Free Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar by Lexi George Page B

about it.
    Yes sir, that letter had caused quite a stir. But, this was the first Beck had heard about Old Man Peterson still being alive the night of the fire.
    “I thought Cole Peterson was dead,” she said. “I thought he died years and years ago.”
    “There’s dead and then there’s dead,” Junior said with a forlorn smile. “Granddaddy and that demon were well and truly caught. Like a fox in a snare, only there was no chewing off a leg to get out of the trap. See, if he died, the demon died, and the demon wasn’t having any part of that. So it held on, and they had to fake Cole’s death to avoid a lot of uncomfortable questions. In the end, Granddaddy was dried up and brittle as a dead cockroach.” The ghost’s body wavered briefly, and Beck realized he’d shuddered. “It was a mercy, if you ask me, when Mama burned the place down, even if it did leave me homeless.”
    “Your mother must have been desperate to do those things,” Beck said, thinking of Meredith’s murder and the horrible fire.
    “Yes, she was.” Junior’s voice was sad. “Quite desperate, for a long time.”
    “What about you?” Beck asked without thinking. “How did you die?”
    The temperature inside the cab of the truck abruptly plummeted. Oops, somebody had their ectoplasmic knickers in a twist.
    “It’s impolite to ask a ghost about their demise.” Junior’s voice was stiff with displeasure. “You wouldn’t ask a demonoid about their possessed parent, would you?”
    “Sorry,” Beck said. “I’m not up on my spook etiquette.”
    “We don’t like the term ‘spook,’ either,” Junior said in the same frosty tone. “If you’re really sorry, give me a job.”
    Beck swallowed a sigh. This day had started out like any other. Where had it gone wrong? Her gaze moved to Conall and stuck.
    He raised a quizzical brow at her. “Why do you glare at me?”
    “I was wondering exactly where my day went to shit,” she said, “and remembering that it started to go south right after you showed up.”
    He chuckled. The sound was deep and rich, and it made her stomach do the squishy thing again. She didn’t know who she was madder at, him or herself.
    Him, she decided. Definitely him.
    “Well?” she said. “Don’t just sit there grinning like a possum. What have you got to say for yourself?”
    “Nothing, boss.” Conall leaned against the door and draped his left arm over the steering wheel. Confident, arrogant, and totally at ease. “Nothing at all.”
    “Huh,” Beck said, unable to find anything objectionable in that statement and ticked off about it. “You know what you get when you spell the word ‘boss’ backward, don’t you?”
    “No.”
    “Double s. o. b.,” Beck said. “That means I’m gonna make sure you earn your keep.”
    He grinned, the cheeky bastard, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness. “I look forward to it.”
    “So, do I get the job or not?” Junior demanded.
    “Sure,” Beck said, surrendering to the craziness. “Why not? The more the merrier.”

Chapter Eight
    S till on auto pilot, the Tundra crunched across the gravel lot at the back of the bar and eased into one of the slots marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Judging from the number of parked vehicles, Beck’s was doing a land-office business.
    The entrance to the bar lay down a lighted, wooden walkway that curved around one side of the building and disappeared into the darkness. A sign in the shape of a finger pointed the way. There was one way for customers to enter Beck’s, and that was through the front door, whether you came by land or water.
    At Toby’s suggestion, she’d hired Cassandra Ferguson, the town “witch,” to place a number of deterrent spells around the property to further discourage outsiders. Cassie was a shrewd businesswoman. Her spells had an expiration date and she charged a pretty penny. But she was worth it. She’d glamoured the building to appear menacing and shabby from the river and woods to prevent