Death by Chocolate (The Davenports 2)

“Wait, photos?”

He chuckled at her increasing excitement. “Oh, yeah, they have a photographer on staff who takes them.”

“I’m intrigued, Mr. Davenport.”

“Stick with me. There’ll be plenty more enlightening moments about Cincinnati.” His voice dropped an octave.

“So, you’re my own personal tour guide, now?” she teased.

“If you’d like me to be.” The playfulness fell away. He was asking her for more than permission to show her around. He needed an indication she wanted to keep him in her life past the investigation.

“Once things settle down, will you still want the job title?” she asked bluntly.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. Taking her hand in his, he twined their fingers. “I don’t mind putting in the word to win you over. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“You have one.”

“Don’t move,” he whispered, stunned as a small group of Monarchs landed in her curls. We’ll send you a sign. His mother always loved butterflies, and the Monarch was her favorite. The four butterflies flapped their wings, forming a living crown. He shakily took out his camera and snapped a few shots before they left. “Look.” He turned the camera to her, and she gasped.

“Did that seriously just happen? That’s straight out of a fairytale.”

Is that you giving me your approval, Mom? His heart and head warred. Did he perceive what was there or what he longed to see? The unanswerable question would’ve tormented him a week ago. Today, he opted to let it be as his father would say. When the strains of the Beatle song began to play in the background, he smiled. I hear you, Dad.

DAIZE

“You ready for this, honey?” Maria asked.

“Yeah.” Daize nodded, lying through her teeth. They’d brought in an architect friend who possessed a ground penetrating radar machine. She hadn’t listened carefully enough to catch all the details because she was too busy trying not to freak out. What happened if they did find a potter’s grave? Who knew how long it would take the complex to do something.

The machine beeped to life, and Steve began the scan. She held her breath as the image began to form. The mapped area revealed itself strip by strip until it formed a complete picture riddled with lines.

“We’ve got a hit.”

“Is this compelling enough to lead to action?” Micah asked.

“It all depends on the property manager and how they want to handle things. To be honest, ma’am, I’d look into breaking the lease and moving because this is going to be wrapped in red tape for a long time.”

Shoulders slumped, she nodded.

“Don’t give up hope. We’ve still got the blessing to do, and now that we have proof, we will work toward finding these restless souls the help they deserve,” Maria vowed. Brendon nodded his head in agreement.

What if the hauntings don’t stop? I can’t live my life wondering what the next day will hold, being woken in the middle of the night, or watched in the bathroom.

“Only time will tell.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Let’s record the proof, get the equipment out of here, and do the blessing. Then I want you to talk to them, Daize. I think maybe you can form a truce. They came to you for a reason.” Micah placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she inhaled.

“I’ll try.”

Fifteen minutes later, they stood in her living room with holy water, anointing oil blessed by a priest, and a crucifix. Micah stood, tall and proud, leading the charge in the black jeans that hugged his long, muscular thighs and juicy butt. He was a temptation. His jaw clenched as he nodded at the others. Brendon began to sprinkle holy water as Micah held the oil, and Maria stood beside him with the crucifix.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, I ask for your peace and joy to inhabit this room.” He walked over to the door, put some oil on his thumb, and marked it with a cross. They continued through the home. “Let any negative energy or those wishing harm be banished. I command you to leave in the name of God the most high.” Energy gathered in the home as they slowly worked their way through every room. She sensed the presence of others. It wasn’t threatening in nature. It felt more like having an audience.

“I think they’re here,” she whispered.

“They are,” Carl agreed. “I believe they’re beginning to understand we mean to help them.”