“What are we going to do with it?” Spencer asked, leaning in conspiratorially as though I was about to impart some evil master plan.
“Make flyers. Write it across the sky, of course,” I murmured, not able to roll my eyes for the pounding behind my left eye. I sighed, rubbing my temples again. I wouldn’t do anything in an official capacity unless it was warranted. But even if melodramatic, Spencer had been right in one respect: this was my town. And though I wanted revenge, I also wanted to protect what was mine.
CHAPTER SIX
Travis
“Goddamn it!” I yelled, holding my hands in front of me to shield my face from the geyser of water that was bursting from the pipe. How the fuck had this happened? I turned my head as I yanked my T-shirt off, attempting to wrap it around the place where the pipe had busted, but instead, the entire piece of piping came loose, breaking off entirely and falling into the pond of water on the floor of my upstairs bathroom.
I stood, splashing my way toward the door, almost slipping once and catching myself. I made my way to the shut-off valve as quickly as possible, twisting the knob with a yank. And though I’d shut off the water, the sounds of drips and flowing barely diminished. The pipe had to have burst sometime that morning. It’d filled the upstairs of my home and was leaking through the ceiling to the floor below.
My house was ruined.
For a moment I just stood there, dripping, my head down, wondering what else this week was going to have in store for me.
After a few minutes, I went in search of my phone.
Archer showed up just as the insurance agent was leaving and about an hour after the landlady had walked through the place, shaking her head and saying, “Oh noooo,” again and again. “These things happen,” she’d finally said, sighing. “That’s what insurance is for.”
I had insurance. I just didn’t have a place to sleep, as my mattress was waterlogged and the ceiling was at risk of caving in.
You can sleep on the couch, Archer signed, thinning his lips in a way that told me he wasn’t sure whether he meant it or not.
“God, no,” I said and even I heard the weariness in my voice. I’d come home wanting to face-plant onto my own couch and instead arrived to a scene from the Titanic. “There’s barely room for the five of you in that little gnome cottage.”
Archer smiled, not offended in the slightest, instead very obviously exorbitantly happy by the thought of said little gnome cottage, and all his people gathered there. But then his smile turned into a frown. There aren’t many rooms—if any—available in Pelion right now.
I grimaced. “Oh shit, that’s right. That blueberry festival taking place on the other side of the lake. Damn,” I murmured. Tourists had begun arriving earlier that day and business had spilled over into Pelion’s B&Bs—which was great news for Bree and all the other businesses in town that benefitted, but not so much for me. “I’ll figure something out,” I said.
He looked at me for a moment. You sure?
“Yeah. You know me. There are any number of women who will volunteer to take me in during my time of need.” I attempted a suggestive smile, but I could feel that it fell flat.
You’re the best! The best!
As if I’d said something that garnered sympathy, Archer pressed his lips together and patted my shoulder. I was sorry to hear about you and Phoebe.
“Where’d you hear about me and Phoebe?”
He shrugged. Around.
A small pang of humiliation went through me, but I kept my face neutral. “I didn’t see us going anywhere, anyway. It was for the best.”
He assessed me for another moment and then finally said, Okay. He must know I was lying—I’d told Bree the week before that Phoebe and I were serious and I had no doubt Bree and Archer told each other everything. They probably signed all their secrets while snuggled up in their bed in their little gnome cottage. Despite my inner eye rolling, the thought made me feel more depressed than ever. In any case, if Archer knew I was lying—which, again, I was sure he did—he didn’t press the issue.
I was grateful.
His shoes plunked in the water as he showed himself out. I stood there alone, feeling unusually . . . well, alone. Maggie and Norm would take me in, but their place was small too, and they didn’t have an extra room. Plus, if I became an unwitting witness to any sort of domestic displays of physical affection between the two of them, I’d have to find a therapist, or maybe a lobotomist, and a serious medical procedure wasn’t currently in the budget.
I thought of my mother but . . . hell no. I’d had a bad enough week as it was. I wasn’t going to make it worse.
I could pitch a tent on my property if I was truly desperate, but I still had to go to work, and getting ready for a shift with no running water would be challenging.
Spencer would take me in. Spencer would give up his bed and sleep in the bathtub or the doghouse if I asked him to. I massaged my temples, the very thought of enduring Spencer for nights and days on end making my head pound. The other guys who worked for the police department were married, but a few of my good friends at the firehouse who were bachelors might be possibilities—but only if all the B&Bs were actually full.
I grabbed my phone and started making calls.
All the B&Bs were actually full.
The rental cottages too.
I looked at the last B&B listed on the Pelion website I’d gone to. I’d disregarded it because it was in a sketchy area, right on the edge of town, a sort of no man’s land, that wasn’t exactly Pelion, and definitely not the ritzier side of the lake.
The Yellow Trellis Inn.
It was inexpensive compared to the others. And from what I’d heard, for good reason.
It was also run by a woman I’d heard the town refer to as “Batty Betty.” I thought I’d gotten wind of a story floating around about a dead husband and suspicious circumstances but couldn’t recall anything specific.
I picked one foot up, water streaming from my shoes. It couldn’t be worse than this. And definitely better than Archer’s well-worn couch where he and Bree had done who knew what in that little gnome home on the lake.
I picked up the phone and booked the last room they had available. “It has a lake view,” the woman on the phone promised, enthusiastically.
“Great,” I said. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but in that moment, the promise of a lake view buoyed my mood just a tad. Even this rental I lived in didn’t have a lake view. Then I packed some clothes, my work gear, and a few accessories into a duffel bag, all of which thankfully hadn’t been rained upon by upstairs plumbing, grabbed a dry pair of shoes, and headed to my car.
**********
The room definitely didn’t have a lake view.
“Right there,” the woman named Betty with the frizzy halo of blonde hair said, pressing her face against the glass and angling it to the side. “If you crane your head just so, you can see the edge of the lake.” She turned and smiled brightly as if having to meld yourself with the window to see an inch of water made it the finest room in the house.
What I could see—clearly and directly outside my window—was what appeared to be a headstone. “Is that a grave?” I asked.