used to be the talk of Bliss! But no, Joanie really was waving at her, and Great-gran really was deeply immersed in a conversation with Eli. Realizing someone had stepped in front of her car, Ariel gasped once more, then simultaneously pressed the horn and depressed the brakes.
A hand came down hard on the hood. And Ariel, her heart now beating out of control, clamped a hand to her chest. It was Chicken Giblets.
Elsinore Gibbet swiftly circled the car, at least as quickly as an octogenarian in a floral-print housedress and blue-rinsed hair could, so Ariel began powering down the passenger-side window, but it was too late. Already, Giblets had wrenched open the door, lunged inside and slammed the door shut, while saying ominously, “I’m so glad you’re here, Ariel.”
Realizing Jack was behind her in the diner’s truck, Ariel had no choice but to depress the gas pedal again. As she drove, she fought the feeling that her well-planned trip to Bliss had just nosedived and was heading in a southerly direction. Doing another double take, she saw a man she didn’t recognize and who didn’t look like one of the summer visitors. He was deeply tanned, with long silver hair tied back in a ponytail and a silver beard.
Not that she had time for more than a glimpse. “Uh…Miss Gibbet,” she began, since she’d never known what to call people who’d been in positions of authority when she’d been younger, such as teachers or librarians.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said, as if reading Ariel’s mind. “You’re old enough to call me Elsinore now. Head on up to your place, and I’ll fill you in on all the details.”
Details? “Fill me in?” Ariel echoed.
“You’re a reporter, right?”
“I’m here working on a story, yes.”
Fighting a sense of foreboding, she turned off Bliss Run Road onto Mountain Drive, a narrow two-lane stretch of incline. She cast a glance into the rearview mirror, still unable to believe her great-gran had been speaking with Eli Saltwell.
“Your great-gran and Eli aren’t the half of it,” assured Elsinore, as if reading her mind once more. “The Bliss theater is only showing romance movies, you can only get romance songs on the local radio, and Jack’s introduced an early-bird breakfast special for two. But don’t worry. I called the CDC.”
“The CDC?”
“The Centers for Disease Control. In Atlanta.”
“I know what the CDC is,” Ariel managed to say.
“Then why did you ask?” returned Elsinore, looking miffed.
Ariel gaped at the librarian. It was bad enough that the recipe book, Ariel’s relatives’ pride and joy, not to mention a feature element in Ariel’s news story, had been stolen, but…“Why did you call the CDC?”
“Well, you know the stories about the spring….” Elsinore began.
Ariel had no idea where this was heading. “Uh huh.”
“Well, it’s rumored that Pappy Pass and his ex-wife, Maime, are getting back together. Then, there’s the fact that Eli and your great-gran are talking. Ever since Matilda—” Elsinore paused. “Nothing against your family, Ariel,” she began again, “but ever since she came, there’s been nothing but trouble. First, the town went dead in 1790, then in 1806.”
Ariel’s heart was sinking as her childhood home came into view. What if the town really had…well, shut down in the past? “Those are just town legends, Elsinore,” she said uncertainly.
“There’s proof in the history books, and you know it.”
“Local history books, mostly,” Ariel pointed out. “And those are full of fanciful folktales.”
Elsinore pursed her lips primly and Ariel looked at the cars in the lot. Seeing her mother’s old black Cadillac, and Gran’s silver Eldorado, Ariel wondered how her great-gran had gotten to town. The rest of the cars—about ten—belonged to guests. There was one huge black RV that looked more like a military vehicle. Figuring she’d unload the Honda after she said hello, she pulled in front of the wraparound porch. “Let’s go inside. I’ll bet Mom’s got some iced tea made,” she said cordially, as she moved to get out of the car. “Don’t worry, Elsinore, we’ll get to the bottom of all this.”
“I’ve already gotten to the bottom of it,” Elsinore said, “and your family is responsible. It was Matilda who brought this on us, and now, it’s all happening again. I predict that, within a week, all industry in Bliss will shut down.”
“Uh-huh,” Ariel couldn’t help but say dryly. “And that would be…what? Jack’s Diner? Oh, right,” she added. “I forgot. The ice-cream truck.”
“And the canoe-and-bike rental stand,” Elsinore put in.
Taking a deep breath, Ariel shut her car door, wincing at the stifling heat, then she went up the porch stairs, with Elsinore on her heels. As she pushed through a door, foyer, and into the living room, she inhaled audibly. What was going on here? A shoulder duffel was near the door, as if no one had bothered to check in a guest. Next to it was a six-pack of bottled water and a thick manila file. Slowly, her eyes followed a trail of black clothes—shoes, stockings…
Feeling off balance, she quickly swiped them from the Chinese rug, terrified a guest might see them. It looked as if one of her relatives had started disrobing in the public rooms, while going toward the back of the house. Ariel scanned the terrain and saw another hint of black through some French doors.
“A slip,” she whispered, lifting it from the doorknob. Outside, the air was truly unbearable, making her miss the air-conditioning in the car. Through a thicket of trees, she could hear splashing in the pool to her left. It sounded as if most of the guests were swimming, but she had a suspicion that…
Her pulse ticked fast in her throat as her eyes trailed down the flight of steps carved into the mountain, to where a black dress flew on a pole near the dock, waving like a flag. Ariel shut her eyes. Counted to ten. Opened them again—only to find this was not her overactive imagination. Her mother was swimming in the spring, and judging by the trail of clothes, she was only wearing a bra and panties. As she heard Elsinore gasp, Ariel realized that there were no scents of dinner in the house, even though it was nearly two o’clock. Her relatives did the cooking, and often, because of the Southern fare they served, beans or stewed tomatoes would be on the stove by now.
All the fantastical stories she’d heard in her youth suddenly came racing back. Swiftly, she whirled, feeling panicked, thinking she’d better return to the porch.
She gasped. She’d run right into something hard and as dripping wet as the spring. Just as she glanced up, big sexy-feeling hands closed around the sleeves of her pale pink jacket; seemingly, the move was meant to steady her; instead, her hips locked with a male stranger’s, and her cheek hit a pectoral smelling of chlorinated water. Something else, too. Something more intriguing, less definable. Even though he felt cold from the water, he was hot, too. Yes, he was pure burning fire, sizzling out of control and searing every inch of her. Unbidden, her hands reached, landing naturally on his waist, and she could feel the skin alive beneath her fingertips.
The second her fingers touched his wet skin, the whole world seemed to slide off-kilter. She could almost believe she, herself, had just drunk a gallon of Matilda’s love tea made with springwater. Or as if she, herself, had just plunged into the spring during one of those freaky end-of-summer nights when the water was reputed to be most pungent.
Knowing she was losing her mind, she made herself step back and stared at her soaked suit. As she slipped swiftly out of the jacket and shook off the water, she looked up. “Oh, no,” she murmured, her dismayed tone coming more in response to the man’s good looks than anything else.
His gaze had landed on her chest, too, and while she’d thought the aversion of his eyes was due to embarrassment at their collision, she now realized her silk blouse had gotten as wet as the jacket. Silently, she cursed herself for removing