There was no graceful way to deal with the inevitable fallout of running into my former high school sweetheart. I’ll be the first to admit I hadn’t handled breaking up with him in the best way. Or at all, really. I’d returned his class ring along with a letter telling him I wanted to start college with a fresh slate.
Rumor had it he’d taken the split poorly, but what did I care? I’d moved on and would never have to be in the same room with him again. See, that’s how you screw yourself over—by tempting fate with such stupid ideas.
“It’s good to see you.” My voice rose a little at the end, making it almost a question, and I searched his face for clues to his state of mind. Maybe the mood had nothing to do with me; he had moved on, after all, to marry the lovely Neena. We were probably fine after all these years, and something else was stuck in his craw.
“Did you leave your husband a note or did you dump him in person?” he growled, lip curled.
Or not.
If Jacy was right, Hudson had a life crisis going and didn’t need me adding more weight to what he already carried. “I'm sorry, Hudson. Truly sorry. I could have handled things better at the time, and I chose to take the easy way out. You deserved more. Now, do you want that ride or not?”
For a moment, his spine went rigid and I thought he would throw the apology back in my face, then he relaxed and released a huge sigh. “Sure. Thanks, Ev.”
Some of the clouds seemed to have lifted when he landed in the passenger’s seat, but I saw his eyes flick toward the back and take in the jumble of my possessions.
We rode in silence for the two minutes it took to get to the Bide A Way.
“We’re here,” I announced unnecessarily and popped the door open before the engine died. I’d had enough awkward encounters for one day and wanted this one over as quickly as possible.
Hudson didn’t seem to be in as much of a hurry. He followed me to the back of the van and watched while I surveyed the stack of boxes to see if I remembered where I’d packed my laptop.
“How did you find out where I was staying? I’m not buying that you ended up here by coincidence,” he said, then his eyes slid down over me and back up to rest a few inches south of my face.
I’d been prepared to eat my pizza with a side of crow, but I drew the line at adding a canned worm appetizer, so I said nothing. He wouldn’t believe me anyhow.
“We had some good times, didn’t we?” With a familiar gesture, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. No matter what he’d done to get himself into trouble, he’d been sweet to me when we were dating, and I’d cared for him in the desperate way teenagers do, so I didn’t want to hurt him now.
“We did.” Hoping he’d get the hint, I turned my attention to shifting boxes to find the one I was looking for which was, of course, closer to the front of the van than I’d remembered. Just my luck.
“If I can’t patch things up at home, maybe we could pick up where we left off. You know you were my first love.”
Unfortunately, I couldn't return the sentiment, and this was not a conversation I wanted to have while I was on my hands and knees in the back of a moving van. My only option was to do the awkward reverse crawl which gave him a great shot of my backside.
Nothing he could say was enough to tempt me now. Especially not after meeting Neena. So, when he leaned in, I backed away and busied myself gathering my purse, laptop, and the rest of my dinner. “I’m sorry, but no.”
Leaving him staring, I went inside and closed the door firmly behind me. Coming home had seemed like the only option when getting away from Paul was all I could think about. I could rebuild my life around people who loved and supported me. It would be easy to find a job and a place to live. The rose-colored view from behind my glasses hadn’t accounted for the fact the world had turned while I was gone.
My appetite had flown, but because it was there, I nibbled on the lukewarm pizza while coming to the conclusion being popular in high school meant less than diddly squat in the adult world. You might be thinking I was a little old to be figuring out one of the basic tenets of life, and you’d be right. But better late than never, right?
In the fake twilight created by the motel drapes, I fell asleep long before the sun went down. Three eventful days in a row had taken their toll, and I slept like the dead until Hudson’s banging headboard disturbed my slumber yet again.
What a jerk. How long did he wait after hitting on me before lining up another option? I rolled over and checked the bedside clock to find it was still early, so the answer was not very long. The first order of business the next morning, I decided, would be asking for a new room at the other end of the motel. I just wanted to sleep without having to cover my head with a pillow.
Was that too much to ask?
When I dropped off the second time, it was to muddle through a series of confusing dreams featuring Paul and Hudson as the same man, and both of them were speaking in angry tones.
I was almost glad when a muffled thud startled me awake.
Thick-tongued and bleary-headed, I couldn’t tell if the noise had been real or a remnant from the crazy dream. Loath to go wandering around outside in the middle of the night, because who knew what might be lurking in the darkness, I listened until my heart stopped pounding. Other than the low growl of a car engine as it passed, I heard nothing out of place.
Somewhere in the middle of listening, I drifted off and didn’t wake until the next morning.
CHAPTER 8
The long night of sleep and weird dreams unsettled me, so when I woke the next morning, the only way I knew to keep the raw emptiness from swallowing me whole was to avoid looking at it too deeply. Stay active, I cautioned myself. Focus on the future.
Easy to say, not so easy to do. Not when the future you’re trying to focus on is a moving target.
To keep from wallowing, I made a list of the things I needed to do. Item one: move rooms.
On my way to the office, I noticed Hudson’s door stood slightly ajar. With the way my luck had been running, he was probably spying on me.
Or not. The inside of the room was dark and quiet.
All the better. He’d had an active evening, so he’d probably sleep right through any noise I made during the transfer, but I would not be jolted out of another night’s sleep. Truer words were never spoken. Or thought, as the case may be.
"Oh, Everly! I'm glad you stopped by. I forgot to give you this when you checked in." The motel clerk—I still couldn't remember her name and didn't want to admit that by asking her for it—opened a cabinet and handed me a travel-sized coffee maker. "Did I tell you about the mini-fridge? Every room has one built into the bedside table, and I always forget to tell our guests."
Since I’d not noticed anything that looked remotely like a mini-fridge, I suggested she might want to get some cards printed up and leave them in the rooms, and then I explained my reason for coming by.
“Do you think it would be possible for me to change rooms? I know it’s an inconvenience, and I’ll pay extra if there’s a difference in price.”
Now that I wasn't trying to remember it, her name popped up from the depths of my memory. Barbara Dexter looked at me with a hint of speculation but cheerfully altered the paperwork.
Then she handed me a new key and shamelessly fished for information. “I heard you bought the Willowby house, so I guess you won’t be staying past the week.”
I wondered by how many hours that news had beaten me back to the motel. “No. Unless it takes more than a few days for the paperwork to finalize, but Mrs. Tipton seemed to think everything would go through quickly.” Probably to keep me from backing out of the deal. If I hadn’t had such a good feeling about the place just from standing on the porch, I might be more concerned.
“House could stand some redecorating, but it has good bones. Catherine kept a nice place.”
Why did people keep using the word bones when the house had a reputation for being haunted? Every time I heard that phr
ase, I pictured a house-shaped skeleton with a toothy, gaping grin. Not a comforting image.
“You knew her well? Mrs. Willowby, I mean. If you’ve actually been in the house, can you tell me what it’s like in there? Is there anything I should be concerned about?”
“Sure I knew her, visited more times than I can count. Land sakes child, you don’t believe all that haunted house nonsense, do you?”
“No, of course not.” I mostly told the truth and then admitted, “I'm only curious what it’s like. You see, there was a deadline on the bid, and I bought the place without…um…seeing the inside.”
Left eyebrow shooting up toward her hairline, Barbara unsuccessfully hid her amusement. “You bought a pig in a poke.”
I juggled the coffeemaker into the crook of my other arm. “I guess. What exactly is a poke?”
“Old word for a bag. Doesn’t matter. Catherine would love to see someone young living in the house. Don’t you trouble your pretty head, you’re going to settle right in and make a cozy home for yourself.”
I noticed she'd skirted the question of what the house was like, but I didn't want to press, so I took my new key and my tiny coffeemaker and headed back to my room to pack up my things. If I were lucky, this would be my next-to-last move of the week, and Hudson wouldn't do anything to make it more difficult.
His door was still open.
Something is wrong. The conviction whispered through my head.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. With each step closer to Hudson’s door, the echo increased in volume until I had to look inside and see for myself.
Dazzled by the morning sun, my eyes couldn't adjust enough to catch a glimpse of anything inside Hudson's motel room, so I reached out to push the door open wider. It made a creaking sound that slid a shudder over my skin like water and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Cold fire pooled in my stomach and turned my insides to jelly.
I smelled the coppery tang before I saw the blood pooled on the carpet under Hudson’s tumbled body or his eyes, empty of life and staring. An ice bucket lay near his head, a smear of blood on the base.
It was just like the one I’d taken when it was offered the night I checked in—thick and solid-walled, with a hammered aluminum exterior that looked like it hadn’t seen a lick of polish in years. The inside was still shiny—probably because it was coated in clear, hard plastic. Add the insulated metal lid, solid base, and sturdy handle, and even empty, the thing was heavy enough to make a solid weapon.
In mystery novels, the heroine always takes the sight of a dead body in stride, but I wasn’t one of those. I screamed and out of reflex, threw the coffee maker. It flew up and over my head to land on the concrete behind me. The glass pot shattered, and I screamed some more. Long and loud until Mrs. Dexter ran out of the office.
"Call 9-1-1. Get help, I think … Oh, hurry, please. I think he's dead."
Surprisingly fast for a woman her age, Barbara ran back inside.
Air wheezed in and out of my lungs, but not enough to keep me from hyperventilating. The only coherent thought I can remember having was to stay outside, so I didn’t contaminate the crime scene.
Hey, I watch TV. I know these things.
My legs trembled too violently to carry me very far, and I only just made it to one of the bright plastic patio chairs lining the area under the roofed-in overhang. Colors swam as a million bees buzzed in my head. On the brink of passing out, I remembered enough basic first aid to jam my head down between my knees.
Because the hum and buzz had eased, I heard Mrs. Dexter hurry past me, the whooshing intake of her breath when she stepped up to the doorway and looked inside. “Mercy sakes. Someone has killed the poor man.” She sounded surprised.
“Didn’t I just say he was dead?” Shock sharpened my tone.
Barbara didn’t miss a beat. “You said dead, not murdered.” Sighing, she seated herself next to me.
You haven’t experienced surreal until you’re sitting in a plastic deck chair arguing semantics over what to call a dead body with someone you barely know. The frustrating conversation pushed back the horror long enough for me to gather myself back together.
That lasted until I caught a glimpse of Hudson’s legs through the fully open door and a wave of sorrow closed my throat. A siren wailed in the distance as my first tear fell. Yeah, Hudson hadn’t seemed to let the separation from his wife affect his sex life, but he didn’t deserve to be bashed over the head.
Fine gravel shot out from under his wheels as Ernie Polk whipped the black-and-white a little too quickly into the parking lot. When the cruiser door creaked open to disgorge his bulky frame, Ernie’s face was a few shades paler than its normally ruddy hue.
Barbara rose to meet him, and to her credit, she didn’t dither around. “Hudson Montayne’s gone and got himself murdered,” she said before he had a chance to open his mouth.
“Don’t get too hasty,” Ernie shouted over the noise of the approaching ambulance. “Just show me where he is and let someone with the proper training decide if there’s been a murder.”
Blue eyes snapping, Barbara clapped her hands on jean-covered hip. “Well, he didn’t bash himself over the head, but by all means, go on in and see for yourself.”
Her voice sounded loud muttering into the sudden silence left when the ambulance driver killed the siren. “Damn fool thinks I don’t know a murdered body when I see one.” The plastic chair nearly overbalanced when she threw herself down on it. “Poor Viola, losing her boy like that.”
Despite the tartness of her manner with Ernie Polk, both sorrow and pity played through Barbara’s tone. Viola Montayne hadn’t liked me much, but she thought the sun rose and set on Hudson’s say so, and this was going to just about kill her.
I couldn’t tell if the shock was wearing off or getting worse because I felt sort of numb while Ernie went through the motions of declaring Hudson’s death a crime. Barbara pressed her lips together, I assumed to restrain an I told you so when he came out with his face set in grave lines.
“Body temp and lividity indicate he was killed sometime after midnight, and there are defensive wounds, so there was almost certainly an altercation. Being right next door, you must have heard something.” Ernie hit me with an intimidating, flat-eyed cop stare that I didn’t know he had in his arsenal.
"No," I stammered. "Well, I did hear something, but it wasn't exactly a struggle to the death if you know what I mean." It seemed Ernie didn't get the hint because he waited for me to say it right out. "Look, it's none of my business who he sleeps … slept with, but I can tell you they were rattling the bedsprings before the evening news came on." Heat prickled over my face along with a blush of color.
“You didn’t hear anyone come in or leave?” Raising an eyebrow, Ernie insinuated I should have.
“I went to bed early, and I’m not that light of a sleeper. I probably wouldn’t have heard a car pulling in.” I blushed again and cursed my pale skin. “I didn’t hear anything until the headboard knocking started up.” I turned to Barbara and tried to soften the criticism. “The walls here are really thin. After that, I buried my head under the covers and went back to sleep.”
“Interesting,” he commented, “how you ended up staying in rooms right next to each other given your history. Cozy.”
If looks could burn, Barbara would have gone up in flames. “Yes, I thought the same thing when I found out. You should know I was on my way back from requesting a different room when I discovered the …him … Hudson. And you should also know we spoke last night. For the first time in years.”
Ernie perked up. “In his room or yours?”
“Neither.” I recounted the events leading up to the conversation.
“Hmm.” Ernie checked the parking lot and jotted down the fact the truck was missing. “His truck’s not here, so that backs up your story of seeing him walking.” His tone said he didn’t know whether to believe the rest or not.
I gritted my teeth until they hurt and then relaxed my
jaw. “I wasn’t interested in him, or in being disturbed every night by whatever or whoever it was he was doing. I didn’t come back home looking to start things up with Hudson again. Or with anyone. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I didn’t hear anything or see anyone suspicious.”
Even though he seemed to take me at my word, Ernie cautioned me about leaving town. Like I had anywhere else to go. “Does that mean I’m a suspect?”
“Not at this time. Just stick around, okay, Everly?” If he meant to be reassuring, he wasn’t.
I turned my head away and covered my mouth with my hand when the cart rolled past, but still caught a glimpse of the black bag with Hudson's body zipped securely inside. Having finally settled back into a normal rhythm, my heart rate kicked right back up into overdrive.
“I’m still changing rooms. I really don’t want to stay in my old one after what happened next door.”
Now that the questioning part was over, Ernie’s face settled back into the friendly lines I remembered. “You’re not in any danger, I don’t think.” Again, less than reassuring. “I’ll beef up patrol of this area, though.”
His attention turned to Barbara, and it appeared I had been dismissed for the moment.
A steady stream of traffic inched past the Bide A Way while I carried my boxed-up items to the van and moved it over in front of my new room. Word travels fast in small towns, and death was bound to bring out the looky-loos.
Only one car pulled in, and I recognized it right away. You don’t see too many bubblegum-pink jeeps running around, but her dad had paid for the paint job for her graduation gift, and Jacy said she planned on driving it until the wheels fell off.
It was a running joke that she married a mechanic’s son to keep her baby in one piece. Like all the best jokes, there might have been a thread of truth running through it, but Brian didn’t seem to care as long as Jacy parked her jeep in his driveway every night.
CHAPTER 9
The Jeep had barely rocked to a stop, its bumper mere inches from my knees when Jacy flung open the door and confirmed the grapevine was alive and thriving.
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