Matinees With Miriam. Vicki Essex

leave it unlocked?”

      “It’s a tricky lock. Been like that forever.”

      He frowned. “Maybe you should board the door up.”

      Mira glared. She didn’t like to be told how to run her life. She held up the gun. “I think I have security covered.”

      “Mira?” Arty’s gruff voice echoed from the back lobby. “Where are you?”

      “I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

      A moment later, Arty Bolton strode in, his sweater inside out, his graying hair flying in all directions. She could see him putting it all together in his mind as he took in the scene, and he sagged in relief. “Christsakes, Mira, that costume could scare the black off a zebra. What the hell is going on?” His gaze narrowed on the man from Sagmar. “Who’s this?”

      “Shane Patel.” He wore his smile as readily as his ruined tailored suit. “We’ve had a misunderstanding. I was trying to rescue Ms. Bateman from some teens who broke into the building—”

      Rescue? What a lying piece of—

      “Mira, what have I said about barring and locking all the doors?” Arty glowered at her.

      She glared right back, then realized he couldn’t see her face. She pulled away the cowl and unhooked the veil. “You know how that back door is.”

      “And if it weren’t for this brave young man—”

      “I wouldn’t go that far,” Shane said modestly. Mira felt a flicker of appreciation for the correction, but Shane Patel wasn’t anywhere near the vicinity of her good graces yet. “She had me dead to rights. As you can see.” He gestured at his green-spattered suit.

      The lines in the older man’s face deepened. He gave a put-upon sigh. “Mira...”

      “Why are you mad at me?” she asked, irritated. “He was trespassing.”

      “I was trying to do my neighborly duty, honestly.” He sounded sincere, but all Mira could hear was the slime beneath his words. And yet, he was winning Arty over. The older man’s expression eased with sympathy and gratitude.

      Mira summoned her outrage. “Arty, this is the guy I was telling you about. The one who wants to buy the theater.”

      “Oh.” He regarded him a moment, then held out a hand. “Arty Bolton. I own the Everville Grocery down the way.”

      “I know.” He grinned. “I guess you don’t remember me, Mr. Bolton. My family and I used to come to Everville every summer when I was a kid. I came by the grocery store frequently to get bubble gum cards.”

      “Wait a sec.” Arty squinted. Mira looked between the two, flabbergasted this intruder could have any possible connection to the man who’d been watching out for her since her grandfather had died four years ago. The grocer pointed. “I do remember you, I think. You were tiny, and you had huge ears. You were friends with the Latimers. Your parents used to stay at one of the big cottages by Silver Lake, right? I’m trying to remember... Ran... Ranjeet?”

      “That’s my dad.” Shane’s face broke out into a brilliant grin.

      “Well, hot dog. How is your family?” They got to talking about a past Mira knew nothing about. She was feeling steadily more and more uncomfortable. She hated being out of the loop, hated that strangers had been in her home, hated how she was simultaneously being ignored and made the center of attention. She rubbed her arms and huffed. Her personal space felt violated.

      Sheriff McKinnon arrived a few minutes later. One hand rested on his service piece as he assessed Shane and listened to what he had to say. Mira then told her side of the story—she’d been working when the silent perimeter alarm she’d installed alerted her to the intruders. From there, she’d called him, put on her costume and taken up her post, initiating her “haunting protocol” program to play itself out.

      The sheriff rubbed his eyes. “I don’t see why you can’t have a normal security system like everyone else,” he said. “Or a guard dog.”

      “Those kids came in here looking for trouble.” She raised her chin. “I just gave them what they wanted.”

      “Always one for theatrics, just like your grandfather,” Arty said with a touch of exasperation. “They could’ve been more than kids, Mira. It’s not safe for a girl on her own. You need to move out of here.”

      She glared at Arty in warning. Not everyone who knew her knew that she lived in the theater. It wasn’t something she openly shared, especially not with the law or strangers like Mr. Patel.

      The sheriff glanced around disinterestedly. “Is anything missing? Any property damage?”

      “There’s a broken beer bottle in one corner—they were drinking. They were trying to pick a lock on that storage closet, too. Nothing in there of value, though.” She pointed to one corner. Ralph checked it out and declared it hadn’t been damaged.

      The sheriff made a note on his pad. “Mr. Patel... I presume you won’t be pressing charges?” The question was a half warning.

      “Not at all, Sheriff.” Again, that too-big smile. It gave Mira goose bumps.

      “Mira?”

      She shook her head reluctantly. No sense in causing more trouble or giving Shane Patel reason to sue her.

      “All right. If either of you remember anything else about what you saw, call me. I’ll do a drive around the neighborhood—see if I spot those troublemakers. If I catch them, I might need you both to come down to the office and identify them for me.”

      “I’m staying at the Sunshine B and B,” Shane said. “I’m here on business.”

      “For how long?”

      He slid Mira a lopsided grin. She met his stare head-on, her face fixed with stony dislike. “As long as it takes.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS CLOSE to nine by the time Shane left the Crown. That he’d gotten off with only a stink eye from the sheriff was a point in his column. He’d have to be more careful when approaching Miriam Bateman.

      And, boy, was he ever going to have to watch himself around her. He’d expected an older woman, someone as hard and obdurate as her refusals had been. He hadn’t thought she’d be so young and pretty. Even in that billowing pseudo-Dementor’s robe, those big blue eyes had glowed against her round, pale face, framed by that mass of dark brown hair. Girls like that spelled trouble for him, and not just because she’d shot him in the balls.

      He winced, still feeling the burning ache. It’d been tough to smile in front of the sheriff.

      He parked outside the Sunshine B and B. The house was a fairly ordinary-looking two-story Colonial off Main Street with a screened-in porch, a well-manicured garden and a short driveway. Exactly the kind of place a couple might get away to for a weekend while touring Upstate New York.

      In the main foyer, an older woman with dyed blond hair and blue eyeliner greeted him cheerfully. “Nancy Gibbons,” she introduced herself. “You must be Shane. You’re the only one booked for the week...” Her face fell as she took in his state. “Oh my—what happened to you?”

      “Had a run-in with some neighborhood kids and a paintball gun,” he explained, which was as close to the truth as he wanted to go. He was sure some version of that story would make its way around the small town eventually.

      Nancy scowled. “Their parents must be mortified. I’ve been saying we need to give these kids more to do around here than cause trouble, but the town doesn’t have the money for those kinds of programs.” She sighed. “Back in my day, we had jobs to keep us busy. Now it’s hard enough to even keep the young folks in town.”