the breadth of his back for a few seconds, and then he was gone.
She realized a few seconds later that she had a death grip on the curtains, and that she was still staring out at the night, which now appeared completely calm and normal.
She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should call the police. And tell them what? That she had no evidence, but she was certain a man she had met in a bar had followed them home and stared at their cottage? Like that would be a pressing concern to men who had to deal with real problems, drugs, thugs and nasty drunks. But no matter what the police would think, she was sure that they had been…
Stalked.
She glanced toward the bedroom. The door was ajar and the room was quiet. Heidi and Deanna were probably sound asleep already.
All right, she would just call the police and ask if an officer could do a few drive-bys during the night.
They would undoubtedly think she was a jumpy freak. But better that than…
Determined, she walked over and closed the door to the bedroom. Then she did call the police, using the non-emergency number. A very polite officer took her information, assured her that she wasn’t an idiot and promised that a car would check the property throughout the night.
When she hung up, she felt almost smug. She got a can of Coke from the refrigerator and curled her legs beneath her on the sofa-bed to watch TV.
But as she sat there, the cold from her soda seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t help but replay the her fading memories of the strange scene in the fortune teller’s tent. Now, alone in the dark, the details seemed to be coming back.
She had the strangest feeling that the evil being in the crystal ball had been real.
And that a dozen police officers couldn’t stand against the soul—stealing danger that he presented.
She had seen him. Great. Now she would think he was stalking her.
He was still in shock himself. It was impossible for anyone to look so much like Katie, and yet…It was as if his fiancée had been cloned. Even her smile, the way she flushed slightly, the slight hike of her brow…all were simply Katie.
As he walk away from the B and B, he was all too aware the woman in question was probably still watching him from the window.
Then, to his surprise, he noticed that there was a light on over the door to the main house, and several lights still blazing inside.
He made a point of walking away, then doubling back. The curtain at the cottage had dropped. He was free and clear. He walked up the porch steps of the main house and tried the door. It was open.
“Hello?”
A long hall led back to a desk. He admired the main house as he walked in; it reminded him of the Cornstalk, another bed and breakfast, and one of the loveliest in New Orleans. A curved stairway led to the upper rooms, while the hall branched off toward several more. He knew that each one would be a little bit different. That was the beauty of such a place: nothing was cookie-cutter; every room would have something all its own.
“Hello!” a cheerful voice called from the end of the hall.
He walked on to the desk. A woman of about sixty, with shimmering silvery white hair, was sitting there. Papers were strewn before her, and a computer was on a table to her left.
“I saw the lights on,” Mark said.
“I suppose I should lock up and go to bed, but I’ve discovered that I love being an innkeeper,” she said. She had a great smile, dark eyes, and an aura of energy about her, even as she sat still. “I’m Lilly Martin. How do you do?”
“I’m Mark Davidson, and I’m great, thanks. I think your inn is wonderful. I was hoping you might have a cottage left.”
She cocked her head slightly. “You’re looking for a room at three AM?”
He laughed. “I have a room, but I just saw your place, and I think it’s enchanting.”
Lilly Martin flushed with pleasure. “Thank you so much. And I do have a cottage vacant. I’m not sure I’d feel right, though. I can’t just give you the room for free, but I can’t really charge you for a full night, either.”
“We could split the difference,” he suggested.
“Lovely. Sold,” Lilly said.
She turned toward the computer. “Let’s see. Mark Davidson. Address and phone, length of stay, and will this be on a credit card?”
He produced his driver’s license and credit card. As she looked at the information, he made a point of looking over her shoulder. The registrations for the night were up on the screen.
He scanned the screen quickly. The girls were obvious. Cottage five.
Lauren Crow, Heidi Weiss, Deanna???.
He leaned back, smiling
As she typed information into the computer, Lilly asked, “Just being nosy, Mark, but what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Oh! Have I read anything you’ve written?”
He hesitated. “Probably not. I mostly do sports articles for syndication,” he lied.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Hm. And here I thought you might be an underwear model.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Sorry. You look like those guys in the ads.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.”
“Or a ninja,” she added.
“A ninja?”
She laughed. “Silly of me. Okay. Maybe a cop. Or FBI.”
“Just a writer,” he said. “But thanks.” Ninja?
Within ten minutes, Lilly had him registered and he had a key to his cottage. He hesitated, though. “You really should lock up this late at night,” he told her.
“I know. My kids would be angry.”
“As well they should be.”
“But I filled another cottage tonight, didn’t?” she asked cheerfully.
He turned to her, catching her hands. “Yes, but it’s not safe, Lilly. Please, lock up much, much earlier, okay?”
She let out a soft sigh. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” She winked. “But don’t tell on me, okay? Anyway, it’s bedtime for both of us now. In the morning, coffee and croissants are served in the dining room, to your left there, or on the patio, by the pool.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll go pick up things from my dreaded chain hotel,” he told her, grinning. “Then I’ll be back.”
After
