A framed placard hung by the front door. “Frank and Evelyn Blossom, your proprietors, welcome you to the Cherry Blossom B & B.”
“Hello? Frank? Evelyn?” I pounded my fist on the front door, waited, heard nothing, then did it again. “Don’t want trouble,” I called. “Anybody home, we’ll be on our way.” Again, only silence met my words. I peered through one of the windowpanes in the door, able to see only the shadowy outlines of a staircase and table beyond the gauzy curtain. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
I stalked around to the back of the house and banged on the kitchen door. Wasn’t surprised when nobody responded. Glancing around, I saw a generator next to the back porch. Good. In one corner of the yard, a wide pipe topped with a blue-painted well cap protruded from the ground. Better. If we got the generator running, we could pump water from the well and heat it for baths. Mac would love that. I imagined Mac, naked, wet, her skin slick with bubbles. Yeah, I was gonna make that happen. Not for my sake, of course, for hers. I’m an altruistic horny bastard.
My gaze traveled to the other corner of the yard, pausing on a mound of freshly turned earth. I walked over to check it out. Like I suspected, it was a grave.
“Evelyn Blossom, My Beloved Wife, My Best Friend, My Soul Mate.” Somebody—no doubt Frank—had painted the words in black letters on a wooden board. And underneath, “Wait for me, darling. I’ll be along soon.” He’d tacked a photograph of the two of them lounging on a sunny beach, a pretty, blonde woman of about sixty and a smiling, gray-haired man. From a nail driven into the board hung two gold-and-diamond wedding bands, tied together with a red ribbon.
I’ll be along soon.
Had Frank already been sick when he buried his wife?
Returning to the house, I entered through the unlocked back door and did a room-to-room search for Frank’s body. Kitchen, dining room, living room, basement, all empty. The master bedroom on the ground floor stood vacant, although the rancid smell, the sweat-stained sheets, and the glasses of water and bottles of aspirin on the nightstand indicated that this had been Evelyn’s sickroom. A rocking chair had been pulled close to the bed, and a book lay facedown on its seat. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats. Frank had read poetry to Evelyn while she lay dying. Jesus. Never considered myself a sentimental man, but that image was an unexpected punch to the gut. Before Mac, I would have shrugged it off. Now, I closed the door quietly when I left the room, leaving behind whatever ghosts or memories haunted the space.
Upstairs, the six guest rooms were immaculate, beds neatly made, thick white towels piled high in the en suite bathrooms, logs stacked in the marble fireplaces, ready for someone to strike a match and set them ablaze. Bowls of individually wrapped fancy chocolates sat on the nightstands. The rooms were ready and waiting for guests who would never sign in, but there was no sign of Frank.
Where was he?
I pondered the question, then on a hunch, stepped out the back door and strode across the lawn to the detached garage. The rolling garage door was down, so I entered by way of a side door. I recoiled when a putrid stink accosted my nostrils, and I buried my nose in the crook of my arm. Took just seconds to figure out what happened here. A dead man hunched over the steering wheel of a classic Mercedes 450SL roadster. A glance into the car confirmed that the key was turned in the ignition, although the vehicle had long since burned through all its fuel.
I’ll be along soon.
Frank had taken matters into his own hands. Carbon monoxide, rather than the flu, hastened his reunion with his wife.
Moldering corpses didn’t faze me. No. That was a lie. In the past month, stumbling upon the bodies of women and children had touched even my jaded soul. Still, I wasn’t squeamish, and finding Frank’s corpse troubled me less than discovering the book of poetry he’d read to his wife. Death was inevitable, and its aftermath often messy. Signs of genuine human caring and connection were rare. Later, after everybody was asleep, I’d bury Frank next to Evelyn.
I frowned, a memory shook loose by the poetry book. When they were scared or sad, Mac and Miles used to read children’s stories to each other. His loss was too fresh; the memory stung. I pushed it out of my head and turned toward the open door. Two five-gallon gasoline cans sat against the wall by the door. I hefted each one. Full. Meant we wouldn’t have to use our gas to run the generator. I deposited the cans by the back porch, then jogged to the front yard.
As soon as I rounded the corner, Mac jumped from the jeep and rushed toward me. Kyle and Sahdev followed closely behind.
“The place is clear,” I said. “Nobody around and no bodies in the house.” Nothing but the truth there. The corpse was in the garage. “There’s a generator out back and a well. We’ll have power and come evening, we’ll have hot water for showers.”
“I feel like I’ve been marinated in smoke. A shower sounds great,” Kyle said.
We parked the bike and jeep behind the house, next to the back door. Once the generator was up and running, Mac and I began to rummage through the kitchen, looking for something to fix for dinner. Kyle and Sahdev carried on a whispered conversation in the corner.
“You don’t need us for anything, do you?” Kyle asked.
Mac poked her head out of the pantry. “No. What’s up?”
“It’s a surprise,” Kyle said with a wink. He took a couple of stainless-steel bowls from a shelf. He whistled for Hector. “We’ll be back.”
“Wonder what they’re up to?” she pondered aloud, as Kyle and Sahdev took off.
I shrugged, then pulled three cans of chicken breast from a cupboard and set them on the counter next to a couple of cans of pineapple chunks.
Mac glanced at the cans, and her lips curved. She held up one finger, then retreated back into the pantry. She returned in a moment and plopped a bag of basmati rice down next to the cans.
“I know what you’re planning,” she said.
“Do you?” I grabbed her hips and pulled her close. Warm, pliant, and willing, Mac pressed against my groin, smiling up at me. “You figured out my nefarious scheme, Ms. Dunwitty?”
“You’re going to recreate the dinner you made for our first date. Sweet-and-sour chicken over rice.”
“That’s the plan,” I admitted, although now that I thought about it, I’d like to repeat more than the meal we ate.
That night changed everything between Mac and me. Girl hadn’t trusted me when we first met, my outlaw-biker reputation and all. Took awhile to earn her confidence. I’ll always remember what she said during that night, her words burned into my memory. The man I see when I look at you has a moral center and a brave and loyal heart. Resolved then and there to be worthy of her faith. And we spent half the night fucking, which was exactly what I was hoping Mac and I would do now that we were reunited. My cock twitched in anticipation and she grinned, grinding against me.
I groaned. “You’re killing me, woman.”
She tapped my nose. “Haven’t you heard? Patience is a virtue, Mr. Solis.”
I kissed the side of her neck, then caught her earlobe between my teeth before growling in her ear, “Never claimed to be a virtuous man, darlin'.”
She shivered and her eyes grew heavy. Mac had a weakness for bad boys. Lucky me. Despite all the shit that rained down on our heads today, I was definitely getting some tonight.