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Ollie wagged his tail once, his way of saying Whatever you do, I support you.
Amy took a deep breath and hit “Submit” before she could second-guess herself.
A confirmation message popped up on the screen: Thank you for your submission! A member of the Dead Reckoning team will review your story and contact you if selected.
She stared at the message, her heart still racing. What had she just done?
Amy snapped her laptop shut and leaned back against the couch as she stared at the ceiling. The quiet of the cottage felt oppressive now, her thoughts too loud to ignore.
She hated how desperate she felt, how reckless this action seemed. This wasn’t part of the grand vision she’d had for the mansion—a place of healing, of peace. What would Truman Costigan think if he knew she was inviting a reality TV crew to turn the mansion into a spectacle?
But what choice did she have? The mansion didn’t have cash hidden in the floorboards along with the witchcraft. At least, she didn’t think so.
“You’ll figure it out,” Kelsey had said earlier that night. Amy wanted to believe her, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure she could.
As she turned off the TV and headed to bed, Ollie trotting along at her heels, she whispered a silent prayer to the universe.
“Please,” she murmured in the stillness. “Just… let this work.”
Chapter 4
The morning air inside the old house carried a metallic tang of salt and dust. Sully had been on site for hours, finishing the trim around the new French doors that opened onto the patio. Once, there’d only been a window here, but Amy’s idea to convert it had been a smart, budget friendly solution that gave the house a direct view of the gardens and the sea.
He liked it. So did his client.
“Hey—Sully!”
He turned to see Garrett stomping toward him, face tight with fury.
“I’ve had enough,” Garrett burst out. “Every morning my toolbox is somewhere else. Two days ago, it was in the attic; yesterday it was in the parlor. Today? The damned pantry. The pantry, man! I don’t know what game you or anyone on the crew is pulling, but it needs to stop.”
Sully straightened slowly, resting one hand on the doorframe he’d been sanding. “You think I’m moving your tools?”
Garrett threw up his hands. “Somebody’s having fun at my expense. Either you stop it, or I’m walking. I didn’t sign up for this.”
The man’s face was blotched red; everyone had been more on edge since they’d uncovered the old markings in the east wing room. This wasn’t like his crew. They were hardworking professional craftsmen.
“Look, Garrett,” Sully said, wiping sawdust off his hands. “Somebody’s messing with you. It’s not me, but you’re right—it isn’t funny anymore. I’ll talk to the others. Keep your gear locked up tonight.”
Garrett muttered under his breath and scowled but nodded.
Sully watched him go, as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Across the gravel drive, Amy was flitting about her SUV, hoisting her massage table into the trunk while sunlight haloed her dark hair.
He leaned against the door frame as she folded the table legs and thumped the hatch closed. She glanced his way and waved.
He waved back, a little slower. He felt ridiculous.
Amy had mentioned earlier that she had a full day of clients and had asked him again when the treatment rooms would be finished. Her plan was to bring her practice here—to let clients come to her for relief and healing. Currently, she still had to resort to making home or office visits to massage her clients.
Massage therapy. He’d never tried it, hadn’t needed to. You got sore, you toughed it out. You pulled a muscle, you worked around it. That’s how he’d been raised.
Still, as her car bumped down the drive, he tried to picture himself as one of her clients: the scent of oils, her hands finding the knots he’d carried for years. He forced the thought away before it took root.
The ocean wind through the open door shoved his hair back, carrying the faint scent of lilac from the garden. He stepped through the new doorway onto the patio, inspecting the fit. Amy had been right—this change brightened the flow of the whole first floor.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back and up at the mansion. The windows were blank and watchful. Hammers echoed through the empty rooms.
