Chapter Twenty
One week before Labor Day
Callie
She’d never have guessed that when they’d first met, she’d come to value him as someone closer than a friend, but also more valuable to her than any of her previous boyfriends had been.
It might have been because they were both tired of playing games.
She could be herself with Trey—idiosyncrasies and all—in a way she’d never felt able to do with anyone before.
He knew her, warts and all, but still cared about her.
They bickered occasionally, because they each had their own way of doing things, but there was a maturity to their relationship that meant they both were willing to compromise.
He could be incredibly sweet and caring, but he was also sexy as sin.
And though it was still early, she could realistically see them making a life together.
If she had the ability to go back in time to the day she arrived on Petite C?te Island, and tell herself that this grumpy guy she was about to meet would soon be the most important person in her world, she’d have checked herself into a psychiatric hospital.
But that was exactly what she’d have to say.
As for the ghost, despite multiple attempts on Alex’s part to convince the teens to confess, the kids had denied knowing anything about the break-ins at the library.
The speakers that had been found on them when they were apprehended were their own because they mostly broke into empty houses just to have some place to hang out and sometimes, they liked to party.
And it turned out that there had been some reports of break-ins at houses that were empty.
Callie had pointed out that the vast expanse of the empty reading room in the library would make the perfect venue for a rave, but the teens had denied going into the library once again.
So, they were still none the wiser about who had been invading Khaki’s library. And though there had been no more spooky sounds or vandalism, both Callie and Trey admitted that the unsolved mystery left them both feeling a little unsettled.
Still, they went along with life on the island, mostly not too worried about finding the ghost, but one cloudy afternoon the last week of August, Callie had decided to follow a hunch and do some research at the public library.
She wanted to check if there was anything in the history of St. Ignatius College or the property records of the houses nearby that might give them a clue.
She was just tightening the straps on her backpack in preparation to bike into town, when she heard the front door to the library slam shut.
Since Trey was in the basement, he was unlikely to be coming in that way.
And though it had only happened once before since Callie had come to the island, tourists did sometimes mistake their library for an actual functioning public library.
She’d been doing her nails and watching reruns of Project Runway one rainy afternoon when a couple of snowbirds had nearly scared her out of her wits by demanding that she show them to the computers so they could email their grandchildren.
So, she wasn’t entirely shocked when a few minutes later, she heard a decidedly feminine voice echo down the hallway. “Hello! Anybody here? Trey?”
Frowning, Callie hurried out into the hall.
In the light shining in from one of the long leaded windows, she saw one of the loveliest women she’d ever laid eyes on.
Petite with fine features and hair the color of corn silk, the woman had the sort of beauty that made men want to rush to her aid—whether she was in need of it or not.
Callie didn’t know this from her own experience, of course.
Dark-haired, she had always been one of the tallest in her classes growing up.
Even taller than many of the boys. And though she was by no means unhappy with her looks, she knew she’d never hold a candle to this woman.
Telling herself to get a grip, she shook off her sudden melancholy and stepped toward the woman, offering her hand. “Hi, I’m Callie. Can I help you?”
She’d been told in the past that her smile was contagious, but this woman was clearly immune.
Raising one perfectly sculpted brow, the beauty scanned Callie from head to toe and gave a little sneer. “I suppose you’re his latest conquest. How old are you, honey? You barely look old enough to drink, though I suppose it’s easier to get a fake ID these days than it used to be.”
And suddenly, Callie knew with a flash of insight exactly who this was.
It was a bit of a cliché for her new boyfriend’s ex to be so unpleasant, but, she reminded herself, clichés always got their start with at least a little grain of truth.
Unfortunately, the grain of truth standing in the foyer of Callie’s library just so happened to belong to Trey’s past.
“I’m thirty-seven, actually,” she said with a shrug, not letting the beautiful but nasty Monica know she’d gotten under Callie’s skin. “But Trey said you’re younger than me, didn’t he? Of course, they do say meanness can take it out of you.”
Monica’s mouth tightened with annoyance. “Funny. Now, why don’t you go find your sugar daddy and get him to come up here. He and I should have a chat, and no offense but I’d prefer it if you weren’t around for it.”
But there was no need for Callie to fetch Trey. Either by coincidence or with the kind of sixth sense that alerted men the world over they had an ex within a five-mile radius, he’d managed to appear just in time to hear Monica’s last insult to Callie.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Monica,” he said, stepping into the hallway and placing himself between the two women. “Especially not if you’ve been insulting my friend so spectacularly.”
Callie might have been hurt by him referring to her as his “friend” and not something more indicative of what they were to each other now, but then again, at their age calling her his girlfriend would have sounded immature.
And she’d never been a big fan of the word lover, which just reminded her of that old SNL sketch with Will Ferrell in a hot tub.
Besides, Monica didn’t deserve an explanation of what they were to each other. She’d lost that right when she cheated on Trey with his business partner.
“Your friend, is she?” The sarcasm in the ex–Mrs. LeBlanc’s voice was as strong as the dregs of a pot of coffee left for hours on the burner. “I preferred the days when we made no bones about calling a spade a spade. Just call her your booty call and be done with it.”
“Enough.” The steel in Trey’s voice cut through the air with the snap of a whip. “Why are you here, Monica?”
Even Callie felt the contempt in his question, and for a split second she felt a little sorry for the other woman. But even the beautiful people had to deal with disappointment sometimes. And today was just Monica’s day.
But if she thought Monica would be cowed by Trey’s sharp tone, Callie was wrong. If anything, Monica’s voice grew even more shrill. “What I have to say is private and I have no intention of talking about my personal business in front of your little floozy.”
Callie’s jaw dropped. “Floozy? Really?”
“I said enough.” Trey’s voice was even sharper this time, his Southern accent thick in that way she’d learned it became in moments of high emotion. “Callie, maybe you’d better be on your way into town. I’ll take care of this and meet up with you at PBB in an hour or so.”
It took her a minute to realize PBB was Petite C?te Bakes and Brews, but once she did, Callie was grateful to be able to get away from the loathing the ex–Mrs. LeBlanc was directing her way.
She’d had enough drama and pettiness back in Cincinnati to last a lifetime, and though she felt a pang of guilt at leaving Trey behind to deal with Monica’s vitriol, this was his battle, not hers.
And though it had been the plan all along for her to do some research in town, the fact that he spoke as if he’d been planning to go with her all along told her he wanted an excuse to cut his meeting with Monica short.
So, after making sure Stella was safely tucked away in her suite, far from where she’d get into any trouble on her own, Callie pulled the straps of her backpack tight and slipped out the door leading to the basement, hopped on her bike, and headed into town.
She was still thinking about Trey and Monica when she reached the corner of Lafayette and Pompadour Streets, where the Island View Inn, with its giant lighthouse statue, marked the beginning of “town.” With a pang, she realized that she’d come to know the layout of the island with the same familiarity as she knew the Library of Congress cataloging system, or how to read a MARC record.
After a few short months now, the island felt like …
well … home, which was exactly what she’d been hoping for when she’d coasted down the bridge that first day.
The people of PCI were her friends, Callie thought, as Haven, the owner of the Serene Dreams Yoga Studio, propped open the door to her business for the morning crowd.
They’d welcomed her as if she’d been a part of this community for years instead of months.
And it felt as comfortable to Callie as if she had been.
Maybe that was part of what Khaki had left to her.
Not only the library and the money, but the lore as well.
The kind of home she’d been looking for her whole life.