6. Chapter 6
Evie
The police lights are going to ruin my Yelp rating.
The thought arrives while I’m still pressed into the couch with Marmalade vibrating against my ribs.
Red and blue strobes cut through my cottage windows, screaming crime scene or drug bust while my brain races through the damage.
The cruisers are parked where the stone path connects to the inn.
Which means the lights are currently washing over my herb garden, the rear porch, and worst of all, the Sunrise Room.
Someone in that room paid a hundred and forty dollars for a peaceful weekend in a charming Victorian bed and breakfast. Police lights don’t really capture that tranquil vibe.
The whole town will know by the morning. Because Brindlewood runs on gossip the way other towns run on tax revenue, and I just handed them enough material to last through Thanksgiving. Three thousand people, and not a single one of them knows how to mind their own business.
Maureen Pritchett is probably already awake. She has a police scanner, a landline, and a group chat called “Neighborhood Watch” that includes forty-seven people and has nothing to do with actual crime prevention. I’m going to be her next target.
Friday the thirteenth strikes again.
I should have knocked on wood this morning. Should have thrown salt over my shoulder when I spilled it at breakfast. Should have called in sick to my own life.
The doorbell makes me jump.
I shuffle to the door in bare feet, trying to slow my breathing. When I pull it open, Chief Daniel Briggs is standing there, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
He’s a big guy. His dark hair has turned silver at the temples, and his jaw is so covered in permanent stubble that I don’t think he’s been fully clean-shaven since the nineties.
Behind him, Officer Lucas Vaughan slurps from a gas station coffee cup the size of a small bucket.
He’s tall and lean, with sandy blond hair that’s perpetually mussed, implying zero effort and maximum commitment to not caring.
He has the type of face that ages in reverse.
Thirty years old and still getting mistaken for an intern, which I imagine served him poorly at the academy but serves him just fine now when he wants people to underestimate him.
The slurping is obscenely loud in the quiet night, and Chief Briggs’s right eye twitches.
“Let me guess,” Daniel begins. “Supernatural incident?”
“How did you—”
“Maureen called in about ungodly howling from the woods behind her house last month. Pulled up a lunar calendar and everything to prove it only happens on the full moon. Mrs. Moore saw a ghost in her attic in July. And now you’re calling about .
. .” He checks his notes. “A man who appeared out of nowhere to discuss Hell with you.”
My face heats instantly. “Dispatch told you that?”
“Linda told me that,” he corrects. “She also needed a minute to compose herself before she could relay the rest of the call.”
Perfect. The police department thinks I’m insane.
Granted, it’s not exactly a sprawling operation.
Four officers, one chief, and a dispatcher who’s been at that desk longer than I’ve been alive.
Linda fields every call, tracks the reports, and somehow knows more about this town than the people living in it.
She’s also the woman I unloaded every unhinged detail on fifteen minutes ago because apparently adrenaline doesn’t come with a filter.
She never once laughed. Which, in retrospect, took a level of restraint I could not have managed if our roles were reversed.
Lucas adjusts his grip on the coffee cup. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I mean it. People call in weird stuff all the time. Someone reported strange lights over the woods last year. We still don’t know what that was.” He grins at me. “Could’ve been anything. Aliens, demons, a really dedicated guy with a drone.”
“It was a drone,” Daniel says flatly.
“We never confirmed that.”
“Yes, we did, Vaughan.” Daniel rubs his temple before focusing on me again. “Can you describe the intruder?”
“Brown, curly hair, glasses, and . . . pale eyes with a violet tint.” I’m making this worse. “Dark jeans, button-down shirt, boots.”
“Violet eyes,” Daniel repeats without inflection.
“In certain light, yeah.”
“Uh-huh.” He writes something down. “Age?”
“Late twenties? Early thirties? I don’t know. I was busy panicking.”
“Height?”
“Taller than me. So basically, everyone.” My attempt at levity doesn’t land. “Six feet?”
Lucas leans in. “And he just broke into your house? Out of nowhere? For no reason?”
“He said my cat summoned him.”
“Your . . . cat?” Daniel clarifies.
“Summoned him,” Lucas adds, delighted. “Okay. This is officially my favorite call of the month.”
“It’s not your favorite anything,” Daniel snaps. “It’s worrying.” He looks at me with an expression uncomfortably close to pity. “Evie, have you been under a lot of stress lately? Working long hours? Skipping meals?”
“I’m not hallucinating!”
“That’s not what I—”
“The dude was here! In my living room! Talking to Marmalade about demon contracts and Hell’s bureaucracy!”
Lucas is trying his best to hold back a laugh. “Hell has bureaucracy?”
“Vaughan.” Daniel sighs. “Go check the perimeter.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Lucas pushes off the doorframe with a laugh. “Fine. But for the record, I believe you.” He glances back at me as he passes. “Don’t worry. We’ll track down your mystery man.”
Daniel pauses until Lucas is out of earshot before speaking again. “Walk me through what happened.”
“I was in the bath. I came out. He was in my living room, crouched on the floor, talking to Marmalade.”
“And your cat participated in this conversation.”
“He mostly just sat there looking smug.”
Daniel scribbles a few words. I read wellness check advised before he shifts the notebook out of view.
Cool. Great. Exactly what I needed tonight.
Lucas reappears around the corner. “No forced entry. Doors are fine. Windows are locked. Also, your herb garden looks incredible. That rosemary is seriously impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, of course.” He leans against the wall, smiling.
A light flicks on in the Honeysuckle Room. The Johnsons are awake. They’re going to have so many questions at breakfast.
“This will be all over town by morning.” Another light flicks on in the inn.
Daniel glances up from his notes. “Maureen drives past here after bingo on Fridays. I’d say you’ve got about twenty minutes before the entire neighborhood knows.”
The beginnings of a headache pulse behind my temples.
“Did this man threaten you in any way?” Daniel asks, pen hovering over the page.
“No, he was very polite. Apologetic, even. I threatened him. With a rolling pin.”
Daniel’s head snaps up. “You what?”
“I grabbed a rolling pin and told him to leave. It was the closest thing I could reach.”
He looks almost impressed. “Did you hit him?”
“No. Just waved it around until he left.” I wince. “He complimented my spice rack on his way out.”
The impressed look vanishes. “Your spice rack?”
“It’s alphabetically organized.”
“Jesus Christ.” He closes the notebook. “Evie. I’m going to ask you this once, and I need you to be honest with me. Is this some kind of prank?”
“No!”
“Are you sure? Because it’s a Friday night, you’re young, and people do stupid things—”
“I’m twenty-seven and I run a business. I don’t have time for pranks!”
“Everyone has time for pranks,” Lucas quips. “It’s all about priorities.”
Daniel doesn’t turn around. “Vaughan. Go check inside the cottage before I reassign you to school-zone duty for the next month.”
“Yes, sir, Chief sir,” Lucas salutes mockingly. “So grumpy tonight,” he whispers to me, right before going inside.
Daniel waits until the door closes behind Lucas to speak again. “Evie, level with me. Are you okay?”
The shift in his voice catches me off guard.
He’s known me since I was small enough to sit on the counter at Mercer’s while my mom paid for groceries.
His younger sister babysat Daisy and me three nights a week, and Daniel would swing by after work to check on her—which usually meant checking on all of us.
He let us count the things on his belt while he asked about our homework.
He taught me how to ride a bike in our driveway because no one else had gotten around to it.
During festival weekends, when tourists flood the town, he checks in on me and the inn.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“That’s just my face.”
“It’s not.” He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, if something’s going on, if you need help with anything—”
“I don’t need help. I need you to believe me.”
“I believe something happened that scared you. I’m just not sure it was what you think it was.”
“Then why would I call you?”
“I don’t know. That’s the part I’m trying to figure out.
” He watches me with the same careful attention he’d give someone standing too close to a cliff.
“I’m going to file a report and leave a patrol car outside tonight.
If anyone comes back, call immediately. But Evie?
” His tone loses its edge. “Maybe consider talking to someone. Just to make sure everything’s okay. ”
My stomach drops. “You think I’m crazy.”
“I think you’re tired, and stress affects people in different ways.”
The door swings open and Lucas leans out. “Chief? There’s a cat-sized Ouija board in here.”
Daniel turns to face me.
I shrug. “Some guests left it for Marmalade. I was going to throw it out.”
“Right.” He nods like this explains something. “Is there anyone who can stay with you tonight? Your sister, maybe?”
“Daisy has work tomorrow. She’s leading that tour group from Portland. Thirty people who apparently want to learn about Brindlewood’s haunted history.” The words register a second too late. “Which is ironic now.”
“What about Maddie?”
“She’s working late at The Rusty Nail.”
“So that’s a no on everyone,” Daniel says dryly.
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
He doesn’t argue but his mouth tightens as Lucas jingles his keys, heading toward his cruiser. “I’m parked right out front if you need anything tonight.”
I manage a nod, even though accepting help from anyone comes dangerously close to admitting defeat.
Daniel leaves after another round of reassurances that settle nowhere useful.
His patrol car’s taillights stain the gravel drive red before disappearing around the bend, leaving Lucas’s cruiser alone out front.
Through the window glass, his shape blurs into shadow, except where the radio casts a sickly green wash across half his face.
I lock the door, then slide the deadbolt home with enough resistance to make my thumb joint pop. I check both twice before circling through the cottage to test every window latch. Every footstep cracks through the quiet, so I switch to walking on the rugs instead.
The Ouija board hits the bottom of the trash can with a hollow thunk.
“This is your fault,” I tell Marmalade, while heading toward the bedroom.
He purrs, completely unbothered by the accusation.
The room still smells faintly of lavender from the bath I took, back when my biggest concern was whether I’d have time to prep the Clover Room tomorrow morning. I climb into bed and pull the floral quilt to my chin, cold sheets brushing my legs as Marmalade claims his usual spot near my feet.
Sleep should come easily. I’m drained, every scrap of adrenaline spent. But every time I close my eyes, I see him crouched on my floor.
The more I replay it, the less sense it makes.
Maybe Daniel is right. He’s almost always right, which is one of the most irritating things about him.
I’m tired. I’ve been running the inn on fumes for weeks, and skipping meals more often than I’d ever admit to anyone who asks.
Stress messes with people. It rearranges perception, turns ordinary events into something loaded with meaning they don’t really carry.
That still makes more sense than demons being real.
I flip onto my side and punch the pillow into submission.
This is what happens when you spend too much time alone.
Your brain gets bored and starts making things more interesting than they are.
A guy breaks into your house, and instead of being appropriately terrified, you’re thinking about how he seemed kind of sweet.
How he was tall, his shirt fit unfairly well, and his curls kept falling across his forehead in a way that would’ve been distracting if the situation weren’t so surreal.
I’m lying here in the dark, mentally building a dating profile for the stranger who broke into my house, and honestly, the break-in may not be the most concerning part.
Marmalade purrs against my feet, and I remember hearing that same sound while the stranger scratched his ears.
He once bit a guest so hard I had to file an incident report and refund their entire weekend. But tonight, he acted like that guy was his favorite person in the world.
I try to shut my brain off and let Daniel’s steady reasoning overwrite everything else. Stress. Exhaustion. Perception playing tricks. Case closed.
Except one question keeps coming back, no matter how many sensible explanations I stack on top of it.
What if he was telling the truth?