At the top of the stairs, I push through the door into the lantern room. But it’s not dark like I was expecting. The lamp resting on the white desk on the right-side wall has been switched on, and a silhouette is standing at the glass, one shoulder leaning against it.
“Bo?” I ask.
“Hey.” He turns around, and I notice a book held in his right hand. “I came up to watch the storm.”
“Us too,” Rose squeaks. She steps forward to introduce herself. “I’m Rose.”
“Bo.”
Rose grins and looks back at me, mouthinghe’s cuteso no one else will see.
Bo and Heath shake hands, then Heath holds up the bottle. “Looks like we have a small party.”
“I should probably head down,” Bo offers, tucking the book under his arm.
“No way,” Rose says, grinning. “You’re staying. Three isn’t a party, but four is perfect.”
Bo glances at me, as if looking for permission, but I stare back at him blankly, unsure what to think about him up here all alone, reading or watching the storm. Whatever the truth might be.
“All right,” he agrees, a hint of reluctance in his eyes.
Heath produces an opener from his coat pocket and begins uncorking the bottle.
“Heath stole two bottles from his parents’ B and B,” Rose says. “We drank one on the way over.” Which explains why she’s already so tipsy.
There aren’t any glasses, so Heath takes a swig, but before he passes it around, he says, “Should we take bets?”
“On what?” Rose asks.
“How long until the first body turns up in the harbor.”
“That’s morbid,” Rose says with a grimace.
“Maybe. But it’s going to happen whether we want it to or not.”
Bo and I exchange a look.
Rose exhales a breath through her nose. “Three days,” she says meekly, grabbing the bottle from Heath’s hands and taking a drink.
“Three and a half,” Heath guesses, eyeing her. But I think he only says it to be cute, playing off her number.
Rose hands the bottle to Bo and he holds it low, looking down at it like the answer is somewhere inside. “I hope it doesn’t happen at all,” he finally says.
“That’s not really a guess,” Rose points out, lifting an eyebrow.
“Sure it is,” Heath defends. “He’s guessing no days. Which has never happened, but I suppose it’s possible. Maybe no one will drown this summer.”
“Unlikely,” Rose adds, looking a little disgusted with this whole game.
Bo takes a quick slug of the red wine then holds it out for me. I take it carefully, sliding my thumb down the neck of the bottle, then look up at the group. “Tonight,” I say, tipping the bottle to my lips and taking a full swig.
Rose shivers slightly and Heath wraps an arm around her. “Let’s talk about something else,” she suggests.
“Whatever you want.” And he smiles down at her.
“I want to count ghosts!” she chirps, her mood returned.
Heath releases her and frowns, confused. “You want to do what?”
