Stay The Night: Small Town Bachelor Halloween Romance (Small Town Bachelor Romance Book 5) Read online

  Stay The Night

  A Small Town Bachelor Halloween Romance

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2018 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  For Karen and Georgia

  Contents

  Stay The Night

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  Want more Halloween goodness?

  Stay The Night

  A Small Town Bachelor Halloween Romance

  Misty Moon has blown into town and snatched up the creepiest house in the county, and nobody in the quaint Iowa town of Middleburg seems to know why.

  Ryan Hitchcock is a divorced dad who has suddenly come into money and is looking for ways to give back to his community.

  When outside forces throw them together to plan the town’s fall festival, sparks fly and long-buried town secrets are unearthed.

  Grab your flashlight and your Reese’s, this suspenseful stand alone romance will give you gooseflesh, for more reasons than you think!

  1

  August

  Misty

  A promise to her mother, a full tank of gas, a Glock in the glove compartment.

  These things were all Misty Moon needed to guarantee that today was going to be better than yesterday.

  The car had belonged to her mother, Lucille Moon. Misty drove the black Cadillac with as few stops as possible from Charleston, South Carolina, to the very middle of the country.

  She slept in the back bench seat at rest areas, with her handgun tucked under her black leather jacket, which she used as a pillow.

  When she got to where she was going, she slapped down an offer on the creepiest house in town and didn’t answer any of the real estate agent’s nosy questions.

  “I just have to have this house.” Misty knew all about the disclosures and she didn’t care.

  But to appease the agent, she played nice. She didn’t trust a single soul to help her in this godforsaken town stuck in the middle of a vast cornfield on the edge of a flyover state, but dared not show it.

  “So, are you moving here for work?” the agent asked.

  Misty shook her head. “No. I’m independently wealthy. I’m here to work on my art.”

  The independently wealthy part was a lie; she’d used all her mother’s life savings to put an offer on the house.

  As for the “art” part of the story; what she didn’t expound upon was what her art actually was. She was here to find a murderer and write about her experience.

  The agent’s heavily made-up eyes brightened. “Art, huh? Well, it just so happens the high school is looking for an art instructor.”

  Misty nodded blandly. “Well, like I said, I’m not looking for a job.”

  The agent didn’t seem to hear her. She whispered conspiratorially, even though there was nobody else at this house to hear what she was whispering about. “It’s a little bit of a scandal. Seems the old art teacher was involved in misusing some funds. That teacher was my cousin’s mother-in-law.”

  Misty was flat-out not interested in the job, but she was interested in talking to the agent some more, who seemed to like local gossip. Misty could use a contact who was apt to flap her gums.

  Of course she is,” Misty said, thanking the agent for the information. People are all connected in a small town, aren’t they?

  Days later, as she signed her way through the quick closing at the law firm of Banks, Phillips and Owens, with many old corn-fed Iowan men in suits watching her every move as they sat around the conference table, Misty reminded herself to be careful. Some see it as a good thing that folks are looking out for each other’s brothers, sisters and cousins in Middleburg. Others, like her mother, would say all the interconnectedness is a major reason why things went so very wrong back in 1983…

  In moments, the house was hers.

  She politely shook everyone’s hands at the bank and accepted the “welcome wagon” bag of goodies and coupons. She declined any offers from the associates at Banks, Phillips and Owens to show her around town, or the offering of phone numbers of their brothers’ and uncles’ residential contracting businesses.

  If all went well, Misty’s time here would be brief. She would not be in Middleburg long enough to require contractors to fix up the wretched place.

  She showed herself out and dismissed herself with, “I’ve got everything I need, thank you all.”

  2

  Ryan

  He never expected a promise to his dying mother would mean inheriting more money than he knew what to do with.

  It was no surprise to Ryan Hitchcock that she wanted him to stay and raise a family in Middleburg. It was no surprise that she wanted him to give back to the community, should he be fortunate enough to live a comfortable life. And it was no surprise that she had had a very specific will.

  Greta Hitchcock was so thorough and fastidious, she had kept copies of her income tax filings going back to her first job as a hospital candy striper in 1968. And that job was a volunteer position.

  She had never held an important job in town. She was not well connected with the moneyed muckity-mucks. Greta was a lifelong administrative assistant to local attorney Gus Phillips. More than forty years she spent keeping him on time, keeping his files in order and keeping his coffee hot.

  And what she earned from doing that, Ryan never knew. But he did know that she held tight to her money. He had thought her frugality was because they were poor, especially after his dad had passed away of a sudden cardiac arrest when Ryan was in high school.

  The part that came as a surprise to Ryan was just how much money his mother had stashed away.

  She lived simply, in a two-bedroom bungalow built by her husband 40 years ago. She carried a tiny plastic change purse and pulled it out at the grocery checkout on a regular basis, up until her dying day.

  But as Greta’s lawyer—also the same Gus Phillips that had employed her—read the will and choked back tears, Ryan came to a realization. The woman he had known as his coupon-clipping, staycationing (dec
ades before it was called that) mother had money because she simply did not spend money.

  And it was at this meeting with Phillips that he had learned that his promises to Greta—to stay here, raise a family and give back to the community—had resulted in him being the sole heir to millions.

  He knew he had broken his mother’s heart when he and Remy had divorced ten years ago. Although Greta doted on her grandson, Elliot, she longed for more of a life for her son. She wanted him to find happiness for himself. And she had wanted more grandchildren.

  So, shortly after burying his mother, Ryan set out to do two things: put back into the world some of what he’d been given, and to find himself a wife for life.

  3

  Misty

  Misty spent her first days as a homeowner not at the local box store picking out rugs and lamps, but driving around town picking up latex gloves, ziplock bags, cleaning supplies, flashlights, batteries and the biggest bag of salt she could find.

  When she arrived back at the house at 666 Main Street, she noticed people on the street in downtown Middleburg were staring. Not in an obvious way.

  Motorists were driving by slowly. Some people were strolling around in that sort of lolly-gagging way that told her they were trying to get a good look at her. Some people were walking their dogs. Others were being more obvious about it.

  She ignored them all and went about her business.

  Misty walked from room to room, bagging everything that might be considered evidence.

  Empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, singed areas of carpet and a myriad of other random things.

  She realized that some of the things she had found lying around were the result of area teenagers breaking in to have a party.

  Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. The killer could have been sloppy when he was here, almost four decades ago. Hell, he may have even revisited the scene of the crime. Isn’t that something she’d heard about them doing before, as a habit?

  The “murder house” was hers, and she was in charge now.

  After Misty had completed her task of bagging and tagging, she scrubbed every surface with bleach, sprayed every doorknob with disinfectant, washed every window, and didn’t stop until the place was clean. It was still not a show place and never would be. But at least now, it was livable.

  Before she spread out her bedroll for the night — the movers would arrive tomorrow with her spartan furniture collection — she checked the locks on every door and window on the main floor.

  By now, she was sure everyone in town was wondering who on earth had bought this crap shack. And she didn’t mind one bit.

  Her final task for the night was mostly for show. Misty went outside with her big-ass bag of salt and poured a wide, white line of granules around the perimeter of the house.

  She completed the circle at the front of the house, at the point at which she had started it. She looked up into all the staring eyes, nodded unsmilingly and went inside, locking the screen door and the old wooden door behind her.

  Misty smiled as she drifted off to sleep, her Glock under her pillow, relishing the thought of being the local eccentric.

  Her sleepy eyes popped open for a second when she thought she heard some scuttling in the bushes outside. Salt circles obviously don’t protect against squirrels, she thought.

  In truth, Misty didn’t believe in any of that witchcraft stuff or protection spells. She wasn’t even sure if a salt circle was a thing that was supposed to be used as a guard against intruders. But she sure liked to scare the shit out of people.

  Tomorrow, the real security system would be installed.

  4

  September

  Misty

  It was the third week of school, and Misty was settling into her routine of teaching art to public high schoolers.

  Yes, she’d been finally talked into taking the teaching job she was wholly unqualified to teach. But the locals had drawn the information out of her that she had a teaching certificate. So, she had eventually decided to go ahead and interview for the job. If she was a trusted local teacher, she might be able to get more people to talk to her about what happened back in the 1980s in Middleburg.

  Misty even was beginning to like her students. Some of them were talented kids who took art classes because they genuinely wanted to learn. Others chose art as a way to coast to graduation.

  Such was life in Middleburg.

  Average. Ordinary. Charmingly in the middle.

  But that's just how she wanted things. Average, free of drama, so she could conduct her real business.

  So when the cheerful principal knocked on her classroom door before the start of school one morning, Misty gritted her teeth.

  The principal, Daisy Summers, wanted something from her.

  “Good morning, Misty!” Principal Summers chirped, clip-clopping into the basement art studio with her four-inch pumps and floral pencil skirt. Misty looked down at her chunky black boots. Her mind flashed back to her high school days when she rarely fit in with the Daisy Summerses of the world. She had to remind herself that she was an adult now, and she could handle herself.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” she said with a smile as she prepped the rows of canvases at each work station.

  The principal laughed. “You can call me Daisy.”

  “Sorry, it’s a habit from growing up in South Carolina. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

  “Well, try. The reason I came down here was to offer you a way to connect with other teachers and parents by attending our booster meeting tonight. Do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

  Misty dreaded the idea, but she had to make herself appear to be a team player.

  “I think I can handle that,” she said. She was planning on a visit to the courthouse later that day, but it could wait.

  Daisy brightened even brighter than Misty thought possible. “Wonderful. See you then! Auditorium, six p.m.”

  Misty nodded and said goodbye as the bell rang and Daisy went on about her principal duties.

  So. She was here two weeks and was already being recruited to volunteer outside of work hours.

  She was going to have to find a balance between digging up the past and appearing like just another normal Middleburg citizen.

  Both would require some sacrifices. It was a good thing she did not require a social life.

  5

  Ryan

  “What the hell did you get me into?”

  Ryan was standing at the entrance to the auditorium, his jaw clenched, hissing into the phone to his ex-wife, Remy.

  When he had made the mistake of mentioning to Remy that he might be looking for ways to volunteer his time in the community, she had suggested the PTA or the boosters. He had thought that was simple enough.

  What he didn’t know was that every other parent and teacher involved in the boosters already knew about his good fortune and were staring at him like a fresh piece of meat.

  “‘Get more involved in Elliot’s school,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said.”

  He could almost hear Remy smiling viciously on the other end of the phone. “And? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is this group is populated with every female I ever dated other than you, and they all know my entire fucking story. I don’t know if they want my money or they want…something else.”

  Remy laughed. “Probably both. Also, watch your language. You’re in a school, dude.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about these people?”

  Remy laughed her ass off. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

  “Fell for what?”

  Remy snorted. Actually snorted. “I was kidding about getting more involved in school. But I didn’t think you’d actually darken the doorway of the booster club! Good luck, buddy!”

  6

  Misty

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Misty. I’ve heard so much about you!”

  The booster club president, Carla Phillips
, was dripping with the kind of welcome that always made Misty feel suspicious. Carla was sizing her up. Her perfect whitened teeth flashed at Misty as she shook her hand, her diamond teardrop earrings nearly blinded her, her high-powered suit did not come from any store in this corner of Iowa, that was for sure. Carla had a look that reminded Misty more of a Charleston society lady rather than a typical Iowa booster mom. And her charm had an edge to it that made Misty’s hackles go up.

  “Have you really?” Misty replied.

  “Well,” Carla said as she ushered Misty to a seat at a cluster of tables that had been set up for the meeting in the middle of the auditorium. “You are the new art teacher that everyone’s been talking about.” Misty felt Carla’s eyes looking her up and down. Eyeing her long black dress and striped tights.

  “And what has everyone been saying?”

  “Oh, just that you moved into the Suicide House.”

  The name for the bungalow that Misty now owned in downtown Middleburg stabbed her in the heart a little bit.

  “Is that what they call it?”