Nora sniffed in disapproval.
“The story goes, once Mansfield fell asleep, Ann stabbed him with his own dagger. Unfortunately, instead of hanging around for the medal she was no doubt due, she followed time-honored tradition and cursed the house and all who dwelt within, and promptly jumped into the sea.”
“Now there’s a cozy bedtime story.” Ellery spoke lightly, but he was genuinely horrified. Sure, it sounded like a fairy tale, and even if it was true, it had all happened centuries ago, but it was too easy to imagine how terrifying that poor tortured girl’s final night had been. She had been as real in her moment as they were in theirs.
“Alas, the real Pirates of the Caribbean weren’t nearly as charming as their film counterparts,” Dylan said.
“So who haunts Skull House? Ann Rathbone or John Mansfield?”
“Oh no. That’s—” Nora began, but then, uncharacteristically, stopped.
A funny silence followed. Ellery glanced around the table, but the Scallywags seemed to be studying the pub menu like it contained the secrets of the universe.
“Who needs a drink?” Dylan asked, rising. Everyone began to call out orders.
Ellery was thinking that Dylan’s story offered an explanation as to why Brandon might develop an interest in living in a potentially haunted house on a tiny island off the coast of Rhode Island. He always based his novels on real-life crimes. Of course, in his books, the reasons for the crimes were ultimately supernatural. In Brandon’s world, ninety percent of homicides were committed by disgruntled witches and displaced demons. Skull House, with its grim and gruesome legend, was probably ideal for Brandon’s purposes. Although choosing to live there seemed a little extreme.
Maybe it was the writer’s version of method acting.
“Ellery? Another?” Dylan prompted.
Did he want another? It was late. The drive home to Captain’s Seat was relatively short, but the country lanes were dark and occasionally dangerous. Wildlife—and even dogs—had been known to pop out of nowhere.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“Do you think you could introduce us to him?” Libby asked, jarring Ellery out of his reflections.
“Who me?” It was hard to think of anything he would less like to do.
He was about to tell Libby so, when the door to the pub seemed to blow open on a gust of salt-laced night air. Everyone at the table—in fact, the very room—seemed to give a collective start, as though Dylan’s story of the bloodstained past had rattled their nerves just a tiny bit.
As Ellery turned, he noticed Jack appraising the new arrival with cool, considering eyes.
His heart sank. Somehow, he just knew… He looked toward the door, and yep, sure enough, there he was. Never one to miss making an entrance.
Brandon.
Chapter Three
If there was one thing Brandon had always enjoyed, it was attention. That did not seem to have changed over the years.
Tall and lean, with longish black hair and a narrow, pale face, he surveyed the room for a moment. Then…
“Gooood eeeeevening!” he called. “I am Count Dracoola.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the astonished silence that followed.
Count Dracula? Seriously? And yet, instead of getting a pie in the face or, at the very least, a community cold shoulder, a bunch of people burst out laughing, jumped up and crowded round, asking for his autograph.
Sue Lewis actually hopped out of her chair and muscled in, introducing herself and asking for an interview.
Un. Be. Lievable.
It was like they thought Brandon was someone famous. Okay, he was famous, but not so famous he typically got mobbed. Unless things had changed a lot over the years.
Maybe they had, because the good folks of Pirate’s Cove were fawning over him as if Stephen King had come to town. Mayor Jones was pumping Brandon’s hand like he thought he was going to start spouting golden coins. And those who hadn’t joined the welcoming committee were whispering to each other and watching the show like it was a show.
Well, not everybody.
Nora was glaring at the burbling, babbling circle around Brandon with such naked dislike, Ellery felt uncomfortable.
Did Skull House really matter that much to her?
And Jack…
Ellery glanced at Jack again, and felt his face warm. Jack was looking at him. As their gazes met, Jack smiled quizzically. Ellery rolled his eyes. He felt instantly better, though he wasn’t sure why.
And the feeling didn’t last long.
“Ellery!” Brandon cried, like a shipwrecked sailor spotting land.
Oh God. Ellery almost knocked his chair over as he tried to retreat from Brandon’s rush to embrace him.
“I can’t believe it’s really you! When I saw you’d been arrested for murder…”
“I wasn’t arrested,” Ellery protested.
“He should have been,” Sue put in. Meeting Ellery’s gaze, she laughed. “Kidding!”
Yeah, not so much.
Brandon said, “The police in this town must be idiots!”
Ellery couldn’t help an instinctive look at Jack, who was considering Brandon with narrowed eyes.
“There was a lot of circumstantial evidence,” Ellery offered lamely.
“There certainly was,” Sue said. “Mr. Abbott—”
Brandon ignored her, still gazing at Ellery in what was surely exaggerated wonder. “El, you look terrific. I can’t get over it. I mean, you were always gorgeous, but you’ve finally grown into that nose.”
That was classic Brandon. The over-the-top compliment followed by the laughing smackdown.
“Uh, thanks,” Ellery said. “You look good too.”
It was faint praise, and Brandon seemed to acknowledge it with a rueful grin. The truth was, he did look good. He still favored unredeemed black, but these days his clothes were expensive and well-cut. He had filled out a bit too, so he appeared lean and fit versus cadaverous. He was still pale, but he’d had his brows micro-bladed and his lashes tinted, so his ebony eyes stood out in dramatic contrast to the rest of his narrow, rather ascetic features. Also, his stick-straight black hair had been cut by someone who knew what they were doing. It made a difference.
All in all, he looked well-groomed and affluent. He looked confident.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends and my future neighbors?” Brandon asked.
“Sure,” Ellery said, and began to make introductions, up and down the long table. It was probably petty to be irritated by the way everyone fell over themselves to meet Brandon. After all, he was kind of a big deal these days. It was just that Ellery had never realized how many fans of horror fiction apparently lived on the island.
“Are you really going to live in Skull House, Mr. Abbott?” Libby asked.
“Of course. That’s the idea,” Brandon said. “Although I may hit up my old roommate for lodging during the renovation phase.” He smiled at Ellery.
“What?” Ellery didn’t try to hide his alarm.
“It’ll be like old times,” Brandon said. “Man, we used to laugh together.”
True. They had some good times. Especially in college. But Brandon had not adjusted well to adulting. Clearly, he’d overcome some obstacles, but the idea of any kind of second act with Brandon was an absolute nonstarter for Ellery.