LITMIR.BIZ

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the lobby before he could respond.

      A flash of recognition pierced her brain. Matt, the town bad boy and all-around troublemaker from her high school class. She should’ve figured she’d run into some former classmates when she returned to Coral Cove. Too bad the first one had to be someone she particularly despised. Rock ’n’ roll playing, motorcycle riding, black jeans wearing Matt…Matt Conner.

      Kylie breezed through the lobby and shoved open the front doors. The cool night air hit her face and she put all thoughts of former classmates, even gorgeous ones like Matt Conner, out of her head. She was on a mission and the timing couldn’t be better.

      The restaurants of Coral Cove’s Main Street teemed with activity, tourists home from the beach and all cleaned up, rubbed elbows with the locals home from work. Kylie’s stomach rumbled. She’d eaten a late lunch and then zonked out in her hotel room. She could use a snack, but Columbella House called and she was ready to answer its demand.

      After a short drive on the Coast Highway, Kylie turned onto Coral Cove Drive and rolled to a stop at the curb that fronted the abandoned Victorian. She grabbed the flashlight from the seat next to her and slipped out of the car.

      She eased open the side gate, holding her breath as it squeaked a protest. It wasn’t as though anyone would hear her approach. The house had been empty for years. She blew out the trapped breath and followed the path to the side of the house, her sandals crunching on the sand beneath her feet.

      The beam of her flashlight played across the side door to the kitchen, a piece of warped plywood in place of the window. Rumor had it that anyone could get into Columbella through this side door…or the secret door from the beach if one knew how to reach it. Kylie knew about the beach access, but she’d have to come up to the house through the basement and, well…she wasn’t going near that basement.

      She peeled back the plywood and unlocked the door from the inside. Stepping into the kitchen, she aimed her flashlight into the hallway. Her feet moved in the direction of the light, ready or not.

      Kylie shuffled into the hallway and placed her flashlight on a dusty credenza. She gazed up at the third-floor landing where her mother’s body had once hung. Clutching her upper arms, she shivered.

      “Mom?” The whisper escaped her lips like a sigh.

      Columbella House seemed to close around her, wrapping her in a clammy embrace, inviting her to stay awhile. She swallowed and straightened her spine, brushing off the macabre welcome. She had no intention of succumbing to the house’s gloomy atmosphere.

      Just as she had no intention of succumbing to the same demons that had dogged her mother—not that Kylie didn’t have the same demons. The horrors of her particular gift visited her with alarming frequency, but she’d been able to whip them into shape, bend them to her own will and make them dance to her own tune. The clichés that tumbled through her mind allowed her to impose a sense of normalcy on her powers.

      She turned from the stairs, not ready to confront what awaited her on the landing. She snatched her flashlight from the table, and the dust particles gleamed in the beam of light. She aimed the light at the basement door, and goose bumps trickled across her flesh all over again.

      One of these days, she’d make her way down to the basement of Columbella and test out the strength of her gift, but not now. Not tonight. She had a mission.

      Actually, she had two missions in Coral Cove this summer, but the personal one took precedence on this particular night. It was no coincidence that the job she’d signed on to do in Coral Cove coincided with the anniversary of her mother’s suicide.

      Kylie didn’t believe in coincidences. She wandered into the library. Remnants from the police investigation into the two deaths that occurred in this room remained—strings outlining the dead bodies’ positions and chalk markings from the spent bullet casings. But these were recent bodies…just two more in the continuing parade of death that marched through this house.

      At least in the case of these two deaths, the good guys had prevailed. Hometown boy turned war hero, Kieran Roarke, had taken out a couple of killers who’d had their sights on a little boy, his boy. Maybe Columbella’s reputation was changing.

      Her gaze tracked to the burnt-out room tucked off the back wall of the library. Another case of good triumphing over evil. Another Roarke, Colin this time, had rescued Michelle Girard from a crazed serial killer—a crazed serial killer who’d happened to be Kylie’s high school algebra teacher. No wonder she hated math.

      Her fingertips buzzed as she trailed them along the scorched walls. She was in a state of heightened sensitivity. She’d known it from the moment she’d rolled out of bed after her nightmare. That’s what had led her to this house tonight.

      Of course, she should be using her heightened awareness to get down to business and do the job that Mrs. Harris had hired her to do. But she owed it to her mother to investigate her suicide. She’d been too traumatized to do it before.

      Since returning to Coral Cove a few days ago for the Harris job, she’d been waiting for the right time to visit Columbella House. Nobody visited Columbella these days. People came here to explore, to rendezvous, to hide, to investigate. To confront old ghosts.

      So maybe she should get busy.

      She rubbed the soot from her fingers on the seat of her jeans, and drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t waste this opportunity. She’d already wasted three years.

      She crept back to the staircase and put a tentative foot on the first step. It squeaked. With her hand skimming the carved wood banister, she jogged up the remaining steps to the second-floor landing. One more floor to go.

      When she hit the top step of the third floor, she dug into her purse and withdrew the necklace Mom had always worn—up to and including the day she killed herself.

      Clutching the necklace in one clammy hand, Kylie set the flashlight on the scarred wood floor, pointing the beam of light at the ceiling. Her purse slid from her shoulder, and she let it drop to the floor next to the flashlight.

      She took two steps forward and tripped to a stop. She’d been plotting and planning this moment for so long, her reluctance surprised her. Not that she ever believed it would be easy. That’s why it had taken so long for her to get around to it.

      Gripping the balustrade, she shuffled toward The Spot. How long had it taken Mom to climb those stairs? Had she done it with fear? Confidence? Desperation?

      Time to find out.

      Kylie faced the house. Creating two white-knuckled fists, her hands curled around the railing, crushing the chain of the necklace against her palm. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the musty, sea-dampened air that permeated the house.

      Breathing deeply, she rolled back her shoulders and loosened her grip. She had to let down the guard she’d perfected over the years. Topple the barriers her mother had taught her to erect, barriers Mom wasn’t strong enough to maintain herself.

      Kylie allowed the sensations that had been hovering on the brink of her consciousness all day to take over. She took another deep breath through her nose and sidled to the left a few steps—right to the place where Mom had slipped the noose over her head and jumped.

      She gulped around the lump in her throat. “Why, Mom?”

      A gush of cool air swirled past her, and she hunched her shoulders. With her senses on high alert and her mind an open portal, all manner of otherworldly phenomena had access to her very being. But she wanted to focus on just one tragedy of the past. She let the others roll across her mind and body, filtering with every ounce of her will, squeezing the necklace in her hand so hard, the imprint of the chain burned into her skin.

      A jolt of terror stabbed her chest, and her body bucked. Fear so strong she could sense the metallic aftertaste in her mouth swept through her limbs, weakening her knees. She sagged against the railing.

      “Were you afraid before you did it, Mom?”

      A cold presence

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