Page 47 of Haunting the Deep

I shudder and grab the banister. Also, what a mess last night with Jaxon. Six months with no flirting or anything, then the moment my life goes haywire, he does, too. I just hope that attempted kiss doesn’t screw everything up.

“Hey,” my dad says from the foyer as I reach the bottom of the stairs. “I was just coming to wake you up.”

I couldn’t be happier to see my dad. I walk straight up to him and hug him. “I love you.”

He smiles and wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hallway. “There is no one I love more on this earth than you.”

I nod my head into his side. “We eating here?”

“We’re eating alone this morning. Mae had to go to the bakery to handle some business, and Jaxon had to leave early to pick someone up.”

Pick someone up? I don’t buy it; he’s avoiding me.

My dad releases me in order to push open the kitchen door. The smell of bell peppers and onions greets me.

“And since we’re all alone, I figured we could have good old fried-egg sandwiches.”

“Yes and yes,” I say, sitting down at the small breakfast table we almost never use, now that we do so many meals with the Meriwethers. I’ve always liked it, though, because it’s in front of an arched window that looks out over the backyard.

I pour myself a mug of coffee and stir in half-and-half and a scoop of cocoa. Eggs sizzle in the frying pan.

Egg sandwiches were always our guilty-pleasure breakfast. Vivian hated them. I think it was because Dad once told her they were my mother’s favorite food. “Did Mom like living in Salem?” I ask, and sip my coffee. Nothing better than the first sip.

My dad flips the eggs. “Your momlovedSalem. Her family owned a bookstore here for generations. And your mother made it her personal mission to read all the books in it. Getting her out of that store for a date always made me feel like I’d achieved something.” He smiles at the memory and wipes his hands on the dish towel draped over his shoulder. “Although, she was never gentle about letting me know when hanging out with me waslessinteresting than her current book.” He laughs.

“And the bookstore got sold after her parents died, right? Did it stay a bookstore?”

He carries over two plates and places one in front of me. He made the pepper-and-onion hash browns in the shape of pancakes and put them on hard rolls with fried eggs and cheese.

“Yum,” I say.

He pours himself some steaming coffee in his#1 DADmug and sits down. “I don’t think so; I’m pretty sure it became a beauty shop or something. Honestly, I didn’t investigate it. At the time it held too many memories.”

I nod with a mouth full of egg sandwich.

My dad sips his coffee. “Oh, you know what? Another package arrived this morning from the mysterious Myra H.H.”

I choke on my food. “What?”

“Only, I assume it was for me this time. I thought the Mathers were eccentric, but the Haxtuns are clearly giving them a run for their money.”

My pulse quickens. “Can I see it?”

“It’s in my office.” He pauses. “What’s the thing? You look worried.”

I force my shoulders down. “Nope. Just curious. Did you get a dress, too?”

He laughs. “Almost. I got a bowler hat. I’ve never worn a bowler hat in my life. I’m starting to wonder if this Myra, whoever she is, is cleaning out her closets and sending antique clothes to her distant relatives. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

My stomach knots up. “Yeah, I bet you’re right. I hope she sends jewelry next or a cool pocket watch.”

My dad nods. “There was no return label on my package, either. I asked Mae if she knew of any Haxtuns in Salem. But no luck there. I did find contact information for a cousin Mom had listed in her address book, though. I’ve never met her, but I’m going to give her a call later today.”

My mind spins. I one hundred percent can’t have him researching Myra and figuring out that we’re getting packages from a dead person—or someone pretending to be a dead person. He’ll flip. “Dad, you really don’t have to do that. I’m sure if she wanted us to respond, she would have listed a return address.”

“I’m curious, though. Aren’t you?” His eyes search mine.

“Yeah. For sure,” I say. But I can’t have my dad poking around in these presents or they’ll lead him to ask questions about theTitanic.And I don’t want him even thinking about that, not with Redd’s ominous warning—and her unclear answer—about who was at risk of dying. The girls and I are just going to have to move faster. Spells, whatever it takes.