EVIL EYE Read online

  Evil Eye

  Tiger’s Eye Mysteries

  Alyssa Day

  Holliday Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Excerpt, Dead Eye

  About the Author

  Books by Alyssa

  1

  When I walked into my pawnshop this morning, a pirate was talking to my alligator. This was unexpected, since both of them were dead.

  "It's not even a Monday," I groaned.

  The alligator, whose swamp-swimming days were long over, said nothing. She'd been taxidermied before Elvis left the proverbial building. Her name was Fluffy, and she sported a sparkly purple scarf. Her tail was also bisected by a big strip of duct tape (neon green this time) to hide the hole from when my part-time employee shot it.

  It wasn't Eleanor's fault. She'd been trying to shoot the tiger.

  The pirate, on the other hand, had a much bigger reaction, if the way the feathers in his hat quivered was any indication.

  "Well, voila. What sweet little nugget of red-haired deliciousness do we have here? Sacre bleu! I'd like to sink my teeth into—"

  I wasn't sure which was redder, my face or my hair, by the time I got over my surprise long enough to form words. "Stop right there, Buddy—Captain?—I am so not in the mood."

  The pirate, who'd started toward me, froze in mid-step. The man was around six feet tall and made of pure muscle, from what I could tell. Since he wore a long, blue velvet coat, a full white shirt with lace-trimmed sleeves, breeches, boots, a sword on a belt, and the aforementioned feather-trimmed hat, it could have been mostly fabric that bulked him out, but I doubted it. His skin was a gleaming black, and he wore a neat mustache and beard beneath his cut-glass cheekbones.

  Not that I noticed how incredibly handsome he was, because, as I mentioned earlier: dead.

  Ghost, to be specific.

  His piercing dark eyes pinned me in place. "You can see me?"

  Dang. I should have pretended I didn't. That's how I'd handled the few ghost sightings I'd had before.

  Too late now.

  "Yes." I sighed. "I can see you. But I don't know what you expect to get out of talking to Fluffy. It has a weird Captain Hook vibe to it, but Fluffy never swallowed any clocks."

  His forehead furrowed. "Who is this Captain Hook? Does he sail with the Spanish?"

  "No. It's … never mind. Who are you, and why are you in my pawnshop, if you don't mind me asking?" I used my polite voice, of course; twenty-six years of southern upbringing was baked into my DNA along with a monumental over-fondness for pecan pie and sweet tea.

  His frown immediately turned into a charming smile that made me think he must have been quite popular wherever—and whenever—he came from. He removed his hat, swept it in front of him, and bowed. "Mademoiselle, allow me to introduce myself. I am Pierre Arneaux, originally of Saint-Domingue, lately of Florida, and currently in this barnacle heap of a town to protect my treasure."

  I glared at him and tackled the most important point first. "Dead End is not a barnacle heap."

  The ghost's eyes widened, but before he could answer, I felt a sliver of freezingly air-conditioned air touch the side of my neck and turned to see the tiger walk through the connecting door from his PI agency to my pawnshop.

  Technically, Jack was a human now. In fact, I hadn't seen him in tiger form since I got shot.

  "That's what you got from what he said? Pierre freaking Arneaux walks into your pawn shop, and you're worried about his opinion of Dead End?" Jack shook his head, his green eyes dancing with amusement. "One of the most famous pirates who ever sailed, right up there with Jean Laffite?"

  Arneaux's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Do not compare me to that connard. He trafficked in slaves."

  I folded my arms across my chest and gave Jack a Look. "Hometown pride, buddy. And I just need a minute with the other stuff. I haven't had enough coffee yet for this."

  Arneaux blinked and then did a double-take at Jack. "Wait. You can see me, too? But … your energy is different. You're not human!"

  With that, he drew his sword and leapt across the room, landing between me and Jack. "En garde, you foul beast! I will die before I let you harm this wench."

  "Hey! Enough with the wench talk," I told him. "Nobody comes into my shop and calls me a wench. I really need coffee now. Jack?"

  "I could use some." Jack sauntered toward me, playing a cat-and-mouse game (tiger-and-pirate game?) with Arneaux, who stepped out of the way just before Jack would have walked right through him.

  "Wait." I stopped, one hand on the door to the back room where I kept the coffeemaker. "You can see ghosts, too?"

  Jack shrugged his broad shoulders, which drew attention to the rest of his hard-muscled deliciousness, but I was too loaded up with dead pirate issues to swoon or leap on him, sadly.

  "Sure. Most shifters can. I've never met a celebrity before, though."

  Arneaux, looking sheepish, thrust his ghost sword back into its ghost sheath and bowed to both of us.

  "He's big on bowing," I explained helpfully.

  "Yeah, I get that," Jack said, one side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. "Why are you here, Ghost Boy?"

  "That is not my name, Monsieur," the pirate said icily, coming up out of the bow and glaring at Jack. "You may address me as Pierre, Captain, or Sir."

  "Okay, Captain Ectoplasm, why are you in Tess's pawn shop?"

  Jack's voice was deceptively mild; the tone he always used just before he got really, really angry. Trust me, you don't want to make a tiger shifter angry.

  Arneaux's eyes snapped with a surprisingly lively amount of anger for a dead guy, but then he smoothed his neat mustache and nodded sharply. "Yes. That. I'm here to protect my treasure."

  I closed my eyes. I may even have groaned and smacked myself in the forehead. "Why does this stuff keep happening to me? Why not show up at the deli? Or the library? Or the laundromat?"

  When I opened my eyes, they were both staring at me with wary expressions on their faces.

  Men. Dead, alive, they were all the same.

  "You're not going to be able to do much with the treasure at this point," Jack pointed out, returning his attention to Arneaux.

  The pirate flinched but then raised his chin. "It is not just the gold. It is the skeleton of my friend I wish to keep from being desecrated by these … these … treasure hunters."

  He said "treasure hunters" in the tone that normal people would use to say "cockroaches," but I was too stuck on the other part of his statement to pay much attention.

  "Skeleton? You buried a skeleton with your treasure?" My voice may have gotten a little high by the end, because this time Jack flinched.

  Stupid tigers and their superior hearing.

  "No, of course not," Arneaux said dismissively.

  I blew out a sigh of relief. I was tired of encountering dead bodies. "Well, that's good, because--"

  "I buried three skeletons with my treasure."

  2

  Two cups of coffee later, I still wasn't processing the situation.

  "Why is there a dead pirate in my pawnshop?" It was a rhetorical question, but both men in the room answered.

  "I was drawn here," the pirate said.

  "You attract crazy?" Jack's slow, sexy grin was almost enough to distract me, but then most things about Jack distracte
d me, not the least of which the date I'd agreed to go on with him that still hadn't happened, because I was just too busy to have a social life.

  Okay, that was a lie.

  Truth: I was a chicken.

  What if it was awful? What if dating ruined our friendship? I'd come to count on Jack way too much in way too short a time. What if even the hint of romance ruined it?

  But, wow, he was gorgeous. Six four, all strength and hard muscles from his years as a rebel soldier fighting the vampire wars—okay, as a rebel leader winning the vampire wars—and all that came with summer-grass-green eyes, wavy bronze hair, darkly tanned skin, and incredible bone structure. (Did I mention I'm a sucker for good cheekbones?) He should have a sign pasted to him: Warning! Danger to women and gay men everywhere!

  Even in his usual casual outfit of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, he was irresistible. Not to mention kind, smart, and funny. Definitely irresistible.

  But I was resisting.

  Yet now I was staring dreamily at him like a hormone-crazed teenager. At twenty-six years old, I should be past this.

  I blew out a sigh and drank more coffee, but my stomach was beginning to rebel. I needed a donut.

  Jack tilted his head and stared down at me. "What is going on in that beautiful head?"

  "Why don't donut shops deliver? They'd make a fortune."

  "On you alone," he agreed.

  I narrowed my eyes. "Who ate eight of the last dozen I brought in from Mellie's Bakery?"

  He didn’t even pretend to deny it. "Tiger. Our metabolisms are higher."

  Before I could argue with that, Pierre moved to stand between us. Since I could see clear through him, this was slightly disturbing.

  "I usually get more of a reaction than this," the pirate said sullenly. "Screaming, jumping around, running. Lots of running and screaming. I've never been ignored before, dead or alive."

  Jack waved his hands around. "Oh, ghost, the horror," he said, completely deadpan.

  Pierre's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and I shook my head. "Enough, boys. Captain Arneaux, if you're looking for your treasure, why were you drawn here?"

  He glared at Jack for another moment, then his shoulders slumped and he turned to me. "I don't know. It felt as if I had a connection to this place, but I can assure you I was never here before."

  I blinked, and then the full implication of that statement hit me and I almost dropped my coffee cup. "You were drawn here? Oh, no. Please tell me your treasure isn't buried beneath my pawn shop with three dead pirates!"

  Jack walked around Pierre and came to stand next to me, putting an arm around my waist before he spoke. "Speak up, Arneaux. Because if the treasure is here—"

  "I'm going to burn down the shop and move to Alaska," I muttered. "There were never pirates in Alaska, right? Too cold for the parrots, I bet. Unless they used other birds in Alaska. Ice parrots or something."

  The pirate's mouth fell open. "Ice parrots?"

  Next to me, Jack coughed, which I knew full well meant he was trying not to laugh at me, but I was beyond caring.

  "Well? Is the treasure here?"

  "No, it is not. And I'm not telling you where it is, so don't ask." He lifted his substantial nose in the air and gave me haughty face.

  "Trust me, I don't care where your treasure is. Just as long as it isn't here." I blew out a long sigh of relief, but then froze, cup lifted almost to my lips. "But then why were you drawn here?"

  Arneaux shrugged, and even his shrug was graceful. "I have no idea, ma chérie. Perhaps you have something of mine in your delightful establishment?"

  I couldn't help it; I liked him better for 'delightful establishment.' The pawnshop was small, but it was all mine. At least, it was now. Jack's late uncle Jeremiah, who'd been my boss until he was murdered, had left a will in the top drawer of his antique desk that gave me and Jack joint ownership. When Jack came back to town, we'd worked out a deal after we solved Jeremiah's murder: he'd officially and legally traded his half of the pawnshop for half the acreage it stood on, and he'd hired his childhood friend Dave Wolf, Eleanor's son, to build him the attached office that now housed his private investigations office.

  Dead End Pawn and Tiger's Eye Investigations. A pairing as offbeat and unexpected as a small-town girl and a rebel leader.

  I closed my eyes and told my stupid brain to quit thinking about the stupid date, and then I scanned the room for a second or two before it came to me. "Pirate gold. Of course! Shelley's coins."

  "Shelley?"

  "My sister," I told him and left it at that. Every Tom, Dick, and Pierre who happened to float into the shop didn't need to know that story. "Wait here."

  I left the pirate and the tiger in the shop and went into the back room to my vault, where I kept Shelley's Spanish doubloons along with other valuable items, like the silver box filled with a small amount of especially pungent wolfsbane and Mrs. Meriwether's recipe for Coca-Cola cake. We only had four coins at the moment, and all but one had been verified by my expert, who told me what they were and the history behind them. I usually sold them pretty quickly to the more well-heeled tourists who wanted something other than mouse ears from their trips to Orlando and its environs.

  I'd already sent photos of both sides of the fourth coin to Dr. Parrish and would probably hear back soon. She helped me out for no charge, since she got bragging rights in her field when the very occasional rare coin came in. She'd also set me up with a contact at the Numismatic Guaranty Corporation, which certified old coins.

  I'd baked and delivered a pecan pie to her to say thanks, since she didn't want payment, and she'd called it even. She loved pecan pie.

  I brought the coins out and by force of habit placed them on a black velvet cloth—presentation equaled extra dollars in the pawn business—on the sparklingly clean glass counter nearest my cash register and then rolled my eyes at myself. It's not like he was going to pay me for them. And could a ghost even pick up solid objects?

  Arneaux floated over to the counter in a horror-movie rush, which raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. He'd walked normally before.

  "So gold makes you go all ghosty, huh?"

  He looked up from where he was studying the coins, his dark eyes suddenly pale as smoke. "What?"

  I shivered but made myself stand my ground. "Never mind. Are the coins the reason you're here?"

  He nodded slowly and pointed to the third from the left, whistling almost under his breath. It was the unidentified coin, naturally.

  "This one must be from my treasure, given the resonance coming from it. It's almost magnetic in its pull on me. But the others, no."

  I was inclined to believe him since he only claimed one. A con artist, ghostly or otherwise, would have said all the coins were his. Even if he were telling me the truth, though, I wasn't sure what to do about it. I hadn't had time to research this coin, and it looked different from any others I'd ever had in the shop. It was round, gold, and had a sort of emblem on one side and a stylized cross on the other. The word HISPANIA was written around the edge of the cross side, and the date 1695 was on the edge of the other side.

  "1695 is pretty old," I pointed out. "This is probably pretty valuable."

  It wasn't actually one of the ones Shelley had found, either. My newly adopted sister possessed a metal detector and a keen sense of history, and she'd been finding coins and bringing them to the shop since well before she'd lost her family and the witch nearly killed her.

  "John Luke Arnold brought this one in," I told Jack, who'd met John Luke when he'd taken Shelley to the gator farm the Arnolds owned. Shelley had loved it, especially watching them feed the gators.

  The kid was a little bloodthirsty, but who could blame her after what she'd been through?

  "It was kind of weird, actually. I told him I couldn't value it, because it was just before closing on Saturday, but he told me just to give him a hundred bucks and see what I could see. He said he knew I was good for it." I shrugged. I
'd known John Luke and his family forever, and it was true. I was good for it. Even if I hadn't been brought up to know right from wrong at Aunt Ruby and Uncle Mike's kitchen table, a pawnshop that cheated its customers didn’t have customers for long. So both my basic honesty and bone-deep practicality guaranteed that I'd give him the proper amount for the coin when I found out what it was.

  "One hundred dollars? Are you a fool?" Arneaux's icy voice cut through my musings. "Do you have any idea what you have here?"

  I could feel my face get hot, but I kept my voice even. "No, I'm not a fool. And no, I don't yet know what I have here. That's the point."

  Jack made a low rumbling sound, deep in his throat, and the pirate whirled to face him, hand going to his sword hilt. "Do we have a problem, shifter?"

  "Not yet. But if you insult Tess again, ghost or no, we're going to have a problem."

  Arneaux sneered. "What exactly do you think you can do to me now that wasn't done to me when I was alive? I fear nothing!"

  "I will hunt you down and salt your grave. I will call on a sorceress I know to curse you to hell and back. I will find the skeletons of your friends and feed them to my dogs," Jack growled, and the pirate backed away from him, the sneer fading from his face.

  "It is my coin, and I will have it," he finally said. "And yet I offer my apologies to you, Mademoiselle."

  I was still staring at Jack, shocked by the intensity of his threats to Arneaux. I knew he had an overprotective streak a mile long when it came to me, but that had been a little over the top. "You don't even have dogs," I finally said. "Dramatic, much?"

  "I can get dogs," Jack shot back.

  "Okay. Sure. Look, Captain, apology accepted," I said absently, as I picked up the coin and studied it. "We need to talk to Dr. Parrish and find out what this coin is and what it's worth. I can't believe I'm contemplating giving a gold coin to a ghost, but I can't even do that until I find out how much I'll owe to John Luke."