I glanced outside, wondering if there was something I was missing. “How?”
“I’ll show you.”
We got out of the truck and the damp fall air was cool on my cheeks. As soon as my feet hit the forest floor, my senses heightened, my heart beating faster. The gray mist made the view between the trees hazy, and the heavy silence pressed against me.
“It’s a little bit creepy out here,” I said, stepping slowly to the front of the truck.
“Exactly,” Gavin said, his voice quiet but never losing its undercurrent of excitement. “There’s a hot spring not far from here and it gets really misty in the morning. Come on.”
“Are we going to the hot spring?”
“Not this time. Just follow me.”
He took my hand and led me to a narrow trail through the brush. Tall pines towered over us and the mist in the air was eerie. The only sound was our feet crunching on dry debris and the occasional distant call of a bird.
I squeezed Gavin’s hand. I wasn’t scared, exactly, but this place was unsettling.
After a short walk down the trail, we came within sight of a decrepit old cabin.
“Welcome to the murder cabin,” he said, gesturing with his other hand.
“Wait, what?”
“You don’t have to be scared for real. There’s nothing that can hurt you, and I don’t think anyone’s actually been murdered here. But I set it up so it’s creepy as fuck. I wasn’t sure what you were going for in your book, so there’s a little of everything. I thought this might give you some ideas.”
“You set up a murder cabin for me?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Shall we?”
It was a big deal, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him how amazing this was without making it awkward. We were supposed to be just friends, but things like this—and what we’d done yesterday—were starting to make my heart yearn for more.
And I couldn’t go there. It wouldn’t be fair to suddenly spring a bunch of messy feelings on him when I was the one who’d talked him into our current… arrangement, for lack of a better word.
But he’d made me a murder cabin.
He’d make such a great boyfriend, if someone could ever convince him she was worth it.
“Don’t worry.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ve got you.”
I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t afraid of the cabin. That I was grappling with an unexpected rush of emotion and I wasn’t prepared to deal with it. I just smiled and nodded, keeping the rest of it locked up tight inside me.
He slowly led me toward the cabin and I let the atmosphere sink in. The towering trees, the mist, the eerie silence. It made my heart beat harder and a tingle of fear crawl up my spine.
But I actually liked the feeling.
The cabin’s wood was gray and weathered with gaps between the boards. The covered porch sagged on one side and the stairs looked like they might break if you stepped on them.
“Go ahead.” He dropped my hand and gestured toward the cabin. “Check it out.”
“By myself?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
I glanced at him, suddenly worried there might be someone waiting to jump out and scare me.
“This isn’t a prank,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “It’s more like… visual inspiration.”
“Okay.”
With a deep breath, I walked up the porch steps. They creaked beneath my feet. The porch itself seemed to let out a low groan as soon as my weight settled on the old boards. But it held.
I glanced to the side and gasped. A mannequin dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans was sprawled out on the porch, as if he’d fallen there, dead. A long knife stuck out from his chest and something red—it looked a lot like ketchup—was splattered around the wound.
“Maybe your main character is first on the scene and discovers something like that,” Gavin said.
I gazed at the fake murder scene. A stabbing victim would be an interesting twist.
She walks up the creaky steps, her weapon drawn. Heart beating fast, the adrenaline flowing through her veins a familiar companion. The interior is dark, apparently abandoned, but her instincts flare to life. She steps onto the porch and catches the metallic scent of blood in the air. Pointing her weapon to her right, she finds the body, the murder weapon still protruding from his chest.
This was giving me ideas already.
“Is there more inside?” I asked.
His mouth turned up in a smile. “Oh yeah.”
I pushed the door open and crept in. Tingles raced down my back, but there was something exhilarating about it—about walking straight into fear. I knew it was because this was safe—none of it was real—but it was a heady sensation nonetheless.
Light streamed in through a dingy window and the cracks between the boards, illuminating floating particles of dust. Gavin hadn’t been kidding. There was more inside. A lot more.
A sheet of plastic stretched across a section of floor, splattered with fake blood, and a severed arm sat in the middle of it. An ax was stuck in the floorboards nearby. In another corner, a skeletal arm poked out of an old dusty chest. Rusty tools hung from the rafters and a rickety table and chairs were covered with fake spiderwebs. At least, I hoped they were fake.
He’d marked off the shape of a body using tape on the floor and a toy handgun—I could tell it was plastic—lay nearby, like the perpetrator had dropped it there and ran.
Other items in the cabin were more gothic or Halloween-ish. The old mantle had large candle holders and a black raven sat on a shelf.
I crouched next to the tape lines, my vision going hazy. I could see my protagonist doing a slow sweep of the area, investigating every detail. Looking for things that might have been missed. Trying to get inside the killer’s head.
Like pieces of a puzzle, the ending to my book clicked into place. I knew what needed to happen.
I got up and whipped around, running right into Gavin. “Oops.”
He grabbed my arms to steady me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” Maybe I should have stepped back—put a little space between us—but I didn’t particularly want to. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Just checking to see what you think.”
“This is…” I trailed off, having a hard time finding the words. “It’s one of the most amazing things anyone has ever done for me.”
He smiled, puckering his adorable dimples. “Yeah? I’m glad you like it. Did you get any ideas?”
“Absolutely. You were right, visual inspiration really helped.”
“Awes—” Something clinked outside, like the sound of a metal can toppling over, and he broke off before finishing the word. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah.”
We both paused, standing still in the ensuing quiet.
“Hello?” he called, his eyes darting around.
I held my breath, but nothing happened. Was this part of the setup?
“Maybe we should check outside.”
I nodded and grabbed his hand. We crept out the half-open door, and the hinges creaked. The sound made the back of my neck tingle and I scrunched my shoulders. He led me past the stabbing victim and down the porch stairs, taking slow, cautious steps.
My heart beat faster and the fun and excitement of the murder cabin started to melt into actual fear.
“You know I don’t write horror novels, right?” I whispered as we walked around the side of the building. “I don’t need jump scare inspiration.”
“I know. I didn’t put anything back here.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
There was a small clearing behind the cabin, the ground strewn with pine needles and twigs. A few pieces of graying wood suggested there had once been a stack of firewood back here, and a couple of rusty old tools peeked out from the debris littered ground.
“Are there bears out here?” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips and peered into the trees. “I don’t think it’s a bear.”
“Then what—”
Something crashed, I gasped, and Gavin dragged me to the ground. He threw himself on top of me, like he was shielding me from… whatever was out there.
For a second, I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid to even look. Was there a real murderer out here? Had that ax inside been left by the cabin’s terrifying occupant who was now going to chop us into bits for trespassing?
“What the fuck,” he muttered, but he sounded baffled, not afraid.
Of course, this was Gavin. Would a big hulking ax murderer be enough to scare him?
I peeked my eyes open. I was on my back with Gavin braced on top of me, and I slowly turned my head to see what he was looking at.
A rusty tin can with little gray feet scampered across the ground.
“What is that?” I asked.
“I think it’s a squirrel stuck in a can.”
I felt bad for the little guy, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my god. I thought we were about to be murdered.”
He smiled. “I did too for a second there.”
“Did something actually scare you?”
“It startled me. Even I can be startled by a weird noise when I’m in a murder cabin.”
The squirrel ran around the clearing in a disoriented frenzy.
“Should we try to help it?” I asked.
Before he could answer, a man jumped out from behind a tree. I screamed, and Gavin rolled off me, getting to his feet to stand between me and whoever it was.
“Harvey,” Gavin said. “What the hell, man?”
“Wait,” Harvey said. He was dressed in a worn leather vest over a flannel shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of brown boots. He had a stick in his hand and he used it to poke at the squirrel.
“Don’t hurt it,” I said, getting up, relieved that Gavin seemed to know him.
Harvey chased the squirrel a few steps and tried to nudge it with the stick. “I just want my can back.”
I quickly took off my coat. “Here, use this.”
Gavin took my coat and tossed it on the squirrel. Then he scooped the whole thing up in a bundle in his arms.
Harvey raised the stick over his head and for a second, I thought he was going to hit the squirrel—or Gavin. But he rested it on his shoulder and tilted his head.
“Don’t bite me,” Gavin said as he gently unfolded my coat, looking for the squirrel. “I’m trying to help, little bro.”
He moved a sleeve aside, exposing the top of the can.
“There it is,” Harvey shouted.
Gavin jerked the bundle away. “I got it, I got it.” He crouched down and lifted the can, then set my coat and the squirrel down on the ground.
The squirrel rubbed its little paws over its face a few times, then scampered off into the woods.
Gavin let out a long breath and handed the can to Harvey. “What was that about?”
“He stole my can.” Harvey held it up and pointed an accusatory finger in the direction the squirrel had gone.
“Yeah, they do that,” Gavin said with a laugh. “You okay?”
Harvey brushed off his vest. “I’m all right now. Sorry if I scared you, miss…”
“Skylar,” I said. “Skylar Stanley.”
“Do you need a ride back to town?” Gavin asked.
“No, now that I got my can back, I’m fine.” He tipped his old hat to me and gave me a crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Miss Stanley.”
Bewildered, I watched him happily clutch the rusty can to his chest and walk away, into the woods.
“Did that really just happen?” I asked.
“I didn’t plan that part, I swear.” Gavin grabbed my coat and shook off the dirt. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He held my coat while I slipped it on, then pulled my hair out from the back. The brush of his fingers felt good on my skin.
“You know, Harvey kind of reminds me of one of your characters. The drifter.”
“You read that book?”
“Yeah. It’s amazing. I totally thought he was going to be the killer. You had me completely fooled.”
I stared at him, wondering how many more times he was going to say or do something that tugged on my heart like that. Because if he did, it might start becoming a problem.
Just friends, Skylar. We’re just friends.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
But he gave me that smile again—the one that was all sweet brown eyes and dimples—and I had a feeling my heart was in trouble.
31
Skylar
There were several cars already outside Cara’s house when I arrived. She’d invited me to a watch party, although I wasn’t sure what we were going to be watching. I’d texted Gavin to see if he was going, and he’d said yes. Knowing he’d be there made me want to go, despite my usual avoidance of parties or other gatherings where I didn’t know people very well.
Or even sometimes when I did.
Now that I was here, my anxiety was telling me this was a mistake. What if I started talking about my characters like they were real people? I’d done that at a cocktail party once and it had been mortifying. Or maybe I’d start spewing morbid facts about the rate of corpse decay as it related to determining time of death like I had last Thanksgiving with Cullen’s family.
Not good.
But Gavin was here, and it was impossible to resist an opportunity to be with him.
I got out and marched up to the door, knocking before I could turn back into a mouse and dart away.
Cara answered, dressed in a gorgeous black and white off-the-shoulder blouse, black pants, and bright pink heels. Her hair was down and she smiled, her deep red lips parting over perfect white teeth.
“There you are. I’m glad you could make it.”
I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear and glanced down at my clothes. Under my coat, I’d worn a t-shirt that said careful or I’ll put you in my novel, and a pair of jeans. “Thanks. Am I under-dressed?”
She looked me up and down. “Not at all. You’re adorable. This is totally casual, so you’re fine.”
“Okay.”
I followed her inside and gazed in awe at her house. It was gorgeous. Big windows showcased a view of the river and the furniture looked both pretty and comfortable. A man in a white coat worked in the kitchen, and there was a bar set up, complete with a bartender mixing drinks.
“I’ll take your coat,” Cara said, and before I knew what was happening, she was already sliding it off.
“Thank you.”
Music played in the background, and I was surprised to realize I knew everyone here. Evan and Fiona, Asher and Grace. Levi stood talking with Grace and Fiona while Logan stood with a beer, looking mildly uncomfortable.
Gavin stood next to the kitchen island, chatting with the chef. As soon as I walked in, his eyes swung to me and his face broke into a smile.
My heart fluttered and my breath caught in my throat. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? It was quite unfair to people trying not to make fools of themselves at a party.
That was me. I was people.
He walked over with a beer in his hand. Thankfully, he was dressed similarly to me, in a t-shirt and jeans. It made me feel more comfortable. “Hey, Sky.”
“Hey. Is that a chef in the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Cara does that. She likes to throw parties, and they’re always catered with an open bar. Even on a random Thursday.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, they’re fun. Even Logan comes, although he always says he isn’t going to. This one’s kind of small, though. I wonder if she invited anyone else.”
“What’s going on with Logan and Cara anyway?”
Glancing at his brother, he shrugged. “I don’t know how it started, but they either hate each other or…”
<
br /> I nodded, catching his meaning. “Yeah, seems that way.”
That reminded me, I hadn’t asked Ginny about her breakfast date with Logan the other day. I wondered if she’d seen him again this week.
“By the way, are you busy tomorrow?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
He grinned. “Awesome.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
“Not yet. But trust me, it’ll be fun.”
“I have no doubt.”
Cara breezed around the room, smiling and chatting. Logan moved whenever she got close to him, as if enforcing a minimum distance requirement. She went to the bar and a moment later, came over with a glass of champagne.
“Here you go.”
I took the glass. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Help yourself to the food. It’s just heavy hors d’oeuvres tonight.”
Absently, I sipped the champagne, but my mind wandered. Something about the big windows and the view of the river set my imagination in motion.
Her home, just like her marriage, is picture perfect, her love of the finer things evident in every detail. But her pristine house is hiding terrible secrets, and her life is far from what it seems.
I turned the idea over in my mind. The killers in my books were always men, and the husband could be the primary suspect. But what if the twist was that the wife was the murderer? Would he be covering for her? Or would she have him fooled, too?
“But what’s her motive?” I asked out loud.
“Whose motive?” Gavin asked casually, as if I hadn’t just blurted out a random question completely out of context.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just had an idea for another book, maybe with an unreliable narrator. I’ve never written something like that before.”
“Sounds awesome,” he said.
“A book idea popped into your head just now?” Cara asked.
“Not a fully formed idea, but I think I know what I’m going to write next.”
When was the last time that had happened? Usually it took weeks of pondering once I’d finished one novel before I knew what the next book would be.
“Oh my god, you just made me even more excited for tonight,” Cara said, then turned to Grace. “Grace, how many kids do you want?”
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