by Patti Larsen
Maybe it was our utter stillness, the pug face-first in the falling leaves of the shrub, that kept them from noticing us. Or maybe they just didn’t care. But, as Frieda Tibbets and Eddie emerged from the trees not thirty feet away, it was clear their encounter wasn’t pleasant for either of them.
***
Chapter Fourteen
Though they weren’t really that far away, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eddie lunged, catching at Frieda’s coat and pulling her around to face him, his nose almost touching hers as they hissed their unhappiness at each other. It was clear she wasn’t welcome and knew it, had been likely up to no good. The redness of Eddie’s cheeks surely had less to do with the cold and more with the anger in his expression, in the way he carried his whole body.
Before I could decide if I needed to intervene to keep them from hurting one another, Frieda jerked her arm out of his grasp and stalked away. Eddie didn’t follow this time, though he looked about choked enough to do her harm. When she was almost to the corner of the building he spun and marched back into the woods, his reflective orange vest flashing in the sunlight as he vanished from sight.
Well, that was a show I hadn’t expected to witness, though I suppose it wasn’t a shocker, for all. It was clear to me Frieda had every intention to make sure Eddie’s little operation suffered for her disapproval, but by what means? I wondered what she’d been up to that he’d been forced to chase her from the property, though to be honest I found myself not really caring all that much as Petunia tugged on her leash, her inspection of the shrub over and her eagerness to continue her exploration taking precedence.
It wasn’t until I crossed the edge of the lawn into the shaded border of the tree line I found myself in my own confrontation, though the worried look on Dan’s face as he held up a hand, tromping toward me through the brush with his open rifle over his arm told me he was less upset by my appearance and more concerned.
“Please don’t enter without a vest.” I almost winced, catching myself at the last moment as I realized I’d been about to commit a rookie mistake. Seriously, what was I thinking? I wasn’t, I guess, though wandering the woods during hunting season without a reflective vest was a great way to become a target for inexperienced hunters.
“Sorry, Dan.” Yeah, I was blushing in embarrassment because I knew better. Dad would have kicked my butt if he’d been here. I might not have approved of the sport, but I’d spent enough time with my father in the woods as a kid that this kind of absentmindedness didn’t have an excuse. “Any luck out there?” Right, Fee, distract him so you don’t have to continue to hang your head in shame.
Dan’s expression shifted from anxious to slightly angry. “Not yet,” he said, sounding like that wasn’t something that shocked him though it did piss him off.
“Frieda was here.” He already knew that, though, didn’t he? “Eddie chased her off.”
Dan grunted something, shifting the open rifle on his arm, the double barrels facing the ground, balanced with the sort of surety born of long practice. “Not before she did the damage she came to do.” What did that mean, exactly?
I didn’t get a chance to ask. The sound of a gunshot rang out in the cool air, followed by a high-pitched scream of agony. I didn’t pause, didn’t think, ran beside Dan, vest or no vest, Petunia huffing to keep up, our destination only a short fifty feet or so into the thick underbrush. The trees caught and tugged at the pug’s leash until I was forced to bend and lift her into my arms. Dan stayed close, using his vest as my protection, until the two of us came to a huffing halt in a small clearing and the source of the scream.
Okay, so I wasn’t above the petty reaction that made me giggle and smother that amusement behind one hand, nor was I better than the arrogant response I embraced at the sight of Ryan Richards, his handsome face as pale as I’d ever seen it, with mud up to his knee on one side and an abandoned rifle on the ground next to him. The last of his scream still echoed as the rest of the hunting party joined us, Ryan shaking so violently he seemed about ready to burst into tears.
Now, as far as I’m concerned anyone who says tears are girly and unmanly and all those rather obnoxious misogynistic labels that keep guys from expressing themselves can go and take a flying leap. I’d been so angry in the past I’d wept out of sheer frustration, knowing it wasn’t weakness but, instead, inability to act. But seeing my ex near to sobbing from whatever it was that led him to be covered in muck and minus his weapon? Yeah, funny enough to my wretched sense of karmic satisfaction I almost taunted him.
Actually, the act of realizing who I was about to become—a bully—silenced me almost as fast as the exact same reaction, only sourced from the one other person in the hunting party I despised more than my ex. And that truth, seeing the wickedly hideous delight on Grayson’s face, hearing him laugh out loud at Ryan’s state of mind, that cut me deeper than anything.
Fee, seriously. Do you want to turn into that? Maybe it was time to get over myself already.
“Suck it up, boy.” Grayson clapped Ryan on the shoulder, staggering him. My ex blinked quickly, shaking subsiding, while Caleb dodged close and retrieved the rifle, scowling at it like Ryan dropped his baby on the ground, not an inanimate object. Well, boys and their toys. “You never fired a gun before?”
“Of course.” The shaking lawyer seemed intent on pulling himself together, reaching for the weapon though Caleb was reluctant to give it back. “That stupid pig knocked me over, that’s all.”
I glanced down, Petunia’s snuffling now super excited, Moose’s big head locked in position while he stared out into the trees. The small, sharp tracks of a wild boar marked the dirt, evidence Ryan had an encounter with the kind of creature even my dad would hesitate to cross.
“At least you spotted something.” Aiden seemed sympathetic, though frustrated, his own gun draped with casual ease. “The rest of us turned up nada.”
“Pathetic,” Grayson groused, grumbling as his humor at Ryan faded. “I wanted to shoot something, Eddie.” He turned toward Caleb, the barrel of his weapon swinging dangerously close to the young man who yelped and got out of the way. He barely hid his scowl, though he did a good job despite himself while Eddie responded in haste, as if to shut down what must have been a frustrating morning.
Did I say frustrating? The camp owner looked furious, though when he spoke he was apologetic enough. “We’ll try again after lunch, Grayson. I’m sure we’ll bag something this afternoon.”
“I’d suggest not.” Bill’s soft words seemed to hold weight, even with Grayson. Despite his nasty attitude, the businessman actually listened when the big guy spoke. Made me wonder what Bill had said to him to get his respect. “Whatever’s spooked the game, they’ll be fired up for a while yet. We’re likely not going to get a chance until tonight or the morning.”
Not my problem. I followed them back, keeping close to Bill and his vest as protection, Moose between me and the forest. Caleb hung back next to me, head down, jaw tight, lugging the big bag over one shoulder. When I reached out to help he shrugged me off with enough roughness I almost reacted badly. Until he met my eyes and tried a little smile of apology, one I accepted in my own mercurial mood. He’d been out here dealing with this bunch all morning, so he’d earned the right to be temperamental.
The clueless and trusting pug in my arms panted her delight at getting to have a ride instead of being forced to walk, though she wiggled her desire to be let down as we passed the border of trees and the men continued on, Grayson grumbling with Aiden, Eddie and Dan quietly arguing while Bill hung back, falling in stride with Caleb, taking half the weight from the young man. This time he didn’t seem to mind. Why, because it was another guy offering? Down, Fee. At least Moose seemed relaxed and at ease, not even needing a command to stay close.
“You take care, Fee,” Bill said. “Keep a vest on you, okay? Or better yet, stay on the property. Some of these boys don’t know a barrel from a trigger.”
Caleb grunted his
agreement. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
Bill didn’t comment. Didn’t have to, I guess. Nice of him to worry. Since he’d saved my life once before from a snowstorm—thanks to Moose—I guess he had the right to think he could protect me from myself.
I followed the two men inside, resisting the urge to argue I knew better, to prove myself to Bill, not knowing why I felt like I’d let him down, too, running off into the woods like that. Whatever. I puttered the rest of the afternoon, avoiding the men as best I could, knowing as the day went on and they drank far too much things could get interesting.
I took the time to double check I’d done what I needed, if only as an excuse to stay out of the way of Grayson’s growing volume and the red-cheeked flush that told me he was on one too many glasses of whiskey. As I paused inside Ryan’s room, I considered leaving him a choice delight courtesy of Petunia just to make his life interesting.
Until I remembered Grayson’s reaction, felt shame at even stooping so low and did my best to shake off my need to hurt the man who hurt me so very much. Who was still hurting me. I heard him laughing downstairs, felt that sound trigger me all over again and took a long, deep breath while I fought off the need to give him a reason to stop laughing.
No way was I going to go through the rest of my life letting Ryan Richards have this kind of power over me. I just had to find the right way to clear out the old hurts, right? Yeah, easier said than done. But sabotaging my own professional ethics to satisfy that hurt? Not going to happen.
I turned to leave, knowing I’d done my job, that this check in was just an excuse to avoid confrontation and wishing again I’d told Mom no. As I reached for the doorknob, though, all thoughts of Ryan and my lingering anger disappeared in a flash.
You know that feeling you get when someone’s watching you? That shivery sensation as if goosebumps are going to take up permanent residency on your arms and maybe the hair standing up on the back of your neck may never go down again? I spun as the feeling gripped me in an iron fist, gasping while I scanned the room behind me.
Nothing. No one. Not a soul. Just me and the reflection of me in the wardrobe mirror, staring back with huge, green eyes full of fear, my freckles standing out on my pale cheeks. I giggled then, realizing I’d been spooked by my own image and left the room.
Didn’t do much, though, to quell the feeling of unease despite understanding I’d scared myself for no reason. But it did feed my desire to get this stupid weekend over with and just go home already.
***
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m killing something tomorrow or else!”
If he talked about ending the life of an innocent creature for his own pleasure one more time, I was seriously going to kick him. It wasn’t like we weren’t all acutely aware of the fact Grayson Gallinger was disappointed in how his day went. As a matter of fact, the longer the afternoon and evening ran, the more whiskey he downed, the more vocal he became.
I’d expected him to start slurring as dinner rapidly approached, passed and night fell. But nope, clearly the man was accustomed to imbibing far too much alcohol than was good for him and managed to remain upright and coherent.
Lucky us.
I didn’t bother talking to Eddie about Frieda. From the whispered conversations I overheard between him, Caleb, Bill and Dan through the course of the afternoon and evening they were all fully aware of the fact it was likely she’d run off any game that might have made Grayson’s day. I, personally, was delighted he didn’t get to fire a single shot, and that the only bullet of the morning harmlessly murdered a small plant when Ryan dropped his gun.
“Where’s that gorgeous redhead? I need another slice of her cake.” Grayson clearly forgot he was supposed to avoid my mother, and I blamed the whiskey, though from the frowning focus Bill kept the drunken man under, it was clear he wasn’t getting anywhere near Mom. At least, not with his limbs intact. That meant I didn’t have to worry about her, a very good thing, thanks.
Speaking of said redhead, she appeared, Moose padding along at her side, offering up a nighttime snack of her favorite homemade popcorn mix. Maybe it was Bill’s attention or the sight of the 150 pound Newfoundland attached to her hip, but Grayson didn’t comment again, though I did note the way his drunken gaze followed Mom’s movements.
Gross. Just gross, dude.
“I’m retiring,” she said, no nonsense tone not even allowing her admirer an opening to be inappropriate. She sniffed at the guests and their apathetic unhappiness, though Adrian seemed smiley and friendly enough, nodding goodnight to her. “Breakfast at 6AM, gentlemen.” With that, she swept from the room, her giant, shaggy guardian never leaving her side.
I wished I could have just done the same, gone to bed and let them fend for themselves. And I almost did, except, of course, for the niggling pride lingering. This was what I did, taking care of guests, making sure everything was to their satisfaction. And while maybe I might have occasionally neglected such duties at Petunia’s or left them for others to attend to—especially when a case was ongoing, I admit it—knowing Ryan was here and that he was likely judging me for my actions? Yeah, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me shirk.
So there.
By the time they all drifted off to their rooms, I was about as grumpy as I’d ever felt, waving goodnight to Bill, not even pausing to chat, wishing this was all over already. One more night. One more day. I’d be home by 7PM tomorrow, and at Crew’s for dinner by 7:30 after a nice, hot shower to wash away the memory of this experience.
No, it wasn’t lost on me I’d failed to mention Ryan was here when I talked to Crew. In my defense, it wasn’t like the connection made it easy to tell him anything, so trying to explain my ex landed in my lap when my boyfriend might only get every other word wasn’t ideal. I’d tell him when I saw him, in person, and let him comfort me while doing my best to eliminate Ryan’s influence from my life for good.
How was I going to do that again?
Well, one thing was certain. Mom or no Mom, I was utterly and completely done with stepping outside Petunia’s from here on in. I had enough jobs, didn’t I? Dad making me a partner in Fleming Investigations, not to mention writing my column for the Reading Reader Gazette and my more than fulltime job keeping the bed and breakfast running was enough. My mother could recruit Daisy next time. Me? I was staying home.
It was after midnight by the time I made it to bed, tossing and turning for a while, unable to sleep. How delightful, then, to wake yet again with a shuddering feeling of being watched, my nightmarish dreams echoing with a deep tremor as if the ground itself shook. Petunia lurched to her feet beside me, though whether in response to my abrupt awakening or for her own reasons I didn’t know. Her low, deep growl followed by two short yipping barks while she stared at our reflection in the mirror of our wardrobe made me exhale in shaky relief.
“Stupid thing got you too, did it?” Terrible decorating choice, if you asked me. Why anyone would put a mirror in a place that could freak people out on a regular basis I had no idea. I slipped out of bed and grabbed my robe, draping it over the shining surface, cutting off the reflection.
But that didn’t seem to satisfy Petunia. In fact, hackles raised, she turned her attention toward the door. I helped her down, following her as she pawed at the exit, and let her out. She didn’t run off, though, staying close, as if whatever it was that woke her scared her enough she needed me at her side to be brave enough to check it out. Well, I was all for a bit of company, my own curiosity mixed with nervousness as I hesitated at the top of the stairs, the sound of distant footsteps fading from below.
Someone was up? Or, could it be our visitor from earlier had come calling? If Frieda was here, if she’d broken in, she’d likely be up to no good. And yes, my busybody brain went there immediately, lacking in trust about as much as my curiosity devoured protective instincts.
I could have gone back to bed and let Eddie deal with whatever Frieda—if it was Frieda—le
ft behind as a treat. Could have. Except, of course, my last name was Fleming.
I was partway down the steps when I heard a distant boom, the faint rattle of the chandelier overhead pausing my descent. What was that? Now fully nervous and with an anxious pug humming a constant growl at my feet, I continued down, heart beating a bit too fast for my own good.
The only thing that saved me from a shriek was Petunia’s sudden yip of surprise. Though the sight of a shadow passing across the dim light coming from the office, casting a long, narrow shade over the entry to the study almost turned me around and sent me back upstairs for Bill and Moose as backup. But, when Petunia settled and the shadow didn’t return, I forced myself to move on, one hand clutching at the neckline of my t-shirt like doing so could somehow save me from the serial killer—yes, I was a coed in a B-movie doing exactly what I shouldn’t do while the audience screamed at me to go the hell back upstairs, couldn’t I hear the dread-filled soundtrack building to a crescendo?
I paused at the entry to the study, breathing a little heavily. No one, nothing. The remains of the fire flickered in the hearth, enough light cast over the immediate area I spotted what looked like a folder on the coffee table and, curious, went to investigate.
And stopped, shocked to find a logo I knew embedded on the surface. Blackstone. But when I flipped it open and checked its contents, the folder was empty. How frustrating. Head down, I turned to retreat, go back upstairs after all. Except, to my disgust, I realized I’d forgotten to make sure the final guest made it to his room and the comfort of his bed.
