“This is Closet and Trunk Antiques,” Church says, not bothering to whisper, but not raising his voice either. “My father bought my mother's engagement ring from here when they were seventeen.” He looks around, using what little light is trickling in from the orange streetlamp outside to see. Subconsciously, I rub at the ring on my finger and Church smiles. “And yes, that one, too.”

“You bought a used ring?” Spencer asks, giving Church a look. “You? Of all people? How much was it?”

“In some instances—rare instances—tradition is more important than price.” Church moves away from the door and toward a set of stairs with a chain across them, and an Employees Only sign dangling in the middle. He moves it out of his way as I stand there, short of breath, bathed in the shadows of the antique shop. It has a bit of a musty smell, but it's got a hominess to it that I like.

“I've never been in an antique shop at night,” I whisper, even though it's obvious that we don't need to be quite so silent. “It's equal parts creepy and cool.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t know about the ghosts that haunt this place,” the twins whisper, coming up on either side of me and parking their elbows on my shoulders.

“There's no such thing as ghosts,” I snort, but they exchange a look over my head and then shrug.

“Only people who are truly afraid of ghosts say such things,” Tobias continues, pretending to look around the looming shapes of old wardrobes and ancient rocking chairs, like he's on the lookout for something.

“Jenica wasn't the only person to be murdered in this town,” Micah whispers, after a quick glance over his shoulder to see that Ranger's fully climbed the stairs after Church. “Back around that same time, there was a foreign exchange student who was found dead in the local park. There were no signs of trauma, no evidence of a struggle, but he was clutching the key to this very store, the store where he'd been working part-time.”

“Okay, that's enough of that crap,” Spencer says, yanking me away from the snickering redheaded demon assholes. “There was a kid who died in the park, but the coroner determined it was insulin shock. Ignore them.” He takes my hand in his, squeezing it hard, and then tugs me up the steps to an office area. Antiques clutter this portion of the store, too, but it's clean and well-kempt. A stray shaft of moonlight highlights a ledger that's been carefully scribbled in. Looks like this store is in the red—big time. Maybe whoever runs it should try using a computer? I bite my lip and glance at the open door that leads to yet another set of stairs, these ones narrow and steep and most definitely not up to modern code requirements.

Spencer and I continue up, with the twins close behind us, and come up to an attic room with windows on all sides. We can see the whole of Main Street from the front window, the flat roof of the sporting goods store on one side, and the three-story building on the other that houses the bookstore. As far as I could tell, only the first floor is part of the business.

In the center of the room, there's a miniature replica of the antique store, complete with little people, furniture, and plants. The detail is absolutely stunning, even if it is hard to see in the dark.

“The woman who owned this store before my parents bought it—and who still runs it—made this with her miniatures club almost forty years ago.” Church leans over beside me and peers into the top floor, looking at an exact miniature replica of the room where we're standing.

“She did a damn good job,” I murmur, thinking of the numbers in red ink in the ledger. “Maybe a better job than she does running the business. Do your parents know how far in the red this place is?”

Church smiles at me again, an expression that's becoming a lot more frequent, and then stands up.

“I'll tell you the story later, Chuck. For now, we're collecting information.”

“Are we just here on the off-chance that something happens, or do you have something specific in mind that you’re looking for?” Ranger asks, just before the lights next door go on, flooding the second floor of the bookstore. From here, I can see a round table set with chairs, a kitchenette, and a fireplace on the far wall that's not currently lit.

Jeffrey Rabot walks in and sweeps over to it, using a Duraflame log to get a roaring fire going.

“There are only five businesses left in Nutmeg that my parents don't own,” Church says as the boys and I fan out along the length of the window. Hopefully, it's too bright in there and too dark up here that he won't see us if he looks, but I still get that creepy feeling on the back of my neck, like somebody's watching me. “The business owners meet up with Jeff here, every week, like clockwork.”

“So we're just hoping they do something suspicious?” Spencer asks, glancing in Church's direction. “Or did you plant some fancy recording equipment in there so we can actually hear what they're saying?”

Church's amber eyes watch the scene below as Jeff sets up what looks like a pretty nice charcuterie board for his guests.

“I did inquire if my parents' security team might be able to get in there and set up some surveillance.”

“And?” Ranger prompts, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because there always is one, when it comes to Church Montague.

“They couldn't get in. There's a team watching Jeff's business. All the businesses, actually, that my parents don't own. Now tell me: how do five struggling business owners afford a security team that rivals my parents’?” He turns toward Ranger, and even though I can't see his face, I can hear the coldness in his voice. “They don't. If there’s a cult at Adamson, then it’s run by some of the more powerful families, otherwise my parents would know all about it.” He turns back to the window as Jeff opens the door and welcomes in a few new faces that I know I've never seen before. “And why on earth would these people refuse the overblown prices my parents have offered them for their businesses? Jeff’s whiny complaints about not wanting to sell the store are bullshit. He hates it here, and he always has.”

“So you think the business owners are part of the cult?” I ask, but Church doesn't respond, his face tightening in frustration. He's smart, but he hasn't figured that part of the equation out just yet.

“What about Jack?” Church turns to look at Spencer next, that cold gaze of his fixed firmly in place. One day, he's going to be too powerful for his own good. That is, unless he has someone around to keep him humble.

I shift in place and run my finger across the surface of the ring—my new nervous tick.

“You know how hard he is to track down, but I'll find him. He's always in town for the Halloween party.”

Church nods, and I feel a bit of FOMO coming on. Last year, I didn't get to leave campus on Halloween, while the guys were very clearly at this fabled party. This year, I better find myself with an invitation.

After a while, I get bored and wander over to the miniature with Spencer and the twins while Ranger and Church keep vigil over the meeting downstairs. Doesn't look like much of a business meeting to me. Mostly, Jeff and his guests of honor laugh and talk and eat, and then they break out a game of charades. Like who even plays charades anymore?