Still, for the moment, he was tall, handsome, solid and, most of all, real, so she smiled, determined never to tell him that she’d thought she was being chased by an evil shadow and had run into the cemetery to avoid it. He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. Real was real to him. The imagination was…suspect.
Yet he sleepwalked and talked to people who were only there in his dreams.
“Sorry, I got worried when you didn’t show up,” he told her.
She smiled, and kept that smile plastered to her face.
She knew she should tell him the truth, even if he thought she was ridiculous. And anyway, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would want to comb the streets, looking for whoever might have been terrorizing her.
It was too late, though. If anyone really had been chasing her—if it hadn’t just been the combination of darkness, the blown streetlamp and her nightmares preying on her mind—he was long gone by now.
Maybe sitting in some bar already, swilling down a beer.
“Sorry,” she told him. “Adam and Eve were just closing up, and she came out to chat. I knew you’d be worried. I should have extricated myself a bit faster.”
He held the door, and she stepped inside ahead of him. She recognized Eric Rolfe—thinner now, but still clearly the same guy she had known in high school—immediately and hurried over to say hi. He recognized her, too, and rose and gave her a big bear hug. Then he stepped back, and she saw him looking over her shoulder.
At Jeremy.
“Your friend thinks I’m a murderer. He doesn’t like my masks,” he whispered.
Rowenna glanced back at Jeremy. To all outward appearances, he looked casual, just a guy out for a drink with friends, but she already knew him too well to be fooled. She could almost see the tension radiating from him and filling the air. He really didn’t trust Eric, she realized.
She wanted to tell him that she’d known Eric since she was a kid.
Then again, she had grown up here. She’d known a lot of the locals since she’d been a kid.
And their killer was a local, she thought, then shivered.
Jeremy’s phone rang. He waved at her to excuse himself and stepped through a side door into the hotel lobby.
Eric followed Jeremy’s progress, then looked down into Rowenna’s eyes. “Great timing on my part, huh? No sooner do I come back into town, bringing my masks with me, than a woman gets murdered and staked out in a cornfield right near my house. But come on. You know me. How can anyone see me as a killer?”
“Eric, I’m pretty sure they’re talking to a lot of people,” she said. “And Jeremy’s a good guy. Really.”
He rolled his eyes, then grinned at her. “He’s good-looking, I’ll give you that.”
She laughed.
“You two an item?”
“Yes.” She could feel herself blushing. Talk about ridiculous…
“Good. He looks like the protective type. Not a bad thing, what with everything going on around here. I bet he’s good with a gun,” he said speculatively.
“He is, and he also plays the guitar,” Rowenna said.
Eric laughed. “Sorry, I just find that a little hard to picture. He’s a pretty scary guy, if you want to know the truth.” He dropped his voice. “Not like me. I needed my scarecrows back in high school because most of the guys thought I was a fag. I had to scare them somehow.”
“So how are you doing now?” she asked him with a smile. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Hollywood treating you well?”
He laughed. “It is, actually. I’m on an A-list for effects guys. I get paid really well to be my creepy self.” He grinned. “Not to make light of that fifty bucks I won for best scarecrow or anything. How about you? I’ve seen your name on the bestseller list. We’ve both made it. Cool, huh?”
She smiled. “Well, there’s high school, and then there’s real life.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” he said, and winked. “Have a seat. I want to check out your boyfriend’s artistic side.”
“Oh, Eric, I don’t think—”
“Sit.”
He pulled out a chair, so she sat and watched him as he walked over to the band that was just setting up to play, motioning to the keyboard player.
She looked for Jeremy, but he hadn’t reappeared. Brad was at the bar, talking to Hugh.
She got up and walked over to the bar. “Brad, how are you doing?” she asked him.
“I’m okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound okay.
“Hey, Hugh,” she said, smiling.
“Hey, Ro,” Hugh replied, then headed off to serve another customer.
Brad leaned over and whispered something to her, but she couldn’t make out what he said.
“What?”
“Is he a witch?”
“Hugh?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“There’s something really freaky going on around here. I mean it. And I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. Because I’m not. Drunk, I mean. The thing is…”
“The thing is what?” she asked.
Brad looked grave. “Jeremy doesn’t believe me. I know he doesn’t.”
“What are you talking about, Brad?” she asked. “What doesn’t Jeremy believe?”
“Satan,” he said seriously.