by Gemma Bruce
Julie rounded on them. “Do you mind?” She got no response, the three of them had zeroed in on her navel ring. She tugged at her shirt and turned back to the counter.
“Fine,” she said and followed Dan to the back of the store.
Half an hour later, she was standing on the sidewalk while Dan put a box on the back seat of her Beetle. It held a variety of wrenches, washers, hammers, screwdrivers, saws, nails, screws, and a few other things that she’d forgotten the names of and uses for. She was holding a paperback titled How To Be Your Own Handyman and she was hungry.
“Only two places to eat in town,” said Dan. “The Roadhouse and the Excelsior Hotel.” He slammed the car door shut. “That should do ya.”
“Thanks, Dan.”
“My pleasure. Welcome back home, Julie.”
Wow. “Thanks, Dan. It’s good to be back.” Sort of.
She stood on the sidewalk and weighed the ogles she’d receive at the bar and grill against the shocked stares at the hotel. She might be inappropriately dressed for either, but they could just get used to it. Julie Excelsior wasn’t taking shit from anybody anymore. Not yet anyway.
She turned toward the hotel and caught a glimpse of spiked black hair as it ducked behind the hood of a parked Ford pickup. It was the same black hair that had ducked into the shoe repair shop when Julie had first gone into the Hardware Store.
Must be one of the new generation of crazies that the town seemed intent on producing. But Julie’s neck prickled all the same as she made her way down Main Street. She tried to ignore the stares of the people she passed, even tried a smile on a couple of them. Some scurried into stores as she walked by like she was a notorious gunslinger come to town.
You’re an Excelsior. They’re just curious, she told herself. A new face. They probably didn’t recognize her. Hell, they may not even remember her. You’re an Excelsior. It was all a long time ago. Dan Pliney had been charming. He didn’t hold her past against her. Maybe no one else did, either. You’re an Excelsior.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being judged all over again. She lifted her chin. I’m an Excelsior.
And this was Excelsior Falls. It was kind of depressing. Every thing looked smaller, shabbier. The awning across Lily’s Yarn Shop was faded. The old drugstore was gone and a laundromat had replaced it. And next to the laundromat was a pawn shop. Things were not looking good for Ex Falls.
The second block of town had faired better. Everyone needed a mortuary, and Gilbert’s was freshly painted, with new red indoor-outdoor carpeting running up the front steps. The signs for the law office and CPA’s office were still hanging in the windows of the old stone house on the far corner. Across the street, the Excelsior Hotel, a paradigm of Edwardian architecture, had been given a face lift.
She crossed the street toward the hotel and saw someone move away from the window of the dining room. I’m an Excelsior, she thought and went inside.
The hostess was waiting for her just inside the door.
“Hi, Julie. Remember me, Christine Reynolds, Cas’s sister? I’m Christine Macgregor now. How have you been? I’m so sorry about Wes.”
Julie broke into her prattling. “Can I get lunch?”
Christine looked taken aback. “Of course, come this way.”
Julie winced. The woman was trying to be nice and Julie was so jumpy that she hadn’t even accepted her condolences.
She followed Christine through a double doorway and into a large dining room, empty except for a couple at the window. Christine pulled out a chair for Julie several tables away.
Julie sat down.
“I’ll just get you a menu.”
“Thank you for asking about Wes. I’m still—getting used to the idea.”
“Of course. I understand.” She patted Julie’s shoulder, then drew it quickly away when Julie looked at her.
“The hotel looks great,” Julie said, trying to repair the damage her nerves had done. She had nothing against Christine. She was two years older than Cas and hadn’t had much to do with them as children. But she had always been kind enough and never stooped to the rudeness of her parents even when she had the chance. Which predisposed Julie to like her. So why are you treating her like the enemy?
Christine blossomed into a smile, looking unexpectedly like a young, feminine Cas. “My husband Ian and I bought it a couple of years ago. Actually, Ian bought it. Just came into town one day looking for a place to open a B and B, and well, what with one thing and another, we ended up getting married and ...” She looked around, her face glowing with pride. “And here we are.”
With two customers at lunch time. Not a good sign. Not my business. Julie placed her book on the table and wondered if it would create a scandal to order wine with lunch. If she could even get a glass of wine for lunch.
“Couldn’t find a plumber, could you?” said Christine, twisting her head to read the book title. “I’d send Ian over, but he’s so busy. Deer season.” She made a face and shuddered. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s our busiest season. Fortunately, they’re gone all day and spend most of the night at the Roadhouse. So it isn’t so bad.” She looked around. “Where is that girl?”
At her words, a girl about seventeen, skinny as a zipper, dressed in unrelieved black including her spiked hair, slinked in through the front door and grabbed a red leather menu off the hostess podium.
I know that hair, thought Julie. It had been following her ever since she’d come into town.
She slouched up to the table.
Christine’s lips tightened. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to put on your uniform, Mel?” She tugged the menu away from the girl and handed it to Julie, smiling apologetically.
The girl slouched off toward the double doors of the kitchen.
“That was Melanie? She was two the last time I saw her,” said Julie, dying to burst out laughing. The town Goth was Charles and Marian Reynolds’s youngest daughter.
“I’m afraid so.” Christine let her eyes trail after the girl, then turned back to Julie, her smile reaffirming itself. “We’ve got pot roast today. It’s really good. Ian made it. He’s a great cook.”
“That sounds fine,” said Julie and closed the menu.
“Anything to drink? Ice tea? Seltzer? We finally got our liquor license last spring. Took us two years. God, these old farts.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked toward the other table.
Julie laughed, then realizing she had attracted the attention of the two other diners, she lowered her voice. “I’ve run into several of them already this morning. I’ll have a glass of whatever your house red is.”
“Great,” said Christine and bustled away.
Julie picked up her book to learn about the finer points of plumbing, while dining on pot roast and what would probably turn out to be pink Zinfandel.
Christine returned with her wine and placed it on the table. “I opened it special,” she said. “Sort of a welcome home. It’s so good to see you.”
“Thanks,” said Julie, thinking, she really must be desperate if she’s glad to see me. Though next to Melanie, Julie felt downright conservative.
The wine was dry and the pot roast, delicious, even though it was served by a sulking Melanie, whose white skin and shadow of quickly removed black lipstick and eyeliner cast a cadaverous pall over the meal.
Julie read and ate and drank, aware that Melanie was never far away. Either Christine had put the fear of God into her or she was just as curious as everybody else. Maybe she was hoping that Julie would turn out to be a kindred spirit.
She was reading the chapter on how to change a corroded washer when the two other diners got up to leave. A man about Wes’s age and a much younger woman slowed down as they passed Julie’s table.
“Miz Excelsior,” the man said and touched his head as if he were wearing a hat, which he wasn’t. “Ed Schott. Sorry for your loss. Wes was a fine man.”
The Schotts were another family from the Hill. All s
he needed. “Thank you,” she murmured. Now go away.
“We missed you at the funeral.”
Julie flinched. Sure you did. She felt the heat rise to her face and willed it down. Melanie took that moment to step between them and fill Julie’s water glass. When she left the Schotts were still there.
“And this is my daughter Isabelle. She was a few years behind you in school.”
Isabelle Schott was petite with a sweet face and a peaches and cream complexion, surrounded by white-blond hair. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a fifties Sears catalogue.
Julie smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” said Isabelle. “Sorry for your loss.”
Julie smiled.
Mr. Schott touched his forehead again and they were gone.
Julie heard Melanie snicker as the door closed behind them, but when she looked up the girl was inspecting her nails.
Julie had a sudden urge to smack her, mainly because she reminded Julie of herself. Not the Goth part, but the hard edge that she guessed hid a vulnerable spirit.
Not your problem, she reminded herself, but she was grateful for the timely interruption with the water, so she left a generous tip, said goodbye to Christine and hurried back to her car before anyone else could stop to chat with the prodigal niece.
It was mid afternoon by the time Cas finally made it out to Excelsior House. After his fruitless trip to the Goethes, he’d stopped by to see Hank Jessop and ask for advice. All Hank said was, “These things come in cycles. Don’t let it worry you, boy, you’re doing fine.”
Of course he wasn’t doing fine. He wasn’t doing anything. He’d already told the Goethes the same thing Hank had told him, to call their insurance company and not expect to see the things again.
But for once, he was glad he’d accepted the job of sheriff, because that was the only reason he was still here when Julie returned. And if Wes had planned it that way, Cas was grateful.
Now if he could just redeem himself after the fiasco of last night. The uniform would help. He’d just go in, act professional, and pretend he knew what he was doing. Then he’d have to go out and muck around like he knew what he was looking for and end up smelling like chicken shit, which would definitely put her off.
He parked next to the VW, took his pad and pencil and tried to think cop thoughts. It should be easy. For years whenever they were together, he was either a cop, a cowboy or a pirate. He smiled as he got an image of Julie tied to the old chimney in the woods, while he strode up and down in front of her. Then would come the inevitable tickling to make her confess to whatever, and that secret, tantalizing glimpse of blue flowered underpants. He broke into a grin. Had he ever been that innocent?
Yeah, he had. But that had ended. He banged on the car door and waited for it to open. Then he climbed out and walked up the steps.
He’d just raised his hand to knock when he heard a scream from inside. He wrenched the door open and ran down the hall. The scream had stopped, but there was a burst of obscenities coming from the kitchen. She was a wild woman. Heaven help whoever had broken in.
The kitchen door was ajar, which was a good thing, since the doorknob had come off again. “Police,” he yelled and burst into the kitchen, only to slide halfway across the room before banging into the table. Water sprayed into the air, covering everything; the floors, the walls, the counters. Smitty ran from one side of the room to the other, barking and occasionally stopping to shake himself.
Julie stood next to the counter, scowling. Her hair and face were dripping. One long strand was stuck to her cheek; her T-shirt was soaked and plastered to her skin. Cas took a deep breath.
“Well?” she said over the splashing water. “Do something.” She pushed her wet hair back with both hands then wiped them on the front of her shirt.
Cas lost his breath. She was going to drive him crazy, and all the Reynoldses would end up in the psych ward together.
“Aaaargh,” not from Smitty but Julie, who threw up her hands, dropped to her knees, then fought her way through the spray to stick her head and shoulders into the cabinet beneath the sink. Water sprayed out to either side of her tempting bottom.
Cas watched as it wiggled in response to something she was doing inside the cabinet. His mouth went dry in spite of the fact that he was quickly becoming as wet as the rest of the kitchen.
With an effort, he snapped to. He hurried around the table while Smitty jumped at his legs. He dropped to his knees and taking Julie’s butt in both hands, pulled her out of the cabinet. Then he reached in and felt for the water valve. One was turned off, but the other was stuck in the open position.
He came out for breath, water dripping off his face and running down his shirt collar. He wiped his eyes with his now soggy shirt sleeve and looked among the floating cans and bottles for the WD 40. It was lying on its side; he flipped off the top and went back in. A quick spray and he crawled back out, shut the cabinet doors, and sat back on his knees to wait.
Julie was standing over him, her hands on her hips, looking like a demented water nymph. “That really solves the problem. Just shut the damn doors. Why didn’t I think of that?”
He counted to ten, waited another twenty seconds, while his trouser legs soaked up water, and crawled back in. A couple of quick twists and the flood slowed down to a stream and finally stopped completely. He crawled back out and got to his feet, picking up a waterlogged, oversized paperback on his way.
He tossed it on the table where it landed with a soggy thud. How to Be Your Own Handyman. He shook his head and turned to Julie who was probably still scowling. He wasn’t sure because his eyes never got to her face. They jolted to a stop where her wet T-shirt clung to two very full, rounded breasts.
“I turned off the valve, just like it said.”
Cas smiled—at her breasts. “You did. But there are two. You only got the hot water.”
“There’re two?”
He dragged his eyes to her face and her look of chagrin made him want to kiss her.
“Where?”
On your mouth, your tits, everywhere, thought Cas.
She shoved him aside and crawled back into the cabinet.
Or your ass, he added.
“Where,” echoed from under the sink.
“Huh?” Where what?
“I see the red one. Where’s the other one?”
Taking that for an invitation, he moved her butt aside, feeling the tingle on his fingers long enough to make him see stars, and climbed in beside her. “Right here.” He pointed to a blue covered handle that was partially hidden by the hose of the dish sprayer.
She looked at the valve shutoff, then turned her head to look at him. Her lips were close enough to kiss. So he did.
“Umphh,” said Julie and collapsed onto one elbow, taking him with her. He managed to twist one arm free and get it around her shoulders, then slid them both out of the cabinet and onto the floor where they lay in the water among the cans of cleanser, dish detergent, and floor wax.
But he didn’t stop kissing her.
Julie wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him. His tongue slid in, touched hers, and his groin flared to life. Julie fell onto her back and Cas stretched out along her body. He rocked against her and she responded with a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh and pushed back. He found the edge of her shirt and eased his hand beneath it, sliding over her wet skin to the swell of her bra. He broke the kiss and licked her neck, buried his nose in her skin, and continued to lick downward, his mouth on a mission to rendezvous with his hands.
She twisted beneath him, managed to get her thigh between his legs and moved against him until he began pulsing against her leg, mindless of the water, the cold or anything but the warmth of her—until he felt heavy footsteps on his back.
Then heard the low growl.
“Shit,” he said against her breast, afraid to move and have Smitty rip his throat out. Smitty slid off his back onto t
he floor and pushed his nose between them, snuffled for a few dreaded seconds, then slurped Julie’s face.
“Mine,” said Cas.
“Go away, Smitty,” said Julie.
Cas came to his senses. He was seducing Julie on a wet kitchen floor surrounded by cleaning products and a dog. Not good. Not cool. Not romantic in the least. So much for doing things right. He tried to get up, but Julie held on and he brought her up with him, until they were standing, locked together from chest to toes.
She pulled herself up his body and found his mouth with hers.
Hell. He was lost. He staggered backwards, feet sloshing and slipping until his back hit the wall and the back of his head banged into the cuckoo clock.
“I came to ...” he began.
“Mmmmm,” said Julie.
His hands roamed down her back. “Take your statement.”
“Hmmm,” said Julie.
He kissed her and his hand slipped around her side until his palm found her breast again.
“Did you see who it was?” His fingers tightened around the curve of her flesh and she rolled to one side so he could reach between them. His hand closed over the luscious weight of her breast.
She gasped. “No.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He jerked his hand away, but she grabbed it and pushed it back to her breast. His thumb rasped across the tight nipple.
“Yes,” she sighed.
His erection hardened while he tried to grasp the thread of his questioning. “You saw them?”
“No, but don’t stop.”
“No.” He rolled them along the wall so that she was against the wall and he was pressing his erection against her stomach. His second hand joined his first and they cupped her breasts, while his groin ground into her.
Then something knocked into his knees and he nearly went down. Smitty whined.
“At ease,” Julie said around Cas’s tongue.
“Huh?”
The dog whined again and tried to walk between them. Cas pushed him away with his foot. Smitty growled.
“Shit.” Cas began sliding Julie along the wall, until they were by the door, then he rolled them out and kicked the door shut. Smitty barked from the other side.