The Best for Last (Whispering Bay Romance 4)

A hot date at this time of night was code for a booty call from Jen’s boyfriend, Sean. For the first time this evening Allie was glad she wasn’t home tucked away in bed. She wasn’t sure what Jen and Sean were into, but they’d met at a Tarzan yodeling contest. If Sean spent the night, it meant Allie didn’t get any sleep unless she wore earplugs.

“It’s Whispering Bay,” Allie said, unable to stop from correcting Jen. Allie hadn’t called Whispering Bay home since she was eighteen, but the only family she had in the world lived here, and she still visited frequently enough that she was on a first name basis with most of the town’s population. It was only natural she felt protective of the place.

“Whatever. You’re so uptight. You know, you could use a hot date yourself. Hey, maybe the ghost is male,” Jen added.

“And probably like eighty-years-old. This place used be a senior center. Plus, I kinda like my guys alive. Jen, listen, I really have to go—”

“Alive does come in handy. So…the reason I called is we just got a notice saying our electricity is going to be turned off in two days. Didn’t you pay the bill?”

“I thought it was your month to pay the bill.”

“No, I paid it last month.”

Allie was positive she’d paid the electricity last month, but without checking her online bank statement, she had no proof.

“I’d pay it, but I’m kind of short,” Jen said. “Plus, you know, it is your turn.”

Argh. Why did money (or the lack of it) always seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times? At this point in her life, Allie should have been well on track with Life Goal Number Three—a permanent job with benefits. But Life Goal Number Two had taken her longer (and been more expensive) than she’d originally thought, putting her woefully behind schedule. Which meant she was still freelancing, which meant she lived article-to-article.

Translation: Paycheck-to-paycheck.

Hence, she had to supplement her income with the second oldest profession known to womankind. Waitressing. Weekdays, she lived her dream job. Weekends? Not so much. But the tips she made waiting tables at The Blue Monkey, a hipster Vegan restaurant in downtown Tampa, had saved her carnivorous butt from starving on more than one occasion. There was no way around it. She’d have to transfer money from her dwindling savings and pray she didn’t break her neck trying to crawl back out the window.

The sound of crunching gravel made Allie stop in her tracks. “Jen,” she whispered into the phone, “I think I just heard something.”

“Like what? Moaning? Chains rattling?” Jen’s voice hitched with excitement. “Sounds like my kind of place. And why are you talking so low? I can barely make out what you’re saying. It’s not like the ghost couldn’t hear you if it wanted to. It can probably even read your thoughts.”

If Allie hadn’t been so creeped out she would have laughed. “What are you, a ghost expert?”

Another sound. This time it did sound like a chain rattling.

Blimey. A ghost after Jen’s own kinky heart!

“Jen, I gotta go—”

“But the electric bill—”

“I promise I’ll pay it tomorrow online.”

“Okay. Awesome! So, good luck with that ghost. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She hung, up leaving Allie to wonder exactly what those last words meant.

Keeping herself as still as possible, Allie slipped the cell phone back into her shorts pocket. The building was now eerily quiet. No gravel crunching. No chains rattling. Had she imagined it? Probably. Allie let out a pent up breath. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed. Both, maybe.

She waited a few minutes so that her vision adjusted to the darkness. Years ago, she’d been inside this building. Buela had brought her here after Allie had graduated high school, proud of the granddaughter about to go off to college that she’d raised almost single-handedly. Back then the senior center had been alive. Full of noise and energy. Now, the place just looked sad. Empty, with bits of scattered trash strewn on the floor.

Something small and dark

scurried past her.

Correction: Not exactly empty.

Cockroaches!

The place was probably crawling with them. Allie was a native Floridian, so she should be used to all manner of creepy crawly things, but sorry, she’d never get used to cockroaches. Best to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Hello?” she called out. Unable to help herself, she giggled. More out of nerves than a comedic response, because it wasn’t as if she expected someone to answer.

A chain rattled—louder than before—followed this time by a distinct clang.