Page 7 of Kestrel & Kee

“Spot on!” Reg shouted.

Senator Kestrel had the decency, or perhaps he knew when to look chagrined, to nod. “My apologies, Mr. Kee. It’s been a long, trying day, and this situation is not only upsetting to me and my wife, but also a financial drain and a possible unpleasant public relations nightmare. Two workmen disappearing on my property would lead to questions I do not wish to face. So, forgive my short temper. Would you be willing to sign on to assist me with this problem?”

I knew Phil would not be down for this at all, and rightfully so. His father had booted him out for being who he was and not kowtowing to his rigid demands.

“I’m not sure you want us to handle this for you. All of our investigations are livestreamed, which means that millions of our viewers”—a boldfaced lie as we had maybe a thousand viewers who were slowly leaving us over a recent lack of terrifying content, but the higher number sounded good—“will see us parading through your camp as I try to free whatever unhappy specters are there.”

“Oh no, that can’t happen,” the senator replied firmly.

“Then we can’t help you. We get paid for our content, and if we can’t livestream to raise money for the store, then we’re not going to drive out to your camp simply to be nice to someone who’s not been particularly nice to my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, see, Dad, some of us can’t be bought and paid for like you and your senatorial cronies,” Phil announced, proud as a peacock.

The senator looked me square in the face. “I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars to do a private cleansing that only a few select people will see. Myself, my wife, and the team that I originally hired, well, minus the one who’s now a monk. Philip can go with you to record the show. The tapes or whatever will be given directly to me. As soon as I have your evidence of performance, the deposit will be made into your checking account. No one shall be the wiser. My workmen will return to work, and you’ll have enough cash to take care of yourself and your grandfather for years.”

Words stalled on my tea-warmed tongue. Good words. Words that were going to be used to show the senator the Kees were not to be swayed by such petty things as money.

“Tell him to cram his money, Arch,” Phil said, rising from his stool, the sound of his cleats hitting the worn hardwood floor the only sound in the shop. All eyes were on me now. A moment ticked by as my mind whirled with possibilities. That was a lot of money. A lot. I could pay off the mortgage on the store, my student loans, and have some left over for whatever Yeye may need or want. That trip to China that he and I always talked about but could never afford, a new car, renovations on the shop to help draw in younger customers. “Arch, tell him to shove his cash.”

I looked from the senator, who was, in my humble opinion, looking very smug indeed, to Phil. And at that moment, I witnessed his pride in me start to crumble.

“Phil, I mean…” That was all I managed to squeak out. Phil’s face fell before he gave me a look of utter disgust mixed with pain and stormed out the front door. “Phil!” I shouted, tossing my teacup aside to dash to the door. Ripping it open, the two security men stared down at me. I caught the flash of the number on the back of his shirt as he rounded the corner at a dead run. “Shit.” I sighed, tore my gaze from the corner to stare at one of the big men in dark suits and even darker shades. “Tell the senator we’ll be in touch with a final decision soon.”

It was a cowardly thing to do. I knew it. But fifty thousand dollars…

They say every man has his price. Seems mine had just been discovered, much to my boyfriend’s—and my—horror.

I set off after Phil.

Chapter Three

“I have… got to…work out…more.”

I staggered around the corner of my second block, holding my right side, gasping for breath. Phil was nowhere in sight. Tossing my left hand out, I grabbed hold of a brick wall as my eyes darted across the road to the massive stone arch of the Liverswell Cemetery. It was possible he’d gone into the boneyard to burn off some of his aggravation. He was still wearing his baseball cleats, so he wouldn’t go too far. According to him, they were made for short bursts of speed, not long-distance runs. I’d take that as gospel, since what I knew about cleats could fit into one of Yeye’s tiny pear wood mini teacups. Rasping like a ten-pack-a-day smoker, I pushed my glasses up my sweaty nose to study the entrance to the memorial park.

I could go after him, but stepping foot in a graveyard is sensory overload times ten for me. Hundreds of lost souls waiting to move over, many never making that journey, sensed a person with the spiritual eye like dogs scenting burgers on the grill. It would be moments before they arrived like a cloud of locusts begging me to help them. As much as I wanted to—and did when I was up to it—today was not one of those days. I was far too stressed to be mobbed by specters. What I needed was to find Phil so we could talk this out.

A soft, earthy sound, like wind blowing through reeds, filtered through my wheezing.

“Hey, Archie!” someone feminine and bouncy gushed. Tipping my head to the left, I saw Candy Cairngorm smiling her big, white smile down at me. She looked perfectly adorable. Long gold hair pulled into an Ariana Grande ponytail atop her head. She’d changed since the game. Now she was in a pale lavender apron that read The Steeping Stone. Ah, so I’d made it to the loose-leaf tea shop without dying. Go me. “Wow, you look seriously expended. Why don’t you come inside to rest? I can make you a nice sparkling botanical elixir to ease your weak lungs.”

“I don’t…” I held up a finger. She waited, holding the door to the tea shop open with her rump as the wind rushed around the chimes over the door. Wicker. Huh. Interesting choice, but fitting in a way, since the natural sound of the small bits of wood, sticks, and tiny wicker balls was quite pleasing. “Do you have…iced matcha lattes?”

“Only the very best in Liverswell!” Gosh, she was perky. No wonder Roxie had trouble warming to her. She and Roxie were like oil and vinegar. “Wow, you’re fully depleted of energy. Come on inside, let me make you an iced green tea matcha to refresh your chakra.”

Too weak to argue, I let her pull me inside. I fell into the first chair I spied. A tiny little wooden chair with a dark blue cushion at a round table for two by the front window. While catching my breath, I gave the new shop a once-over. Narrow, filled with shelves holding glass jars filled with tea leaves. The walls were light blue, decorated with paintings of teapots, with soft ambient lighting. Now that I was breathing normally—mostly—I could smell the rich, earthy, woodsy smell of black teas mingling with the fresh, grassy aroma of green and white teas. There was an undercurrent of floral smells as well, jasmine, the one I picked up right away, as it was the scent that came to me when my mother reached out from the other side.

Tucked between the jars of tea were tiny wicker baskets, balls, stars, doll seats, and charms. Lo-fi beats filled the shop with soft hip-hop drums, warm vinyl crackles, and slow piano chords. It was a very chill place, a space that replenished Qi with its nourishing Yin vibe, which I sorely needed since I was still wound up in lots of Yang energy. Candy hummed as she whipped up the matcha powder with an electric frother before adding some ice and honey. My gaze drifted from her to the cemetery gates. Thistle, the graveyard grim, sat under the old stone arch. A massive black dog who guarded the graves of those resting within seemed to be awaiting someone’s return. Someone I assumed, or perhaps hoped, was Phil.

“Here you go. I added extra honey because it’s a natural energy boost that will go right to your exhausted thigh muscles.” She placed the soft green drink in front of me and took the other seat to smile at me as I took a taste. “Good, right? I have an affinity for making drinks from the good things the earth provides. You look peaky. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I try, but you know with studying and the bookstore, it’s kind of hard,” I confessed and took another sip. “This is really good.”

She beamed. It was nearly blinding. “Peachy! So, did you and Phil have a nice visit with his parents? Cody said he’s never seen anything like that before. But then again, Mr. Kestrel is a senator, so I guess he can swoop in to see his son whenever he likes.”

I let my straw rest on my lip as my sight moved to Thistle, still patiently waiting, then I glanced at Candy.

“It was quite the reunion,” I confessed with a sigh. Her bright smile faded into a pout. “Phil and them don’t get along well…”