“I never wanted a sister.” Dylan blurted the words without thinking. Damn.
Dad laughed out loud, as if he’d misread Dylan’s words. “No, I guess you never did want a sister. I recall you asking Santa for a little brother before you figured out that I had to find a wife for that to happen.”
Dylan’s face heated. Dammit, Dad needed to stop reminding him of the stupid stuff he’d done as a kid. How was anyone, least of all the practice’s patients, going to take him seriously if Dad kept telling embarrassing stories about him?
* * *
On Wednesday afternoon, Ella moved out of Granny’s house and into a third-floor room at Howland House. She might have stayed at her grandmother’s place, but the real estate agent insisted that it would be easier to sell the house if she wasn’t living there.
And Granny needed to sell the house.
Besides, staying there made her sad. And moving from place to place was something Ella had been doing for years. She’d mastered the art of traveling light.
This new room was in a beautiful historic house and looked like something from out of the pages of Southern Living. Her own space had a shiplap feature wall, flowered wallpaper, and wide-plank pine floors. The antique iron bedstead wore a hand-made quilt in shades of blue that picked up the forget-me-not motif of the wallpaper. And even though it was an attic bedroom, with oddly angled walls, the dormer window let in plenty of daylight and provided an elevated view of Magnolia Harbor’s central business district.
She put down her fiddle case and started to unpack, hanging her clothes in a small closet and folding T-shirts and undies into the old oak bureau with a silvered glass mirror.
Tomorrow she’d have to get up with the chickens to start her new job. But having a job was a good thing, even if the old ladies in Granny’s club had arranged it for her. When she got settled, she would run down to the yarn shop where Mom worked to discuss the engagement party guest list with her mother.
“Hey.”
She turned with a jump to find Ashley Scott’s son leaning in the bedroom doorway. The little brat had opened the door without knocking. Ella judged him to be about ten or eleven, and she made a mental note to make sure her door was locked from this time forward. Ashley had already warned her that Jackie had boundary issues, and the kid’s room was evidently just down the hallway. Howland House’s third floor was the private space where Ashley lived as well.
“Hi,” she said on a puff of air, choosing not to bawl out her boss’s only child. “I’m Ella, and I’m going to be staying up here for a while.”
He nodded and glanced at her violin case. “You play the fiddle?”
“I do.”
“The captain says he likes jigs, reels, and hornpipes. You know any of those?”
“The captain?”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t heard about the captain.”
“I’m not from around here.”
“Captain William Teal. He was a fierce pirate who went down with his ship during the hurricane of 1713.”
“Okay,” she said. Magnolia Harbor’s main business district was awash in touristy gift shops that sold pirate crap. Black Beard, among others, had sailed the waters of Moonlight Bay, back in the day. But this was the first time someone had professed personal knowledge of a pirate’s musical preferences.
She stared the kid down. “If the captain went down with his ship, how do you know he likes jigs and reels?”
The kid pushed away from the doorframe and sat on her bed. He was a pest. “Because he haunts the inn,” he said in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone.
“Really?”
“Yup. And I’m the only one who can see him.”
Wiseass. The kid was trying to scare her or something. Not that she believed in ghosts or was about to play this game. “I’m not afraid of ghosts, so don’t try that on me. And yes, I do know how to play jigs and reels. And please get off the bed.”
The kid stood up. “Oh, sorry,” he said. Then he continued in a rush. “You should play for the captain.”
“I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone.” Especially her new employer, who would probably take a dim eye to her encouraging her son’s rude behavior.
Unless, of course, Ashley was using the pirate as a marketing ploy. The Travel Channel was awash in ridiculous shows about haunted inns. Cody used to watch that mind-numbing crap all the time. Now that she thought about it, haunted inns could probably charge a premium just because gullible people were willing to pay extra for ghosts.
“The captain says that his first mate used to have a whistle he played all the time. His first mate was Henri St. Pierre,” the kid said like a historic tour guide to the supernatural.
“St. Pierre, like the minister’s name?”
The kid nodded. “Henri St. Pierre was the only survivor of the shipwreck. All the St. Pierres are related to him.”
“Really,” she said in a neutral tone. The kid certainly knew his local history. She turned back to the bureau, putting the last of her meager wardrobe into the top drawer.
“The captain says his crew used to get drunk, and Henri would play his whistle, and they would all dance. Pirates drank a lot of rum.”
“I guess they did.”
“But anyway, the captain says he hasn’t heard a reel or a jig in hundreds of years, and he misses it.”
Something in the boy’s tone wormed its way past Ella’s skepticism. She closed the bureau drawer and turned to face the kid. Was he teasing her? Goading her? Or did he just want some attention? “If you want me to play my fiddle, all you have to do is ask.”
The kid beamed a big smile. “That’s great. But, um,
