Road Trips, Blue Skies & Dead Guys by Jennifer Fischetto

Author:Jennifer Fischetto
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic suspense, ghosts, paranormal, suspence, romantic mystery, paranormal mystery, paranormal suspense
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When I leave Noa's, I head back to the Airbnb. The rental Enzo was driving earlier is gone. I expect to go inside to an empty place—well, aside from the two ghosts by my side—but Enzo is sitting on the couch.

I set the purse on a table. "Ma went out? Alone?"

Enzo looks relieved at seeing me, but his gaze quickly averts to the keys in my hand. It has nothing to do with me but the car.

"It's about time you got back." He narrows his gaze. "Where did you go?"

I look away. "I had to see something."

"What?" He sounds impatient.

I stare directly into his brown eyes. "Do you really want to know?"

He cocks a dark brow and then looks away. "Probably not. Let's get out of here. Sitting around is boring, and I'm hungry. My treat."

I instantly perk up at the idea of free food. "Let's go."

"I'm driving."

I toss him the keys and reach for the bag but hesitate. If I bring it, I'll have Betty alongside and probably Agnes. If I leave it, Betty will stay behind, and I'll be able to have an hour with just my brother. It doesn't mean Agnes will stay behind, but she's easier to tolerate. One, she's not as ornery as her best friend, and she'd probably float off to ogle over some guy. I pull my hand back with what I think is a mischievous grin on my face, but then I frown, remembering the incident at the fair.

What if someone breaks in and steals it? There will be little chance we'll find it or who killed Betty for it at that point. Then again, Betty would likely follow. Anything to stay close to the purse. But how would I know where to look for her? Could Agnes? With a scoff, a sigh, and a roll of my eyes, I grab the bag and follow Enzo outside.

He drives us to Fortune Diner. Not that I mind, but I'd love to see what else this town has to offer in the culinary field.

It's a warmer than usual afternoon, and I wish I'd worn short sleeves. The sun is bright and strong, and in just the minute it takes me to walk from the car to the front door, there's a bead of sweat forming on my hairline.

I step inside first because I want to pick our seat, and I spot a man in a post office uniform. What's the chance that he's the same mailman Betty referred to?

Betty is either becoming a mind reader or we're on the same wavelength because she says, "Yep, that's Brett."

I walk over and sit one seat over from the man, leaving room for Enzo on my left.

It's crowded and loud. Conversations bounce across tables and the counter. Most everyone seated seems to be on their lunch break. In addition to this postal worker, there's a table with people in pink and blue scrubs, an older man by himself in grease-stained overalls suggesting he's a mechanic, a

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