“Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe we’re tired of living in a dictatorship and want a democracy.”
Christopher snorted. “Or you intend to set up a puppet autocracy.”
“Well, the stories are interesting.” Zach stroked his chin. “I didn’t give Ashley any credit for her ghost theory. But now that she’s supporting Soupy, perhaps I should give her idea another look. And, of course, there is still the treasure.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “There is no treasure. You know that. It was a marketing ploy.”
“And it’s still working. I get that you tried to set up Ashley as some sort of mole. But you’re not the only player in this game.”
Christopher couldn’t shake his distrust or his respect for the other man. While Christopher admitted he was guilty of trying to use Ashley’s return for his gain, he had never worked against her. In his heart, he wanted to establish a partnership for their own best interests. But his attempts at controlling how he let her back into his life had failed. She owned him body and soul. He owed Zach no explanation. Christopher lifted his gaze to Zach’s. “This all started because a savvy guy like you didn’t want to write a business plan. Your anger and campaign against me started with numbers. Do you see how silly this has all become? And I think, deep down, you’re grateful that I forced you to analyze your books. That makes you madder than anything.”
Zach flared his nostrils like he’d breathe fire. “You know, I can’t wait to see what Ashley does with the Inn. She is so creative.” He turned and stalked back inside his shop, slamming the door.
Christopher stood in place. The longer he stared at the door, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, the more his vision cleared. He wasn’t sure how long he remained. But slowly, the world came back into view, no longer tinged with angry red but the bright colors of the day.
And then he moved. If he stayed, he was likely to get hit by a bag of garbage Zach would gleefully fling at him from the ice cream shop.
Christopher strode along the gravel road connecting the boardwalk shops to the main street. The building’s public entrances overlooked the lake. The back doors faced the road, making deliveries and garbage day out of sight from the guests’ view.
It also gave the long stretch a false sense of peace. The pine scent was strong enough to cover the trash. Bird song echoed. The cool air refreshed even the weariest of souls.
Loon Lake managed to avoid much of the commercialization that overtook a lot of other communities. But it was a constant battle to maintain their way of life. The future held no guarantees.
Tires crunched over the gravel.
He lifted his head off his feet just in time to spot the SUV barreling down the road. Jumping back, he slammed into a dumpster, the lid hitting his back. He wrapped his arms around himself, tight, hoping compression might ease the sharp ache piercing him.
A door slammed shut.
The sound reverberated against his ribs, and he shut his eyes.
“Chris?” Seth Boyd asked, his heavy steps coming close. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Only one person used the nickname. Opening one eye at a time, Christopher spotted Seth.
Chewing his lip and nervously shifting his weight, Seth would probably offer assistance.
Christopher didn’t need any help. He dropped his arms and stood as straight as he was able. “I’m okay. What’s got you in such a hurry?”
“Hold on a sec.” Seth held up a finger before racing to the trunk. He opened the back, grabbed a box, and shuffled over. With a big grin, he set the box down and pulled out a newspaper. “Check this out.”
Christopher grabbed one, impressed by the feel of the print. “You printed this?”
“I did.” Seth’s grin broadened. “I had an idea, and the local business owners bought ads, so I could get going with it. This is sort of a test run. I’m dropping off a box at Lonnie’s and Zach’s to start. They’ve been really supportive of the whole thing.”
Christopher stiffened. The project might not be in his best interest if those two were involved. He scanned the front page. “The Summer of Soupy,” he read the headline out loud.
“Yeah, this was before I met with Ashley. We just finished up. She had a lot of great ideas about Soupy, but this was already complete. Can you give her a copy? I forgot to give her one when she grabbed the menus. I squeezed in a whole section devoted to her ghost.”
From the very center of his being, Christopher radiated his displeasure with a deep, furrowed brow. What would an article achieve? He worried someone had taken advantage of an opportunity, the fire, and risked her life with the explosion unknowingly.
More attention on her ghost story wouldn’t help. Curious onlookers would mill on the lakeshore and complicate his surveillance of the lighthouse. Should he call the police and file a report before his insurance company caught wind of the issue?
Why hadn’t she asked him for his advice? He promised to discuss her sightings. Her lack of faith disappointed him, lodging a rock in his throat. “She wrote an article for you?”
“No, no. Zach did. But I think she’ll be pleased. He’s a good writer.”
Christopher opened the paper, scanning the local calendar and ads until he spotted the article, a full page in the center. Words popped off the newsprint.Conspiracy? Treasure? Danger?Throbbing started in his temples and continued down along every nerve ending. Zach had done more than just blog on a page no one would visit. He found a way to bring the fight to the public and used Seth as a shield. More than that, he called Christopher’s bluff.
