the owner, Dutch Brown, had died.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Back in the saddle.”

Back in the saddle? Really? That sounded so dorky!

Mia stared at Hugh like a deer frozen in the headlights. His deep tan, rugged good looks, and warm eyes reminded her of a sunny day.

What the heck should I do now? What do I say?

Suddenly, Mia felt a kick on her leg. Sylvie stared at her, inclining her head toward Hugh, urging Mia with her expression to ask him out.

Why did I ever tell her anything?

Mia thought to herself. She closed her eyes and swallowed, then took a breath. She’d been thinking about asking him out for weeks. Why not just ask? Sylvie kicked her again and nodded, imploring her to make a move.

I might as well do it now,

Mia thought.

It’s just dinner.

What have I got to lose?

She sat up straight and looked Hugh in the eyes. She was about to open her mouth when a familiar voice rang across the room.

“Mia! Sylvie! Is that you?”

Tandy leapt up, wagging his tail furiously and whimpering in recognition.

Mia turned to see Johnny Astor making his way through the restaurant, dressed in a black jeans and T-shirt, topped with a distressed leather jacket. His dark, silky hair fell along his jaw. He smiled and waved at them. Becca glanced up from cleaning the nearby table and froze. Johnny’s effect on the teenager was immediate; she looked as if she might swoon. What was it about Johnny that made women react like that? Mia wondered. There was the boyish charm, the disarming smile, the chiseled features, the intense eyes. He had a kind of sexy, gothic rock star thing going on, but he was also a bundle of insecurity. And right now his timing was incredibly annoying.

“Can we have this table?” Johnny said, sitting down before Becca could even nod.

“Sure, of course,” Becca said, barely choking the words out.

“Would you mind getting me a crepe with mushrooms, greens, and Parmesan?” he said, sweetly. He looked at Mia and Sylvie and patted the seats next to him. “Come on, you guys. Over here.”

Mia looked up at Hugh and saw something die in his eyes. He looked at Johnny and back at Mia. In a heartbeat, he was all business.

“I’ll get you some cappuccinos,” he said, a little stiffly. “On the house.”

Sylvie tossed Mia an exasperated glance and headed over to the table. Tandy ran over to Johnny and jumped up on his black jeans.

“Hey, Tandy,” Johnny said and ruffled his ears affectionately.

Darn it all,

Mia thought and followed Sylvie to the table.

Johnny leaned back and spread his arms against the back of the bench in a relaxed manner.

“Sooo, today’s the big day. Are you ready?”

“Of course,” Mia said.

“Bring it on,” Sylvie said.

Johnny laughed. “Knowing you, Mia, you’ve found out everything there is to know about the Sea Witch already.”

“I’ve done a little research,” she admitted. “Alice Parker was a fascinating woman and the victim of an awful, oppressive miscarriage of justice.”

“I wonder what she has to tell us,” Johnny said.

Something in Johnny’s tone wasn’t right. He seemed to be in a particularly smug mood. Was he hiding something?

“What are you up to?” Mia said. “You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

“Yeah,” Sylvie said. “I can practically see the feathers on your lips.”

Johnny took something out of his pocket.

“Surprise,” he said and put a black box in the center of the table.

“Oh! What is that?” Sylvie said, eyes lighting up at the sight of electronic equipment.

Mia, on the other hand, knew exactly what that little black box was and exactly how much trouble it was about to cause.

“You can’t be serious,” Mia said, horrified.

“This is going to spice up the show, guaranteed,” Johnny said and grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

Sylvie examined the box. She turned on a switch and there was a blast of static followed by white noise. She examined the dials and played with the extendable antenna and the built-in speakers. Then she looked at Johnny curiously.

“Are these dual AM and FM sweeps?” Sylvie said. “What is this thing?”

“A ghost box,” Johnny said.

“Sometimes called a spirit box,” Mia said.

“What is it? Some kind of tracker?” Sylvie said.

“It’s for talking to ghosts,” Mia said, shaking her head.

Sylvie’s eyes widened. “Really? Rad!”

Becca came to the table and put their food down, barely able to take her eyes off Johnny. All thoughts of the ghost box left Mia’s head. The food was fragrant with a delightful herbal bouquet that made her think of a country picnic. Sylvie dug into her crepes, smothered in melted Parmesan. She twirled the cheese on her fork, took a giant bite, and opened her eyes wide as the flavor hit her.

“If you don’t marry that guy,” Sylvie said, “I will.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny said suspiciously.

“Nothing, you wouldn’t understand,” Sylvie said.

Mia cut into her quiche and took a bite. The crust of the custard tart was flaky and moist, perfectly browned and glazed with egg whites. The filling was light and peppered with grated spinach and rich truffles. For a moment she was lost in the rich, savory taste.

“Anyway, the ghost box is just the kick we need,” Johnny said. “All the shows are doing it.” After a few bites in silence, Mia felt her frustration bubble over.

“Come on, Johnny. Even you must know this is junk science!” she said, exasperated.

“You use EVP recorders, Mia,” Johnny said.

“To keep a record of events and listen back for clues. Not to talk to ghosts!”

“How does it work?” Sylvie said, turning the dials, mesmerized. Another hiss of static emerged from the device.

“Well, the theory is that spirits can influence electromagnetic fields,” Johnny said. “So, once you create fluctuating frequencies, a ghost can manipulate the sound as a way to vocalize.”

“Do you realize how that sounds?” Mia said. “Don’t you think the more likely explanation is a form of auditory

pareidolia

?”

“What’s pareidolia?” Sylvie said, staring at the ghost box, entranced.

“Seeing patterns in random things, like clouds,” Mia said. “But in this case, hearing hidden messages in sounds.”

Johnny was unfazed by Mia’s reasoning. “It’s going to be great,” he said.

Suddenly, Hugh Wolfe appeared at Mia’s side and put their cappuccinos down on the table. He placed her cup down delicately, in order not to disturb the crema on her coffee. The design he’d created was a heart, pierced by an arrow. She looked up at him, but he was already gone.

Great, I blew it again,

she thought with frustration. She turned back to Johnny, annoyed.

“If you use that ghost box tonight, I’m not holding back,” she said, giving him a warning look.

“I’m counting on it,” Johnny said and smiled. Tandy licked his hand adoringly. He looked at his watch. “We better get moving. We both need to get ready for the shoot.”

The moment Johnny said the word “shoot,” Mia cringed. All her nervousness flooded back. Her professional experience was with podcasts, not film. What if she looked terrible? What if she had no charisma? Johnny was so good at all this, and she felt as if she were going into the situation blind. She wanted to ask Johnny about a million questions, but as she opened her mouth Becca appeared by Johnny’s side.

“Can you autograph this menu?” she said.

“I’d love to,” Johnny said and scrawled a message across the Toulouse-Lautrec image on the front:

To Becca, my favorite liaison to French culture!

He smiled and handed her the autograph. Becca giggled and ran back behind the counter. As Mia watched Johnny handle the situation with his usual flair, she had a sinking feeling. Johnny Astor was not just photogenic; he was smooth and effortless in the way he handled attention.

How was she going to compete with

that

?

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