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“Basically.” He eyes me up-and-down, then searches the bar. “Where’s OB? I thought she glued herself to your hip.”
“The Wharf. Hey, is the museum open right now?” My crap memory can’t recall their hours.
“Yeah, the Roberts never close it.”
“Not even for events?” I’m a little shocked.
“They won’t risk losing a customer. They get a couple teenagers to work for the day. I’m sure no one’s there.”
Perfect. I grab the fur coat, and Parry’s frown deepens. “You’re going to the museum?”
“I have a mystery to solve,” I remind him. Only this one has more to do with October than my brother.
“I’m coming with you then.” He touches the top of his crown. “Mister Mistpoint, remember?” He flashes a magnetic smile.
He had to win an intensive scavenger hunt and mystery to secure that title. Right now, I have zero accolades. Not even some silly high school superlative like Best Dressed or Most Likely to Die Young (yes, our morbid high school has that one). I think that students thought it was a bigger FU to not give me a superlative at all.
Jokes on them because I’d much rather come out with no title than be pegged as the Most Likely to Die Young.
Out of the two of us, Parry has more awards. Mister Mistpoint, Best Smile, High School Sailing Team Champion. In the years I’ve been gone, I’m sure he’s even acquired more.
Even though Parry probably thinks this museum trip is mostly about my brother, I won’t reject his help. I say into a confident nod, “Let’s Nancy Drew this shit.”
CHAPTER 18
Zoey Durand
Parry parks his convertible in the empty parking lot. A couple of bikes are chained to the rack, and when we approach the ticket booth, I realize it’s empty.
And then I smell the pungent unmistakable odor of weed. Parry and I exchange a knowing look. Teens getting lit in the ticket booth is classic.
“Knock knock.” Parry taps on the plexiglass.
“Oh shit,” a boy curses. Scrambling from the floor of the booth, two scraggly-haired teenagers stand up, wearing lilac-collared shirts. The Museum of Curses & Curiosities logo is embroidered onto the breast pocket.
The blond blinks a ton, eyes bloodshot. His nametag reads: Matt Beech.
The brown-haired boy tries to straighten out his half-untucked shirt. “Welcome to the Museum of—” He coughs into his fist.
Okay, I laugh. I see his nametag. Lucas Ricci.
“Guys, we’re locals.” Parry points to the crown on his head. “We’re not here to do the whole tourist thing. We’re just looking for our names in the books.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “We just want to do a quick in and out.”
“That’s what she said,” Matt mutters into a fake cough under his breath.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you, ten?”
“Fifteen.” He barely blinks. “And you’re what…thirty?”
Ugh. I hate stoned teenage boys. “Thirty isn’t even that old,” I tell him like he’s not making sense.
He makes a face. “Ma’am, it’s ancient. That’s another lifetime for me.”
“Did you just call me ma’am?”
They’re both snickering.
Parry puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers to me, “They’re trying to get under your skin, Zo.”
Mission accomplished.
“Can you let us in or not?” I ask.
“IDs. We have to confirm you’re locals,” Lucas states.
Parry pulls out his license, and while I fish for mine in my leather backpack-purse, I realize that I’ve changed my address. I’m not a resident of Mistpoint Harbor anymore. But maybe they’ll recognize my last name…
Lucas appraises Parry’s license in a quick second, while Matt glances at the card from behind Lucas’ shoulder. “Checks out,” Lucas says.
“DiNapoli.” Matt squints as he scrutinizes Parry. “Are you the vampire brother or the squirrel?”
Parry rolls his eyes.
“Squirrel?” I question. That term didn’t float around when I lived here.
Matt nods. “When’s the last time you’ve seen a squirrel at night?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Lucas cuts me off. “Never,” he says for me. “Because squirrels sleep at night. Well…usually.”
Matt narrows his bloodshot eyes on Parry. “Vampire or squirrel?”
“You’re an idiot,” Parry says, snagging his ID back.
“Squirrel,” Lucas says pointedly and looks to Matt. “It’s daytime, dude.”
Matt laughs a slow, clearly inebriated laugh. “Riiiight.”
I slide my ID over. Lucas takes it first, and he immediately shakes his head. “Nah, you’re not from here.”
“I’m a Durand.”
“Don’t care,” Lucas says. “It’ll be thirty-five bucks.”
“What?” I gasp. “Since when? I thought it was twenty.”
Parry gives me a consoling look. “There’ve been some significant curses in the past six years.”
“So I take it business is booming,” I grumble and fish out some cash from my wallet.
“I can cover it, Zo.” Parry reaches for his wallet.
“I got it.” I’m already sliding over a couple of twenties, and I wait for Lucas to give me change. I might be spending a shit ton at the Inn, but I can afford a ticket. Plus, I don’t need Parry to think I’ve been struggling in Chicago. My life there is different, but it hasn’t been horrible.
