All Lost Things

Book 3 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 4

Somehow, the next few weeks managed to both race by and crawl. My days were a blur of constant activity as graduation drew nearer, but underneath it all, I missed Asher.

The last few days of classes felt like slow, drawn-out torture. Asher and I still weren't speaking, and the sympathetic glances people kept shooting my way only made it worse. I hated being the school's latest object of pity. The rumors had spread fast, and nearly everyone seemed to blame Asher for the breakup. I doubted it was easy for him either, but I didn't waste much energy feeling bad for my ex, especially since he was rarely seen without Caleb glued to his side. It was hard not to wonder if the gossip held some truth. Thankfully, I had other things to focus on, like graduation, my birthday, and a job interview that was coming up fast.

Graduation felt like a strange mix of freedom and finality. As I walked across the stage and accepted my diploma, I should've been buzzing with excitement — and part of me was. The cheers, the flashing cameras, the sea of smiling faces were all exhilarating, but underneath it all, there was a hollow ache I couldn't ignore. Asher should've been by my side, cracking jokes, talking about the future we'd planned. Instead, we were avoiding even making eye contact, and the space where he used to be felt louder than the noise around me. I was moving forward, but it didn't feel the way I thought it would.

I got a handful of really thoughtful birthday-slash-graduation gifts, but nothing came close to topping the "new" car from Mom and Adam. When I opened the small box and saw the keys inside, I nearly forgot how to breathe. They belonged to a black Honda — used, but in excellent condition. I was so thrilled I practically tackled them both with grateful bear hugs.

The job interview had my nerves in overdrive. I was jittery by the time I reached Mr. Novak's office, tucked away on the second floor of a '40s-era, two-story brick building from the 1940s in downtown Salisbury. Halfway down the dim hallway, I spotted a pebbled-glass door with "Novak Investigations" stenciled in gold lettering — a detail that sent a chill down my spine. The whole thing looked like it belonged in a hard-boiled film noir movie.

I took a steadying breath and knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. Hesitant but curious, I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped into a cramped little reception area.

"Hello? Mr. Novak?" I called.

The small room was overwhelmed by a rather battered wooden desk that looked like it had been there since the place was built. Behind it sat an empty equally ancient pitted-chrome and black leather swivel chair. The only other furniture in the cramped space was a pair of bright orange, fake leather chairs that looked like rejects from a doctor's waiting room circa 1975. In one corner stood a dusty artificial plant of some indeterminate species that I suspected did not actually exist in nature. A faded marine print hung on the wall over the chairs. The only thing in the room that seemed to belong to this century was the sleek, new computer perched on the desk. It practically gleamed compared to everything else.

"Mr. Novak?" I called again, a little louder this time.

Suddenly, a door behind the desk swung open and Mr. Novak stepped out. "Sorry about that, Killian," he said with a quick smile. "I was finishing up a phone call. Come on back to my office."

As I stepped in, I took a moment to look around. The office was decorated in what could only be described as Early American Yard Sale. The furnishings were an eclectic mix of old elegance and modern efficiency, but somehow it all worked.

His desk was a massive slab of scarred golden oak—so solid and imposing it looked like it had been built right there in the room. I couldn't imagine how it would've fit through the door otherwise. The surface was strikingly bare, free of the usual clutter, just polished wood worn smooth by years of use and a single antique brass banker's lamp with a green glass shade. Two large brown leather armchairs faced the desk, looking both intimidating and inviting.

One wall was completely lined with mismatched bookcases, each a different height, width, and shade of wood, like they'd been collected over decades rather than chosen as a set. The shelves overflowed with every kind of book imaginable — thick legal tomes, ancient phone books (seriously, did they even make those anymore?), worn atlases, and a set of encyclopedias that looked like museum pieces. One entire case seemed devoted to fiction, packed with both paperbacks and hardcovers, their spines creased and well-loved.

Behind the oak desk, a row of metal filing cabinets stood shoulder to shoulder, each meticulously labeled and locked, forming an imposing wall of battleship gray. On the third wall, a humpbacked sofa hunched under the room's lone window, its shape almost beastly, like it was crouching, poised to spring at me the second I let my guard down.

Novak noticed that the books, especially, had caught my attention. "Go ahead, take a closer look. I guess you could say I'm something of a collector."

I walked over to the shelves and scanned the names on the spines — Janet Evanovich, Patricia Cornwell, Arthur Conan Doyle, Marcia Muller, Mickey Spillane, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Sue Grafton, Tony Hillerman, Agatha Christie, Faye Kellerman, Sharyn McCrumb, P.D. James, Val McDermid. There was no rhyme or reason to their shelving, but all the greats were represented.

"Most of them are first editions," he said. "Some are even signed by the authors."

"Oh wow." I was in awe.

"Are you a big reader?"

I nodded. "And mysteries have always been my favorite. I started reading Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys when I was a kid."

Novak chuckled. "You're still a kid. Take a seat, why don't you."

I sank into one of the big brown chairs and waited while Novak studied me in silence. I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze.

He cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly. "Alright, let's start with the obvious question. Why do you want to work here?"

"Well, to start, I need a job." I was relieved when Novak chuckled at my joke. "I'll be starting at Pemberton University in the fall, and lately, I've been thinking a lot about what I want to study, what I want to do when I grow up." I grinned. "Nothing really clicked...until I saw your card. Being a private investigator just feels...right."

"I'm not hiring a private investigator. I'm hiring an assistant. Essentially, I need a secretary. The job is mostly office duties — answering the phone, greeting clients, managing my schedule, filing...basic stuff. That little room out there," he nodded toward the reception area, "will be your entire world."

"I understand."

"Do you? It's not exactly glamorous work," he remarked with a raised brow.

"You have to start somewhere," I replied.

He snorted. "Fair enough. Are you saying you think you'd eventually like to be an investigator?"

"Yes, sir. That's the goal."

"You might change your mind once you realize how tedious it gets."

"I doubt that."

"What do you know about private investigations? Or, to put it another way, what do you think my job entails?"

"Well, when we talked before, you mentioned that you mostly handle insurance fraud cases. I did some research and found out that some private investigators also handle infidelity, missing persons, countersurveillance, cybercrime, and, um, something called process serving?"

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed. "You've done your homework. I don't do countersurveillance or cybercrime — I'm happy when I can check my email without incident — and I stay away from process serving. That's surprisingly dangerous work. The rest does pop up here and there, but insurance fraud is the bread and butter."

"Would you ever let me help out with a case some time? Like, not now, obviously, but down the road, after I proved myself?"

"It's not completely out of the question. But trust me, you'd have a lot to learn first. As I said, I'm not looking for an investigator right now. My caseload isn't so overwhelming that I need an extra investigator. What I need is someone to take care of the stuff I hate, like phone calls, typing up reports, that sort of thing. Can you type?"

"Yes."

"Fast?"

"Pretty fast."

"I know it's a bit of a dumb question in this day and age, but given some of the people who've applied in the past, I have to ask anyway. Do you know how to use a computer?"

"Of course," I said, trying not to sound too amused.

"I said it was dumb. Can you answer a phone call professionally?"

I picked up an imaginary phone and held it to my ear. "Hello, Novak Investigations. This is Killian speaking. How may I help you today?"

He chuckled. "A few more questions. Do you have any experience working with confidential information or handling sensitive material?"

I almost asked if staying in the closet counted, but decided it probably wasn't an appropriate response for a job interview. "Not really, but I know how to keep a secret and be discreet."

"How's your memory?"

"Pretty good. I acted all through high school and had to learn lines."

"Acting is a good skill for an investigator, but what about your observational skills? Close your eyes."

"Huh?"

"Close your eyes."

I did.

"Now, describe what I'm wearing."

"Um...a beige button-up with tiny navy blue ducks. I only saw your pants for a minute when you answered the door and invited me into your office, but I think they were dark blue. You were wearing a worn pair of dock shoes."

"Now name some authors on my bookshelf."

"Oh. Um...Agatha Christie, uh, the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes...Doyle! And Chandler...Cornwell? Oh! Janet Evanovich. Mickey Spillane. Um..."

"That's enough." Novak leaned back in his chair. He stared at me for a few seconds then rubbed his chin. "I might regret this but you're hired."

I blinked in surprise. "Just like that?"

He shrugged. "I need an assistant. You're here. You want it. You're hungry, and I like that. Call it an old cop's intuition, but I like you."

"Thank you! You won't regret it, Mr. Novak!"

He raised a hand, cutting me off. "Hold on, don't get too excited. This is just the trial period, and don't forget, you're still just my assistant. If you don't work out, or if you decide it's too boring, we'll part ways. No hard feelings. Deal?"

"Deal," I said, already imagining what was to come.

He held out a hand and we shook on it.

A few weeks later, I thought back on that conversation with a bit of amusement. When Mr. Novak said that being a private investigator was usually boring, he wasn't kidding — at least, not from what I'd seen so far. Our one and only case involved a guy trying to scam workers' comp with a supposedly injured back. It mostly consisted of Mr. Novak spending long hours on low-stakes stakeouts, while I answered phones and typed up reports. Not exactly thrilling detective work.

Not that I minded all that much. Maybe the life of a P.I. wasn't all that exciting, but I did find it interesting. I was learning a lot just by typing the reports. Mr. Novak kept very detailed records of all his investigations. Some were hand scribbled in the small notebook he carried with him everywhere, and some I transcribed from a digital recorder. I preferred the written journal, even though his handwriting wasn't always legible. He was a former police officer, after all. When I was typing his recorded reports, however, I'd sometimes get so bored with his narrative that my mind would wander and I'd have to backtrack.

"The subject left his house at oh-eight-hundred hours and drove approximately one mile to the grocery store, where he shopped using a motorized cart and had the bagboy assist in loading his car. Upon returning home, his oldest son came out and unloaded the car."

Scintillating stuff, let me tell you.

Although, there was a satisfying sense of accomplishment when Mr. Novak finally photographed the guy playing tackle football with his two sons.

I'd been working there for about a month when things suddenly got more exciting. It started off like any other day. I was alone in the office, when I heard someone knock. I could see a feminine figure outlined through the pebbled glass, but nothing more. Mr. Novak insisted I keep the door locked when he wasn't there, so I jumped up to answer the knock.

I swung the door open and was stunned to see Judy Cassara standing there, beaming. I'd met her a couple of years earlier when I'd briefly dated her niece in an ill-fated attempt to hide the fact that I was gay. Judy had unsettled me at first. She was a psychic and made a few eerie predictions when we met. But later, during the final showdown with the person who killed my friend Seth, she'd saved my life — and her nephew Jake's — when the house went up in flames. Afterward, she became Jake's guardian and took him back to California. I hadn't seen or heard from either of them since. She was the last person I expected to show up at our door.

"Aunt Judy!" I exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes. "Killian Kendall, I'm not your aunt. Even Jake doesn't call me that. It's just Judy."

I nodded mutely and gestured for her to come in, buying myself a moment to collect my thoughts. She stepped inside and gave the small, cluttered space a quick once-over, her nose wrinkling with mild distaste. She hadn't changed much. Her blond hair was longer than I remembered, but otherwise, she looked just the same. She was probably in her late thirties, but could easily pass for younger, thanks to a lean, athletic build that practically screamed yoga devotee and radiant, flawless skin that gave her a healthy, sun-kissed glow. She wore no makeup, but none was needed to enhance her piercing blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out.

I didn't mean to sound rude. I just couldn't figure out why Judy was standing in my office.

"I stopped by your house first and Adam told me you were working here now," she answered, closely inspecting one of the orange chairs. She turned to face me, her bright smile still in place. "So, you're working for a private investigator. Why am I not surprised?"

"I mean what are you doing back in Maryland? Are you just visiting?" I couldn't think of anyone she might be visiting since, as far as I knew, she and Jake had no surviving family.

"Oh. No, not visiting. We're moving back." She casually sat on the edge of my desk.

"What? When?"

"As soon as I find a house."

"But...why?"

"I think it'll be for the best, for both of us." Her smile faltered a little. "California...didn't work out the way I'd hoped." She sighed and motioned towards my desk chair. "Why don't you sit down? I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes — that is, if I'm not interrupting your work."

"It's nothing that can't wait," I said weakly as I circled behind the desk and sank into my chair. Judy shifted around on the desk to face me. "You can grab one of those orange chairs if you'd be more comfortable," I offered.

She made a face. "I'll pass, thanks. This place could really use a makeover. I'm surprised you haven't redone it already."

I felt strangely defensive of my space, as humble as it might have been. "I haven't been here that long. Besides, it's not that bad."

"Sorry," Judy said with a laugh. "Occupational hazard. I am an interior designer, after all. My niche is being a psychic designer. That doesn't mean I can read your mind — just that I tune into the energy of a space, its vibe or personality, and design around that."

My eyes grew wide. That sort of thing might fly out in California, but I didn't see it going over as well on the Eastern Shore. "Is that...real?"

She winked. "Does it matter if it's real or not if my clients believe it is? But I didn't come here to talk about my job. I came to catch up and ask a favor. First, tell me what's been going on with you?"

"I, uh...I graduated." I didn't know what else to say. It had been over a year and a half since I'd last seen her. How do you catch someone up on that much of your life? I didn't even know where to begin.

"I heard! Adam showed me some pictures. How are you and Asher?"

I frowned. Adam could fill her in on my graduation but not my love life? "We, um, broke up."

Judy's face fell. "I'm so sorry, Killian. I didn't know. Recently?" I nodded. "Please forgive me for being so thoughtless."

"You couldn't have known."

"Still, I'm sorry. I can tell it's still fresh. Let's change the subject. Do you like your new job?"

I managed a smile. "Yeah, I do. Right now, I'm pretty much just a secretary. I'd really like to get into the investigative side of things eventually."

"You will."

"Is that a prediction?"

She laughed. "Just a gut feeling. You're like a cat with your insatiable curiosity. And you have certain gifts that I think you've been given for a reason."

"Like what?"

"You'll figure it out."

I brushed off her cryptic comment as classic Judy. She had a knack for sounding mysterious, and I was convinced she did it partly just to keep people guessing.

"How's Jake?"

She shook her head slowly and seemed to age before my eyes. "That's actually what I came to talk to you about. Jake...isn't doing well. It's been rough since we left. He's had a hard time dealing with everything, which is understandable considering everything he went through. I've tried to get him into therapy, but he skips sessions or refuses to speak when I make him go. He fell in with a bad crowd, rich kids who do nothing but party. He did so poorly in school this past year, they failed him. He should have graduated, like you, but now he has to repeat his senior year. It's been...challenging."

"Is that why you're moving back?"

"Yes. I'm hoping if we get away from those negative elements, he'll do better. We're not moving back to the same town, though. There are just too many bad memories. I'm looking for something here in Salisbury. In fact, I'm viewing a few houses later. All this leads me to my main reason for stopping by today."

I raised my eyebrows expectantly and waited.

"I was hoping that you'd reach out to Jake after we move back, befriend him again. I know he admired you a great deal."

"Admired me? For what?"

"Well, dear, you did save his life."

"You rescued both of us."

"I helped, but it was mainly just a case of being in the right place at the right time. You put your life on the line for Jake, and I don't think he's forgotten that. Will you at least go talk to him?"

"Of course. It'll be good to see him again. I would have done that without being asked."

"I know, but I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"He's changed, Killian. He isn't the same boy who left here."

"He wasn't the same boy even before he left."

She nodded sadly. "I know. And I don't expect him to be. I'd just like to see him happy again."

Before I could offer some mumbled words of comfort, the office door swung open and my boss bustled in. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Judy sitting on my desk.

I jumped to my feet. "Judy, this is my boss, Shane Novak. Mr. Novak, this is Judy Cassara...an old friend."

"Not that old." Judy gave me a wink as she hopped off the desk and shook Mr. Novak's outstretched hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said.

"The pleasure is mine."

Was it my imagination or were there sparks flying?

"Have we met before?" he asked with the most charming smile I'd ever seen him muster. "You look familiar."

"I don't believe so, and I think I'd remember," Judy answered coyly.

They were definitely flirting. I tried not to giggle.

"So you're a private investigator?" she continued. "How did you get into such an interesting line of work?"

"I needed something to keep me busy after my wife passed away."

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's been a few years. You never stop missing them, but the pain fades."

Judy still seemed a little flustered. It was nice to know she was human after all. "Well, I'm glad you hired Killian. He has a talent for uncovering the truth."

Mr. Novak gave me a look that was half amused, half curious. "Is that so?"

I blushed under his scrutiny.

Judy turned to face me. "Well, Killian, I won't keep you from your work any longer. Just think about what I asked, okay?"

I nodded, and she gave me a quick hug before leaving.

Mr. Novak watched her go then turned to me with a smirk. "Isn't she a little old for you?"

I laughed. "She isn't exactly my type. She's...my friend's aunt." I wasn't sure how much to reveal about how we met. "She lives in California, but apparently she's moving to Salisbury soon."

"Oh, is she?" he asked, doing a decent job of sounding casual — but not quite pulling it off.

"Yeah, she's here looking at houses. She just stopped by to catch up and ask me to reconnect with my old friend Jake when they move back."

"Is Jake her son?"

"Nephew."

"Ah. And is she...single?"

"Uh, as far as I know." I kept my eyes firmly on my computer screen. I did not want to start laughing.

He nodded as if he couldn't have cared less, and started into his office. He paused in the doorway. "Killian, could I speak to you for a minute?"

I looked up nervously. Was I in trouble? Had I messed something up? Was he angry that Judy had been there to see me about something personal? He jerked his head toward his office and I followed him in.

He placed his briefcase on the bare desktop and sat down. He nodded in the direction of the chairs, and I took a seat.

"Killian, we have an issue," he said after studying me for several nerve-racking moments. "You've been working here for about a month now, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Novak."

He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. "And yet, you still insist on calling me Mr. Novak."

I blinked in confusion. Was that the only reason he'd called me in his office? "Sir?"

"Look kid, if we're going to be working together, we can't always be so formal. And while you're at it, drop this 'sir' business, too."

"Yes — um, right. Okay."

He threw his head back and laughed. "One thing's for sure, you were raised well."

I made a face. "Actually, my father was just really strict. I was expected to always refer to my elders as sir or ma'am."

"Elders, eh? Well, we're coworkers, and I prefer a more relaxed office. I had to deal with titles and sirs for thirty years as a cop. I got my fill. Call me Shane, if you want. If that doesn't sit right with you, stick with Novak. That's what my buddies on the force called me."

I nodded slowly. There was no way I was calling him Shane. Novak felt right. It suited him.

"So tell me, what do you think of the job so far?"

I considered my response carefully. "I like it."

He gave me a look. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"Well, it's not quite what I expected, but it's interesting."

He shook his head with a grin. "I think you're getting into the wrong profession. You should be a politician. You're already a pro at answering a question without actually answering it."

"No, really! I've learned a lot from doing your reports. It's just...I know you warned me that it was boring and I'd just be on the desk and all, but it's been even more boring than I expected."

He laughed. "What were you expecting? A shootout in the hallway? Or that I'd send you out on a case in your first few weeks on the job?"

I shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know what I was expecting. I just thought maybe you were downplaying it so I wouldn't set my hopes too high."

"Nope, that was me shooting straight with you. Now, in all fairness, that insurance case was exceedingly dull, but I'm actually glad it was your first. It gives you an idea of what you're getting into. So...you want out?"

"No! I mean, are you firing me?"

"I wasn't planning on it. I've been pretty pleased with your performance so far. You pay attention to detail and you're very professional. You do good work."

"Thank you, sir. I mean...Novak."

He smiled. "I mostly wanted to check in with you, do a temperature check. So we're good then?"

"Definitely."

"Then consider the trial period over."

"Do you think you'll ever let me help out on a case?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Eventually, if you stick long enough. I may start asking you to do some additional tasks to help me out in my investigations."

I perked up. "Like what?"

"Don't get too excited. Simple things like making phone calls, picking things up from a client, maybe the occasional Internet search." I must have looked disappointed, because he chuckled. "If you do well with those jobs, you'll move on to bigger things." I still must have looked somewhat dejected. "Remember what you said in your interview? You gotta start somewhere, kid."

I nodded. "You're right."

He grinned. "Damn skippy. I'm always right. That's the first thing you've got to learn!"

I couldn't help but laugh, and he winked at me. "Good. The second thing you have to learn is not to take me too seriously. I joke around a lot, but you'll have to learn to differentiate when I'm teasing and when I'm serious. If I tell you to get back to work, I expect you to get back to work. Got it?" I nodded. "Good. Then get back to work!"

I jumped up and gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir!"

He rolled his eyes. "Just what I needed, a smartass," he grumbled good-naturedly as I started toward the front office. "Oh, and Killian?" I turned back. "If I didn't think you were worth the effort, I wouldn't be wasting my time on you."

I went back to my boring work with a glow of satisfaction.

When I got home from work that afternoon, I remembered that it was Steve's and my turn to make dinner. I found him in the kitchen, where he'd already started preparations, expertly cutting up a whole chicken. Both he and Adam were excellent cooks. Adam prepared the meals most nights, but, once a week, Steve and I took over to give him a night off. Dinner was always later on those nights, but Adam seemed to appreciate the effort. We kept Kane out of the kitchen as much as possible, aside from helping with cleanup. He could manage basic prep in a pinch, but when it came to actual cooking, he was pretty much a lost cause.

"What are we making?" I asked as I grabbed an apron and tied it around my waist.

"How does chicken with forty cloves of garlic sound?"

"Garlicky."

Steve laughed. "Actually, not as much as you'd think. The garlic becomes very mild as it roasts with the chicken. I've got the bird under control. Why don't you start the salad?"

I agreed and pulled the vegetables out of the crisper to start putting the salad together. Usually we chatted while we worked, but that day I was lost in thought. Seeing Judy again had brought up a lot of memories and, with them, some emotions I thought I had put behind me.

"You're awfully quiet," Steve said after a while.

I looked over at him and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. You'll never guess who came to see me today."

"Judy Cassara?"

"You've been talking to Adam, haven't you?"

He grinned. "Yeah. He called to tell me she was thinking about moving back to the Shore and mentioned that she was looking for you."

"She's doing more than just thinking about moving back. She's here to look at houses."

"Really? I hope we're not looking at the same place."

"What?" I dropped the knife I was using to slice scallions and spun to face Steve. I couldn't have been more surprised if he had just said he was from Gallifrey. "Why are you looking at houses? Are you moving out? Are you and Adam okay?"

Steve laughed. "Whoa! Slow down, kiddo. Adam and I are fine, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Then why would you be looking at a house?"

"I'm thinking about getting out of the architect business. I've been in it for a while now and, to be honest, I feel like I've accomplished all I can there. I'm bored with it. I guess you could say I'm having a midlife crisis of sorts — or that's what Adam says, anyway."

"What does that have to do with buying a house?"

"Will you hang on? I'm getting there. It's always been a dream of mine to own and operate a bed and breakfast. I started making some inquiries — I have a lot of contacts — and I found a great place that's available right now. I haven't gone to see it yet. I have an appointment the day after tomorrow in the morning. You should come with me."

"That's Saturday," I said automatically. I was still processing everything he'd said, but I knew my plans for Saturday. They involved sleeping in and not much else.

Steve just laughed again. He knew me too well.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight," I said slowly, still processing. "You're thinking about buying a bed and breakfast?"

"No, I'm thinking about buying a house and turning it into a B&B."

"Won't that cost a lot of money?"

"Most definitely."

"You have that kind of money?"

"I inherited a hefty sum when my dad passed away years ago, and I've made good money as an architect. I've invested and saved, and with what I'll make selling my share of the firm to one of my partners, I think I'll have what I need. If I run into any snags, I have good credit. I could always get a new business loan."

"I had no idea you had that kind of money."

"I don't make it a habit to walk around talking about my financial status. You sound insulted. Should I have divulged my bank balance to you sooner?"

I rolled my eyes. "So you're really going to buy this house?"

"I don't know. I haven't even looked at it yet, but it sounds great on paper."

"And Adam is cool with all this?"

There was a long pause in which Steve's eyes didn't leave the head of garlic he was breaking apart. "It's hard to tell."

I gave him a skeptical look. "Since when is it hard to tell anything with Adam?"

"He says he's okay with it, but I can't help feeling that he's saying what he thinks he ought to say rather than what he really feels."

"What do you mean?"

"He gave me the whole 'follow your bliss' speech. You know — the one about not giving up on your dreams."

"Vintage Adam." I laughed. "So what's the problem?"

"It's just...I sensed there was something he wasn't saying."

"I'm sure it was just your imagination. If he's encouraging you to go ahead with this, he must be okay with it."

"I sure hope you're right."

"Would you like me to try and figure out if he's upset or not at dinner tonight?"

Steve glanced over at me. "How do you propose to do that?"

"I don't know. I think he's usually pretty easy to read. Maybe you could bring up how excited you are about looking at the house, and I'll gauge his reaction."

He shrugged. "It can't hurt anything. We can give it a shot."

When Steve brought up the subject of the house over dinner, I observed Adam carefully. Unfortunately, Steve was right. Adam's reaction was encouraging on the surface, but there was an oddly flat quality to his words, a lack of enthusiasm that made it sound as if he was simply going through the motions.

Usually, Kane and Adam did the dishes on nights when Steve and I cooked, but that night, I volunteered to take Kane's place, hoping to get a few minutes alone with Adam.

I thought I'd start with something easy and work my way up to discussing the bed and breakfast. "I hear Judy came by the house today," I said as I scrubbed a pot.

Adam smiled. "Yeah. It was good to see her again. She looks great. Did she come by your office to see you, or did Steve mention it?"

"She came by the office. She wanted to ask me a favor."

Adam took the pot from me and began to dry it. "What kind of favor?"

"She wants me to be friends with Jake when they move back."

"Why wouldn't you be friends with him?"

"She says he's changed a lot. Apparently, he's had a hard time out in California. He failed his senior year and will have to repeat it here."

A frown creased Adam's face. "That's really a shame. I can understand him having a hard time with everything that happened, though."

"Yeah. I know I had a hard time, and Jake's situation was much worse."

"Was he in counseling?"

"Judy said he wouldn't go."

He shook his head. "Poor kid." He took another pan from me. "Did she fly all the way back here to ask you that? Couldn't she have waited until after they moved or, I dunno, called or texted?"

"Actually, she was here looking for a house. I guess everybody's house shopping, huh?"

I watched him closely but only got a "Sounds like it" in response.

"So how do you feel about this whole bed and breakfast thing? Steve was telling me about it earlier. It was the first I'd heard about it."

Adam looked over at me with one eyebrow raised. "Did he set you up to interrogate me?"

I gave him my most innocent expression. "What? No!" I didn't even have to lie. The interrogation had been my idea. "I was just wondering."

He looked unconvinced but answered me anyway. "I think he should follow his dreams. He's always wanted to have a bed and breakfast, and he's at a point in his life when he can seriously consider it."

"Why do I sense a 'but'?"

"There is no 'but'. Why don't you go watch TV or play a game with Kane? I can finish up these dishes."

I had the distinct impression he was trying to get rid of me. "You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

As I passed the living room, Steve looked up expectantly. I gave him a shrug, and his face fell. I could understand his concern. Adam was definitely holding something back.

That night, I struggled to fall asleep. There was too much going on in my head. Seeing Judy had churned up a lot of memories I'd rather have left buried. I'd killed someone in cold blood. Sure, it was in self-defense, but I'd gone into that situation with a gun, fully aware of what could unfold. Even after nearly two years of therapy, living with that reality was still a heavy burden.

I was also worried about Jake. If he'd changed as much as Judy implied, could we still be friends? We'd been attracted to one another once upon a time, but so much had happened since then. Would that chemistry still be there? We were different people now.

The atypical, muted reticence I'd felt in Adam was affecting me as well, leaving me tense and somewhat nervous, as if something big was building but I didn't know what.

I finally dozed off sometime after two a.m. but woke up with a jolt less than an hour later. At first I couldn't figure out what had awakened me. As far as I could remember, I hadn't been dreaming, and it was completely silent in the house. The only noise I could hear was Kane's deep, even breathing.

Becoming more alert, I slowly began to sense a presence in the room. The hairs on my arms stood up and a shiver ran down my spine. My first instinct was to duck under the covers and call for Adam, like a little kid who's just had a nightmare, until I realized I sensed no malice. I eased myself into a sitting position and gasped out loud.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, bathed in a beam of moonlight, was my former friend and Kane's brother, Seth. The pale light gave him an otherworldly glow, making him look like a ghost.

Then it hit me — since Seth was dead and all, he was, in fact, almost certainly a ghost.

There was a ghost in my bedroom. Or...technically, I was in his bedroom.

I had to be dreaming.

"Hey, Killer," he said with a familiar grin. "Long time no see."

He looked exactly as he had the last time I'd seen him alive — ginger hair sticking up in every direction, jeans, and a fitted short-sleeved T-shirt. Even the impish expression on his adorable face was the same as I remembered it. An almost paralyzing ache spread through my body as I realized how much I missed him.

"You don't look any different," I managed to say in a strangled voice.

He cocked his head to one side. "I wouldn't. You, on the other hand... You've grown up, Killian."

"I have?"

He laughed. "In some ways, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not the same scared little boy I met on my first day at a new school. You're much stronger now. You've been through a lot and come out a better person because of it."

"In what ways haven't I changed?"

"You're still fighting the real you."

I frowned. "I came out. The whole school knows. Asher and I dated for half our junior year and almost the entire senior year."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

He shook his head and stood up. "That's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here? Am I really even talking to you? This is all a dream, right?"

"Maybe."

"It has to be a dream. I'm way too calm for it to be anything else. Besides, if it isn't a dream, that would make you a..."

"Ghost?" He gracefully rose to his feet, strolled to the side of my bed, and leaned in close. I didn't feel any warmth from his body, even though he was close enough that I should have if he was real. I didn't even feel the touch of his breath on my cheek.

"Boo!"

I jumped and he laughed.

"Why are you here?" I asked him testily.

"I dunno. I just thought maybe you could use someone to talk to." He sat on the edge of my bed.

"I have plenty of people to talk to without resorting to a dead guy. Oh my God! Maybe I'm going crazy!"

"Plenty of people, huh? Name one."

"Adam, Steve, Kane...that's three."

"And I guess you've been talking to them about Asher?"

"What about Asher?"

"You guys broke up, right? Have you talked to anyone about that?"

"Of course! Well, I mean...sort of."

"Do you miss him?"

My breath caught in my throat. "Y-yes." My voice caught, unexpectedly.

"No one would know it by watching you."

"How do you know?"

"I keep an eye on you."

For some reason, I found that comforting. "So you crossed the void just to talk about my love life?"

"Crossed the void?" He smirked.

"Whatever."

"Actually, no. There is something else I need to talk to you about, but we haven't finished talking about Asher yet."

"Can't we just say we have?"

"Why don't you want to talk about him?"

I shrugged and glanced away. Kane was still out cold, which seemed to support the idea that this was all just a dream. Then again, Kane could probably sleep through World War III, so maybe that wasn't the most reliable indicator of reality.

"Killian?" Seth prodded.

I sighed. "Maybe it hurts too much."

"Do you still love him?"

I forced myself to look into Seth's bright green eyes. "Yes."

"So why don't you talk to him anymore?"

"He doesn't talk to me, either. Honestly, we stopped talking to each other long before we broke up."

"What happened?"

I slumped back against my pillows. "Hell if I know. It was just like...we drifted apart. Towards the end, all we did was fight. He didn't even tell me he'd decided to go away to college. And then there was Caleb..."

"What about Caleb?"

"Asher was spending so much time with him. All he ever talked about was Caleb this and Caleb that. Everyone thought Asher was cheating on me with Caleb."

"Did you think he was?"

I shook my head and fought back tears. "I don't know. Were they?"

"Are you asking me?"

"You are the supernatural being here."

"Doesn't mean I get to supply you with answers you have to figure out for yourself. Besides, how would I know? I'm not omniscient. It's not like I've been haunting Asher."

"Yeah, well, I'm new at this whole 'talking to ghosts' thing, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't know all the rules."

"No prob."

"Wait a minute. Does that mean you've been haunting me?"

"It was a joke, Killian. Besides, you haven't even decided if I'm a dream or a ghost yet."

"Well, which are you?"

He grinned. "Maybe I'm just your subconscious working out your issues." I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to stick your tongue out at your subconscious?"

I laughed. "No. I think she forgot that particular life lesson. What else did you want to talk to me about?"

Seth suddenly grew more serious. "It's still sort of connected to Asher, but not exactly."

"Huh?"

"I can't explain, but something is happening tonight, something that will affect you."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I didn't like the serious tone in Seth's voice. "Could you be a little more vague?"

"I'm sorry, Killian. I really am. I can't go into details, but you're going to have to be very careful."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to. Just remember what I'm telling you. Be careful. Watch your step."

"Will you stop speaking in riddles and just tell me whatever it is you're trying to tell me?"

Seth stood up abruptly. "If I could tell you, don't you think I would?"

"What do you mean?"

"You want everything to be simple, Killian. But it's not. Some answers you have to find for yourself."

"You're starting to sound like Judy."

"Then maybe you should start listening to her. She could teach you a lot...if you'd let her."

"Teach me? What does that even mean? I don't get any of this!"

Seth's hands clenched at his sides. "Maybe this was a mistake."

"What was?"

"Coming here. Talking to you. Maybe you're not ready. Maybe I'm not ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Just forget it. I never should have come." He turned away, stepping into the shadows. His edges blurred, as if he were dissolving into the darkness.

"Seth?" I called out. He glanced back at me.

"Was this all just a dream? Will I remember any of it?"

"I hope so, Kill. Pay attention to your dreams. They might be the difference between life and death."

His words were still hanging in the air as he simply vanished, leaving me wondering if I was losing my mind. Had I really been talking to Seth's spirit, or had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe I was still asleep and it was all some sort of bizarre dream.

That last explanation made the most sense, so I rolled over, pulled the blankets up around my chin, pushed all the confusing thoughts and images from my mind, and went back to sleep.

I felt strangely rested when I woke up the next morning, which only reinforced my idea that Seth's nocturnal visit had been a dream. Oddly enough, the dream was extremely vivid in my memory. I could recall every word we'd said, even the expressions on Seth's face. My heart ached at the thought of being with him again. I decided that seeing Judy, talking about Jake, and bringing up all those old memories had caused me to dream about Seth.

Then it clicked. Maybe I had seen him before, during the investigation into his murder. He'd never spoken to me, but I kept having this recurring dream where he appeared, silently guiding me to where he'd hidden his journal. I'd ended up finding it exactly where he'd shown me, though at the time, I'd convinced myself it was just a coincidence. Just a dream.

What if it wasn't?

But it had to be. There was no such thing as ghosts. Was there?

Either way, Seth's vague warnings and cryptic advice kept running through my head as I showered and dressed, ate breakfast, and drove to work. Once at the office, I mostly managed to put it all out of my mind as I immersed myself in paperwork, but every now and then, his face would float back into view, and I'd feel a fresh pang of loss.

Right before I was about to leave for my lunch break, the phone rang. I scooped it up and answered with my usual, "Novak Investigations. How may I help you?"

"Killian?"

I would have recognized that voice anywhere, even with the note of panic it carried. Something was wrong. "Asher?"

"I need your help."

My heart was pounding in my chest. "What's wrong?"

"There's been a murder."

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