Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) by Ani Gonzalez Read Free Book Online Page B

answer. "Marketing. The cidery now has amazing marketing."
    It should. He'd slaved over that marketing plan. He'd obsessed about how to make a humble apple drink distinctive and new. He'd pored over campaign proposals with generic autumnal themes. Apples, hay, golden leaves. Boring, boring, boring. Then, finally, the light bulb moment.  
    "You know why the marketing is so effective?" he asked. "Because of the ghosts. A small town with lots of legends and folklore is interesting and attractive. It allows the imagination to gallop—straight into a cash register. Your Committee's history lesson is tedious and boring. I know you like to shake things up. But you shouldn't change things that are working well."  
    Elizabeth's narrowed eyes focused on him. Gabe braced for impact. "It's working well?" Her eyes flashed and she took a deep breath. "It's working well when we have enough families moving into town to keep it alive in the spring and summer. It's working well when we have enough kids to keep the high school open. It's working well when our insurance rates don't go through the roof because some kids decided to vandalize the local church in an attempt to attract a Lovecraftian entity."
    He tried to muster a counter-argument, but Elizabeth didn't pause. Her eyes blazed and she dug a finger into his chest as if she were about to perform a particularly gruesome pagan sacrifice.
    "It's working well when my mom's business isn't falling apart." Dig. "It's working well when my mom isn't lying on a sofa all day." Dig. "It would work well if my father weren't off on another interminably long business trip that's more important than taking care of his wife."  
    She took a final, long breath. It looked like she was trying to calm herself down. That was good. Gabe really, really wanted her to calm down.
    Unfortunately, the breathing didn't do the trick.  
    "It's not working well," she continued furiously, "when I'm here, propping up the family business by myself. It's not working well when said business is being decimated by stupid kids chasing fairy tales—" she paused, "—and I include my brother in that group." She paused again. "May he rest in peace."
    The last sentence was whisper-soft and laced with pain. She frowned and rallied, continuing the tirade.
    "It's not working well when Holly's library has no patrons except for the crazy ghost-hunters trying to take a picture of Good Sergeant Atwell, or when the Hungry Owl diner has to close down, or when Patricia's bakery has no customers." She was practically shaking with rage. And pain, there was a lot of pain in there too. " You— " she stabbed a finger at his chest, "—Mr. Not-Quite-Yet-A-Billionaire, you have to stop talking about stuff you know nothing about."
    "Elizabeth," he started. He really hadn't meant to cause this avalanche of hurt.
    "That's why the Historical Preservation Committee is doing this." With one last breath, Elizabeth calmed down. She looked worn out. "But it's going to take a lot of work to get the town back on its feet," she concluded with a frown. "Even Rafe at Vintage Motors is selling evil eye charms."  
    "Really?" Gabe asked. "I should buy one." Elizabeth looked appalled. "I know of an evil spirit I'd like to keep away," he continued. Hell, after tonight, he'd need a bucket load of charms to keep Elizabeth out of his mind.
    "Oh, come on," she said, in a tired voice. "You can't believe in all those stories."
    "I believe in customers, and the legends bring in customers."
    "Not to us, they don't." Her voice rose. "Hunt Realty gets no clients. Do you know what that means? Elderly people can't sell their homes, young families don't move in, the schools have no kids, and the childcare center is closing. The rest of Northern Virginia is booming, but we don't feel it. Do you know why?" She was practically screeching now. "Because no one wants to buy a house with a resident ghost." She gestured toward Main Street. "And now, thanks to you, and my idiot