Chapter 40. Holly
Holly
The muffins at the Bean There Café smelled extraordinary.
She had bought one and mindlessly taken two bites before it was pretty much gone, so she bought two more.
The duo working the register had frowns that nearly scraped the floor.
Holly knew why. Outside, the busker crooned like a dying animal.
She thought he might be playing “Brown Eyed Girl,” but who could tell when one song blended into the next?
He might be industrious, but one could say the same about a parasite.
“I’m so sorry you have to deal with that,” Holly said, tipping extra on her way out the door.
The girl with the heavy eyeliner and loads of piercings thanked her, while her coworker—equally bejeweled—blinked repeatedly as though trying to send Holly a cry for help in Morse code.
She considered grabbing a muffin for Jade, but she’d already left for work and wouldn’t be home until late.
Were the extra hours Jade was putting in only for the fundraiser?
Holly had her doubts. It better not be connected to Anna.
Asking questions could be dangerous for Jade, who, Holly knew, had a natural disregard for rules.
Although she was worried about her young friend, Jade had shown herself to be resourceful, persistent, and hardworking—good signs for her future. Would Holly be part of Jade’s next life chapter? Would they stay close? Crazily, she hoped so.
Obviously, the young girl needed a positive role model, given the way her parents treated her.
Those two were absolutely horrifying. Holly would add them to her growing collection of characters bound for deadly mishaps.
But Jade’s life wasn’t fiction. She was on the brink of adulthood and would carve her own path forward.
It would mean a lot to Holly if she could be a grounding, guiding force as she progressed.
Holly exited the coffee shop, hoping to avoid eye contact with the busker—but no luck. He locked onto her the moment she stepped outside.
She tried to scoot past, lose herself in the crowd, but just as she thought she was in the clear, the busker called to her.
“Holly,” he sneered. “You’re still here?”
A chill ensnared her. How did he know her name?
“Haven’t you learned?” The busker eyed her up and down.
Her skin crawled. She whirled to face him. “Why do you care? If you have something to tell me, just say it. I’m done with your stupid games.” Holly stood tall and firm—well, as tall as her petite stature would allow.
“I’ve already told you. Be careful in this town. You can’t trust anyone.” His voice dropped half an octave. “That lawyer you saw—yeah, I know what you’ve been up to—do you know what he did before he passed the bar?”
Holly shook her head, dumbfounded.
“Ever heard of an evidence custodian?”
Again, she shook her head.
“You should find out what that means. And then ask who bankrolled your lawyer’s law degree. Follow the money. People don’t do big favors without expecting something just as big in return.”
Without another word, the busker, in his scally cap and sweat-stained white button-down, picked up his guitar and started strumming his sad songs.
When Holly arrived at Serena’s, her hands were sweaty and shaking.
The busker’s comments clung to her, just like her unsettling dream.
Evidence custodian. Allen Spellman—her lawyer?
It appeared the busker knew a lot more about Holly’s life than she realized.
She hadn’t seen Spellman’s name on the chain-of-custody tag plastered to the side of the evidence box, but that could be because his role was behind the scenes.
The bells on the door chimed as Holly entered. Once again, the soothing scents of sage and chamomile hit her. She found Serena seated in a green-brocade-upholstered chair, her hands resting in her lap, palms up.
Her eyes gently opened. “Ahh, Holly, I thought I might see you today.” She smiled widely, stretching her arms overhead. “Perfect timing. Just finishing my morning meditation—have to keep the third eye open—and I don’t have an appointment until ten. Have a seat.”
“I brought you breakfast.” Holly lifted the bag of goodies. “It’s not the healthiest, but I needed a little comfort food.”
She gave Serena a quick hug. Sunlight streamed in through the bay window, where Holly caught glimpses of Serena’s stunning ocean view.
“You look exhausted, sweetheart. Are you sleeping all right? I’ve been worried about you.”
“At this point, I’m worried about me, too,” Holly admitted, crumpling into her chair. She rested her head in her hands.
Serena’s caring eyes assessed her. “I’ll help any way I can. Let’s start with some tea. Herbal, okay? It’s better for your nerves.” A tea station was conveniently located behind the desk where she rang up purchases.
As Serena bustled about preparing their drinks, Holly looked around again at the beautiful decor of the psychic parlor.
She loved all the warm, textured fabrics; the subtle scent of incense; the light refracting off crystals and glass orbs.
Whatever opinions she held about the occult and psychics in general, this place made her want to believe.
Serena set two cups of tea on a small table between them.
Holly launched into it. “I went to the police station the other day. I had to see the evidence for myself—from the fire. Now that I’m back in Beauport, I can’t ignore all the unanswered questions.
I figured you know everyone in this town.
Maybe you could give me some insight, psychically or otherwise.
I’m not sure who to trust.” She was horrified to feel her eyes fill with warm, salty tears.
“If there’s one thing this town has in abundance, it’s secrets.”
“That’s not surprising. I’m worried even my lawyer is hiding something from me,” Holly said. “Have you ever heard of an evidence custodian? I’m not sure what that is, but—”
Serena reached for her phone. “I don’t have to use my third eye for everything,” she joked.
Holly allowed her friend to do the research, and she took a bite of the buttery blueberry muffin.
It melted in her mouth, the sweetness spiking her serotonin.
Damn, she needed this—a good friend, a warm cup of tea, some simple comforts.
It worked wonders. She relaxed in her chair, muscles finally unclenching.
Holly wondered what Serena charged for her crystals. Some were said to offer health benefits, while others provided protection from dark forces. Maybe that would be helpful—a necklace with a protective gem. Even if it was a placebo effect, Holly would take it. Perhaps it would purge her nightmares.
She reached for a nearby stone hanging on a silver chain, embedded in a silver backing.
She mindlessly held the jewelry in her hand, barely registering how the light reflected a color prism back at her.
She was lost in thought, all the questions she had for Serena swirling through her brain.
What’s Ethan Greene’s story? And what about Conrad?
What has the Carmichael family been up to for all these years?
And how do Tommy Boy and Allen Spellman factor into all of this?
Holly was jarringly brought back to the here and now. Serena had found something—but so had Holly.
This chain, this necklace. It was just like Jade’s.
The inscription on the back read Beauport, MA—in the exact same font—and the shape of the silver backing was identical to the one Jade had found in her parents’ dresser drawer.
The only difference was the type of stone—this one being an amethyst. All this time, she and Jade had only considered jewelry stores, never thinking the piece in question could have come from a psychic shop.
Was that why Serena reacted so strangely to the necklace when she was over for dinner?
As Serena stated, Beauport was full of secrets, and evidently the local psychic was harboring one of them.