Welcome back to Notes From a Romantic's Heart. Today, we're celebrating the third of four complete novels contained in the new paranormal anthology, Ghosts of New England: Last Light Point. We continue with, For the Love of Grace, by best selling author, Nancy Fraser.
Early Autumn, 1941
Grace O’Hearn and her father have lived in Last Light Point since before the ’29 stock market crash that took so much from so many. Still, somehow, they managed to keep afloat, often lending a hand to those in dire need.
Now—many years later—things are finally picking up again. So much so, the tavern is a much-coveted piece of property. When Grace’s father is brutally murdered, the main suspect is a property developer who’s been harassing all the waterfront proprietors. With his death, Grace now becomes the sole owner of The Crowe's Nest Tavern--an establishment that dates back centuries, and comes with its own set of resident ghosts.
When FBI agent, Max Stewart, is assigned to investigate suspected racketeering and police corruption in Last Light Point, the last thing he expects is to be caught up in a murder investigation. When he first meets Grace, he’s convinced she’s hiding something. Yet, her keen insight about the town, and everyone in it, may be the best lead he has.
Can they work together to solve both investigations? Or, will an attraction neither of them professes to want keep getting in the way?
‘His shoes. Check out his shoes.’ Her father’s voice echoed through her subconscious, and Grace dropped her gaze to the floor.
Garrett Parker, Barkley’s new head of security, was wearing wingtips. Brown and white wingtips. Her pulse picked up tempo. The urge to lunge at the man who had likely killed her father was staunched only by the weight of his hand on her shoulder.
‘Not now, Gracie-girl. Think this through first.’
“Gentlemen,” she said, as calmly as her anger would allow. “While I won’t go so far as to say it was a pleasure, I’m very busy and would appreciate it if you could leave me to my work.”
“Certainly,” Detective Mitchell said. “We’ll be on our way.”
Max pushed himself to his feet, meeting Parker’s gaze head on. “Only one, Parker. I assume you have all the necessary permits for that revolver you carry in the waistband of your trousers. Correct?”
“Of course, I do,” Parker sneered.
“And, the snub nose in your ankle holster?”
“You’re very observant, Mr. Stewart,” Mitchell commented. “I’ve already confirmed his permits, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Grace’s gaze widened when Max shucked out of his suit coat, revealing a leather holster and the gun it held at his side.
“That’s good,” Max responded smoothly. “I’d hate to think there was a reason for things to get nasty.”
“Calm down, Stewart,” Mitchell said. “We’re not looking for trouble.”
Once Mitchell and Parker had taken their leave, Grace turned her attention fully to where Max was slipping back into his jacket.
“You carry a gun?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a requirement of the job.”
“Perhaps, you should finish what you began before those two jerks came into my tavern. Something about ‘not being totally honest’ I believe you said.”
“How about we get some fresh coffee, and invite Aggie to join us? There’s no sense having to repeat myself.”
Aggie appeared moments later, a pot of coffee in one hand, a plate of scones and butter in the other. “I’m not sure why you’re needing to talk to me, but here I am.” After plunking herself down on the chair next to Grace, she added, “Don’t be expecting those cabinets to clean themselves while I’m out here.”
“Don’t worry, Aggie,” Max told her. “I’ll lend a hand if you need me to.”
Grace purposely narrowed her gaze in Max’s direction, and prompted, “So. Talk.”
“I wasn’t being totally upfront when I said I came to Last Light Point to check on the cargo ships docking here,” he began. “I’m not some health inspector. I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, as an agent.”
“The FBI? Jeepers,” Aggie exclaimed. “Like the fellas who took down Capone?”
“Yes, that FBI,” Max confirmed. “I was sent to Last Light Point to investigate smuggling, money laundering, and corruption within the local police force.” He pulled in a breath, and added, “One of the names at the top of our suspect list was your father, Harold O’Hearn. It’s one of the reasons I came here to get a room. I assumed I’d be dealing with him.”
“My father never did any of those things,” Grace insisted vehemently. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, I can see that now. The things you’ve told me about him, as well as what others here in Last Light Point have said about your father, convinced me we were looking in the wrong direction from the get-go. My focus now is strictly on Devon Barkley, Detective Mitchell, and now this new fellow, Parker.”
“Parker killed my father,” Grace blurted out.
“Exactly how did you come to that conclusion after meeting him only once?” Max asked.
“He was wearing wingtips,” Grace continued, although regretted the nonsensical comment the moment she made it.
“Just like Har... um...” Aggie stumbled. “Just like we... oh, heaven forbid, I’ve run my mouth, haven’t I?”
Max’s eyes widened. A look of confusion furrowed his thick brows. “Someone witnessed your father’s murder? And, you’ve not said anything?”
“Not exactly,” Grace hedged. “It was my father. He told me the man who shot him was wearing a mask so he couldn’t see his face, but he was wearing brown and white wingtip shoes.”
“Your father? The dead man? Was it something he said to you in the throes of death?”
Grace met his gaze, and shook her head. “I suppose, given you were honest about who you really are and what you’re doing here, I owe you the same courtesy.”
“Honesty is always appreciated in my line of work, Grace.”
Before Grace could begin what was likely to be an extremely awkward conversation, Aggie rushed to her feet. “Be right back,” she mumbled.
“Where are you going?” Grace asked.
“To the bar. If we’re about to open up this can of dead worms, I need something stronger than coffee. I’ll bring the bottle, and three shot glasses.”
Max’s deep chuckle relieved some of the tension settling around the table. “Does she drink often?”
“Not really. I think I’ve only seen her imbibe once or twice since I’ve known her, and only on special occasions.”
When Aggie returned with the two-hundred-year-old bottle of scotch and three glasses, Max said, “I thought we weren’t supposed to touch that bottle.”
Aggie shrugged. “Don’t worry none. The spirits will refill it by morning. Assuming we don’t get totally potted and drink the entire bottle.” Blowing out a long breath, Aggie added, “Then, we’d be in for it, for sure.”
“I don’t think we should,” Grace warned, shooting Aggie a stern look.
“Oh, pish sha, Grace. Your pa and I used to take a nip from the pirate’s bottle every now and again. Simon and the others never failed to follow through on refilling it. I remember your uncle once telling me about how, sometime in the mid-1800s, the bottle was stolen, and nearly emptied before it was found and returned to the tavern. Next morning, sure as I’m sitting here, it was full up again.”
Max took the bottle from Aggie’s grasp and removed the cap before pouring them each a shot of the warm, amber liquid. “If you two are going to start spinning some wild tales about ghosts, and pirates, and some magical bottle of hooch, I’m going to need at least one of these. Maybe more.”
Her spicy romances have won top awards year after year and received cover quotes from some of the most recognized names in the romance industry. Nancy was named Top Canadian Author for 2021 by N.N. Lights Book Heaven.
When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people. You can all of Nancy's steamier books on BookBub.
