Prologue Finn
Four Months Prior
I rarely acquiesce to Milo’s begging to go out to the bars, but it’s a Friday night, and I need a distraction. Things within the mayor’s office are seemingly going from bad to worse, and despite my best efforts, nothing is stopping the decline or even slowing it down. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job; to be the mayor of my hometown of Havenwood, USA, is beyond an honor. However, Havenwood is struggling to keep its head above water, and it isn’t easy to see a place you love falling off the map, completely forgotten and overlooked all because a God damn highway was built that bypasses us completely. But I’m looking for a new way, any way, to revive the town and breathe new life into it.
With the weight of the situation on my shoulders, I conceded to driving a few towns over and having a beer with my brother, seeing as Havenwood had no bars. However, upon entering The Grumpy Lobster I immediately regretted my decision. The place is dimly lit with artificial lanterns that cast the place in glowing orange light. Even from my spot in the doorway, I can tell that the bar itself is sticky, which I assume might be part of the “charm” Milo mentioned on the way here. Worst of all, my current situationship, Starr Iglesias, whom I am actively trying to break things off with is seated comfortably on a nearby bar stool. Her dark eyes lock on me as soon as I enter the janky bar, and something within me tells me she is going to be especially hard to shake tonight, the alcohol in her system motivating her efforts.
“Let’s order a round before Starr tries to drag you into the bathroom.” Milo teases, letting me know he’s also noticed her presence here.
“This is exactly why I do not like going out,” I remind him as we take two empty seats at the sticky counter. I keep my hands in my lap, unsure what diseases are caked into the bar’s wood. We order our beer from the friendly bartender and tip him generously when the pints arrive.
“I had to get you out of that office somehow,” Milo says, taking a sip of his beer. His hazel eyes study me as I rotate my pint glass in small circles.
“I haven’t seen you this spun up since being elected. What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”
I sigh, lifting my gaze from my beer and up to my brother’s concerned face. Milo is not the kind of man to let a topic go so easily. Once when we were eight, I had a crush on our classmate Sally, and he bugged me for over two weeks straight until I finally caved in and revealed who my crush was. He didn’t go and tell Sally or anyone; he just wanted to know so that he could be in the loop regarding the latest gossip. Not much has changed about Milo’s personality since then; he always has to know everything and doesn’t stop until he does. It’s what makes him such a great historian.
“We all know Havenwood is treading water, it has been since Jerry left office, but things are getting bad, Milo. Really bad. If I don’t find a solution soon,” I shake my head, once again returning to nervously twisting the beer in front of me.
“Havenwood is done for.”
“Okay,” Milo nods deeply, processing my words as he crosses one leg over another.
“Then we find a solution,” he says matter-of-factly, shrugging his thin shoulders as if the answer were that simple. I let out a dry laugh and run a hand down my face.
“Normally, I appreciate your carefree attitude, brother, but this is serious.”
“So am I, deadly so.” I quirk an eyebrow at him and notice he’s wearing one of those expressions that tells me he has a trick up his sleeve. I groan, anticipating whatever mania he has in mind. Milo is a genius, and he solves any problem you put before him, but he doesn’t always play by the rules, nor does he often care about the consequences of his actions and how they affect others.
“Fine,” I grumble in desperation, unable to think of anything I have to lose.
“I’ll hear you out.” I take a hefty swig of my beer, deciding I need at least a little alcohol in my system to consider whatever craziness he’s concocted.
Milo clears his throat, giving me a knowing smile before laying out his master plan. “Those remains we found last week,” he raises a manicured eyebrow, reminding me of our discovery.
Not even a week prior I had agreed to help Milo search for the burial sight of Martha A. B. Brant, an infamous woman who was tried and killed in the 1690’s witch trials and a Havenwood legend. Surprisingly, we had been successful in locating her thanks to new documents Milo had discovered that described her place of burial. Seeing as she was accused of witchcraft she wasn’t allowed a church burial and was not afforded a headstone, making her initially difficult to find.
“What about them?” I prompt. My brother is an anthropologist before anything else, and the historian in charge of Havenwood’s historic center, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he would seek solutions through methods relating to his field of work.
“The tourists are flocking to Salem, completely skipping over Havenwood because of the highway, we can bring them back using the witch’s remains.”
I rub my chin through my short goatee, contemplating the crazy idea put before me.
“We do need the tourists to rebuild our economy,” I acknowledge, Milo nods.
“And Martha is part of Massachusetts’ witch history. If we market her story as a missing piece of the trials, the tourists would flock, not wanting to miss out.” Milo nods again, more enthusiastically, as I catch on to his plan. Just as I’m beginning to see hope, I remember a fundamental piece of information, causing me to frown.
“Wait, but you told me that Salem’s historical guild is trying to claim the remains for themselves; if we lose those remains, we lose this plan.”
Milo holds up a thin finger, pausing my line of thought and offering reassurance.
“You are correct. However, I reached out to the Massachusetts Historical Conservancy Foundation to play moderator. They told me that if we’re able to locate a blood relative of Martha Brant and get that relative to sign the remains over to Havenwood, she’s ours—permanently.”
I eye my brother, noting the hopeful expression on his face. I know Milo doesn’t want to see Havenwood die. I also know he’s worried his career will be over if Salem snatches those remains from under him, so he has a strong reason to want to help.
“How would we even find a living relative of Martha Brant?” I decide to humor his idea, curious about what solution he can find. With a smug smirk, he retrieves his cell phone, padding away at the screen as blue light reflects on his features. Admittedly, I have no idea what he is doing. I still carry a Jitterbug Flip and have no interest in giving in to modern technology, but I wait patiently.
“Boom,” Milo exclaims and turns the screen towards my face, the light temporarily blinding me due to the dimness of the bar. I squint my eyes, and a minimalist sketch of a family tree comes into the frame; I scan it until I find the final name on the furthest branch.
“Courtney Berrycloth?” I read aloud just before Milo pockets the device once again.
“People really should be more aware when sending their DNA off to these companies,” he remarks, mostly to himself. I make a mental note never to freely give away any DNA.
“Does it say how old this Courtney is? She’s the last branch of the tree, what if she’s a baby?”
“It doesn’t say, but that’s unlikely. To be added to your family tree, you have to consent by being over eighteen years old. My guess? Ms. Courtney Berrycloth is some lonely old lady with no kids and no spouse, which works in our favor.”
“How exactly?” I ask, attempting to absorb all the necessary information despite Milo’s rapid speech. He rubs his temple in annoyance as if the answer should be obvious.
“We lure her here and let Havenwood win her over. It won’t be hard, considering half the population is over 60, like Courtney likely is. Then we get her to sign on the remains.” Milo’s hazel eyes dart past my head, registering motion behind me.
“We’ll work out details later.”
I crease my brow, opening my mouth to ask my brother what paused him when I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder.
“You boys sure are scheming over here,” a very drunk Starr says as she uses her grip on my shoulder for support.
“Hey, Starr.” Milo greets, cocking his head, an annoying grin plastered on his lips.
She returns the grin before turning her full attention to me.
“Let’s get out of here, Finn.” It’s not an offer, it’s a demand, very uncharacteristic for the most sexually submissive woman I have ever met. Alcohol must really affect her.
“No thanks, Starr. Remember what we talked about? Getting some space?” I gently remind her of our previous conversations, attempting to pluck her fingers off of me.
“Nope,” she pops the P sarcastically and grabs my hand, pulling me aggressively from my chair.
“See you later, Finn.” Milo wiggles his fingers at me in a mocking wave as Starr drags me towards the door. My eyes are full of pleading for my brother to get me out of this situation, but he ignores me with a laugh.
As we exit the stuffy bar, I sigh in defeat. Starr is already half-naked before even reaching her car.
Fine. One more hookup wouldn’t hurt.