Haunted by Love by Keri Lane

Author:Keri Lane [Lane, Keri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Keri Lane
Published: 2023-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Each dusty, moldering box is a veritable Schrödinger’s cat of treasure. There’s an equal chance that I’ll open something that will reveal the rich history of the house and ghost to me. Or, it’ll be a collection of old sweaters with a mummified rat nestled inside.

Unfortunately for me, Schrödinger’s cat seems to be lacking a prey drive because I unbox three different dead rodents, all dead from polyester asphyxiation, before I get to anything that can even come close to resembling a treasure.

Inside the fourth box is a recipe box alongside some kitchen odds and ends. As someone who lives in an apartment so old that kitchen ventilation wasn’t really a consideration, I am not much of a cook. I live off local hole-in-the-wall restaurants, scraps from the library ladies, and iced coffee. All this to say, there is no reason that I should be drawn to a kitchen cache.

Except I am.

My arms erupt in goosebumps and the world narrows down to this box. My mind, which usually jumps from one inane topic to another, becomes laser-focused. I ignore the garlic presses and the graters to go straight for the recipe box. Although it isn’t a large box, the real wood gives it a heft. The second I’m holding it, waves of boredom, doldrum, and lack of freedom wash over me. Except, there’s something spicy—something tender and precious nestled in the core.

Odd.

The lid hitches when I try to open it. Using a bit of elbow grease and a good serving of hope that it won’t break, I force the lid open. Inside is a mess of recipe cards and slips of paper. All of them have soft, looping handwriting (definitely not belonging to Mr. Caveman and probably not Ms. Prickly either), detailing different dishes.

Bev’s Meat Pie reads the first one I pick up. I keep going. Ultimate Chocolate Cake. Whole Fish Dinner. Rye Loaf (not the good one). Gelatin Salad. Dessert Deviled Eggs.

I smile. Half of them look downright terrible. The other half look terrible for you.

My smile disappears. A dark thought enters my mind. I hate that I’m having it, but I can’t seem to push it away: Brady would love to look at these recipes.

I hate that I now know that he likes to concoct recipes. I hate that I know that he would love dessert deviled eggs. I hate that I’m already standing to bring him over.

“Hey Benjamin,” I call over to them. “You might want to see this.”

Brady huffs over. Darwin follows behind him, carrying an opened cardboard box filled with newspapers.

“I know you know my name. You used it like three…” He trails off. “Woah.”

Honest to goodness, he sinks down to his knees like he’s beholding a holy relic. Darwin and I exchange a look. He’s silently giving me shit for encouraging his obsession. I’m silently apologizing. Then, we both sneak a glance at Brady, looking at him indulgently like he’s our giant child picking flowers in the outfield at his little league game.

Yes, I’m aware it’s all kinds of messed up.

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