Sinful Secrets Box Set: Sloth, Murder, Covet

by James, Ella

  “Darling.”

  It feels weird to have a woman act like that with me. Even more so because I liked it. I glance at her again across the burrow and it’s just…weird. I’ve known her less than a week, but it feels like a lot longer. When I look at her, I don’t see a near-stranger. I see Finley.

  I guess I could go back to sleep, but now I sort of feel like talking to her. We’re stuck in here together, after all, and I’m not losing my damn mind for once. I probably will be later, when the benefits of sleeping wear off. But right now, I feel close to normal. And I want to see her. I want to see her blush when I walk over to her.

  I pull my pants up, moving carefully, so I don’t draw her eye yet, and then get to my feet. My body doesn’t ache as much as it does sometimes. I feel so much better, I can’t help a cheesy grin as she looks over at me.

  The second our eyes meet, Finley’s brows arch and her lips round into an “o.” As I close the distance between us, she looks back up at the boulder again and then, reluctantly, at me. Nervous.

  As soon as I’m beside her, I give her a how ya doin’ look, and she drops her gaze down to her feet as her cheeks flush.

  I knew it.

  “Whatcha see down there?”

  She laughs softly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Woman is so shy, she can’t even answer me. I swat her messy ponytail.

  “I see something.”

  She turns to me with startled eyes, and I wiggle my brows. “Something in your hair.”

  “What was it?”

  “Bug.” I smirk.

  She makes a face, and I tug her ponytail again. “Got it that time.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  When she still won’t look at me, I close my hand around her ponytail and smooth it gently down. “How many times do I have to pull on this to see your face?”

  Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m relieved to find a small smile on her lips. A shy smile. I let go of her hair, and she looks down again.

  “Don’t be shy, Siren.”

  Her blush deepens. “I’m not.”

  “Yeah you are.”

  She shakes her head, pursing her lips as she examines the floor. I crouch down in front of her, and she laughs. “You’re so odd, Carnegie!”

  “I’ve been told that.”

  “Get up now.” Her fingers stroke my hair. “I want to show you something.”

  I stand, and she points up at the boulder, which looks bigger than it did last time I saw it.

  “Damn. You got a lot of rock down.” I hold my hand up, palm out, for a high-five before I remember she’s not a Sox bro, but she high-fives me anyway.

  “Push on it,” she whispers.

  I do, and it moves so much, my knees nearly give out with relief. “Well, hell. I think I might be able to move this fucker.” I look over at her. “Can you spot me?”

  She lets out a little squeal then bounces on the balls of her feet. “Wait! What does that mean?” She laughs.

  “Just push up on it like I am. If it gets unstable or I’m pushing and I lose my grip on it, I’ll give you some warning, and you can duck out of the way.”

  “Are you fine to do it? You don’t want to wait till later?”

  “I’m good.”

  I push up, grabbing the edge I now can reach since she cleared more rock from the cave’s mouth. I get my hands around the edge of the cool stone, noting that it’s not that thick: maybe eight inches. Using all the muscle of my arms and back, I push. When I feel it give and shift, I shove harder.

  Wind caresses my hands and my wrists, and I hear Finley laughing. I don’t dare look up. I push harder. No movement. I inhale, and then I push again. A bolt of hot, near-paralyzing pain shoots through my shoulder, but I keep on. I feel Finley pushing with me. When it doesn’t budge, she whispers something that sounds like a swear word. We both shove.

  There’s a scraping sound, and when I look up, I see blue sky.

  Oh, fuck.

  That’s enough space for Finley to slip through. I push the motherfucker one more time and the space widens. Finley’s shrieking.

  Her body smashes into mine, her arms wrapping around my waist as her face pushes against my chest. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus! We did it!”

  She squeezes me. I spread my hand out on her small back, feel her shake beneath my palm. She laughs but then it sort of sounds like crying.

  “I am not a crier.”

  “Sure you aren’t…” I rub big circles on her back, and Finley sags against me.

  “I can smell the ocean,” she sighs.

  I look at the swatch of sky. Then I scoop her up and lift her toward it.

  “No!” She locks her arms around my head, her legs around my waist. “I won’t go up without you, crazy man.”

  I set her down, and she gives me a look of disbelief.

  I shrug.

  “We’re a team.”

  I nod. “Partners.”

  I hold her pack as she stuffs everything inside. When we’re back at the cave’s mouth, she laughs. “Thank you!”

  “You did most of it. Chipping all that rock away is what did it.”

  Before I lift her up, I wrap my hands around the ledge of the cave’s mouth and ease my torso partway out. My burning shoulder makes my forearms quake. The sunlight hits me like a brick. But I can see the difference in the landscape. The slope-side and the valley—all of it a sea of broken rock. I look to my left and find the peak we traversed missing its archway and the rock spires.

  “You were right,” I tell her, easing back down. “That arch fell, and most of it is right on top of us. I’m gonna lift you up into a field of rocks—but it looks stable.”

  Shock moves over her face. “Did you see anyone?”

  I shake my head, and she blinks.

  “C’mon, Siren.” I shove her pack up through the gap and wrap my hands around her waist. A moment later, Finley’s smiling down at me.

  “There’s so much wind! C’mon!”

  My shoulder blazes as I lift myself, but coming out under the sky is worth it. Grass and wetness, stone and sea fill my nose. The sky has never seemed so big, so blue. I look up and down the valley.

  “Rocks are everywhere,” she murmurs.

  I nod. If they came looking for us, there’s no way they would have found us.

  Finley touches my leg, laughing softly. “Your shorts.” I look down. They don’t look like khakis anymore. “They’re filthy!”

  Fuck, they’re hanging off my hips. I fold my hand around the fly to hold them up.

  “Showing your underpants,” she chides.

  “You like it.”

  We walk through the valley like we’ve just stepped off a spaceship. The scent of grass fills my head. Finley turns a circle, grabbing my hands as she comes to face me. She grins.

  “You look horrid. Do I?”

  “Oh yeah.” I ignore the sudden dip of my stomach and smile back at her. “Like something the cat dragged in.”

  That makes her giggle. “We need baths.”

  We don’t try to go over the peak where all the rock fell. Instead we move through the valley toward the ocean, toward the Patches. Toward the road where I’m hoping the SUV I drove here will be waiting. When we round the peak’s grassy side, the ocean’s surface flashes brightly, making my heart beat off-rhythm.

  Finley’s hand finds mine. Our fingers intertwine. “You need a rest…in bed.”

  “I’m cool.”

  Her sad smile says she sees through me. By the time we reach the Land Rover, my legs are shaking.

  She reclines my seat, hands me some water. The cap’s off, but I don’t notice till it spills on my lap.

  “Blimey…”

  My head aches. My stomach feels somehow both sick and hollow.

  “When we get to town, they’ll likely crowd the Land Rover. I’ll lock the doors and only open mine. I’ll get out and explain. I believe I’ll tell them you’ve got a concussion. Perhaps a cracked rib. If you’d like, we’ll drive dire
ctly to the clinic.”

  I shake my head lightly, try to get my rubber mouth to form words. “Not there,” I whisper.

  I fall through silence as our tires bump over gravel.

  “Okay,” she says. “Gammy’s house, and I can bring what you need.”

  I try to stay awake, so I can listen if she wants to share more thoughts as she drives toward the village. But I guess I fail. When I open my eyes next, I see a sea of faces through the windows. Finley’s chair is empty. I can’t find the energy to lift my head again.

  Sometime later, I feel her move back inside the car.

  “How are you?” she murmurs.

  “Okay. You?”

  Everything is shaking with the tires over the road, and I feel fucking sick. The car stops, and I crack my eyes open, finding she’s parked right by the house’s door. She has it held open when I get to the porch.

  “There now…come on in.”

  She takes my arm. I let her. The house smells like lemons, and my head hurts really bad.

  I can’t follow her voice, but I know it’s nice and soft.

  The bed she urges me into is even softer.

  “That’s right…let me cover you up.”

  From somewhere that feels like a dream, I hear a phone ring. Not a cell phone.

  “Someone’s calling. I’ll be right back, Sailor.”

  The next time I open my eyes, dawn glows through the pale curtains, and I’m alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finley

  I didn’t realize until after Gammy passed, but she began work on Mummy’s wedding gown the week after Charles Carnegie departed. I know only because I treasured the gown dearly and was therefore quite familiar with its look and stitching. I found Gammy’s design sketches tucked into The Grapes of Wrath after we tucked her into her grassy resting place. The date was scrawled up top in her angular pen.

  Henceforth, I was left to wonder if the dress was made in hope or in surrender.

  Perhaps Mummy asked Gammy to make it, told her Charles would be returning to ask her hand. In the days just after he departed, I believe Mum surely felt emboldened by their dalliance. So it may be that Gammy set about sketching a gown fit for a Mrs. Charles Carnegie.

  Or it may be entirely the opposite. Charles departed, and my wise Gammy knew that Mum would wind up married to my father. She figured if it wouldn’t be a love match, at least Mummy could get married in a lovely dress.

  I stand before the mirror at the doctor’s quarters, pressing the dress to my naked body. I fold an arm across my chest and the dress, freeing up my other one to pull the tie from my hair. I spread my hair over my shoulder and I tilt my head a bit—so I look matronly. More like the Mummy in my memories.

  I tried to don the gown anew a few moments back, but over the years I’ve fattened up and I can’t fit into it.

  Tears well in my eyes as I peer at my reflection. I’m still drying from my shower. Anna shoved me in before she and my dear ones left. After Holly and Dot asked ten million questions about Declan, and I fed them quite a large number of lies.

  I look at myself, covered by the gown, and I open my jewelry box and remove Gammy’s diamond. It fits my finger flawlessly—along with the band. I lay the gown over a chair and twirl through the quarters wearing nothing but the jewelry.

  The phone rings off the hook, and not from anyone in need of doctoring. More people want to bring food. I told them back beside the Land Rover that no one should disturb Declan as he rests—so all the food’s been brought to me.

  One of the many times it rings, I answer, and it’s Doctor again. He called at the cottage, having heard from his friend Father Russo I had gone there, but I feigned connection troubles. Now I feel like I’ve swallowed a fish as he says, “If it isn’t dear, lost Finley…”

  I try a weak laugh. “I’ve been found.”

  “Russo said you arrived in the village, both fairly unharmed.”

  I swallow. “No one was seriously hurt. It was just the fallen rock that trapped us in a…more burrow than cave.”

  “No way out?”

  I nod, licking my lips. “It was horrid.”

  “I’d imagine. What’s he like? What did you eat?”

  “I had those Atkins bars that came for Joshua McGillin. Just a half dozen. We had those.”

  “You and the great Homer Carnegie.”

  “He’s quite…regular. You’d get on nicely, I think.”

  “Is that right? Too bad we’ll miss each other.”

  Doctor’s ship returns after Declan’s departs. “It is.”

  “So no injuries for you? My beloved nurse is well?”

  I nod. “I was quite lucky.” I lick my lips again. “How are you, Doctor? How is your father getting on?”

  “Someone should hold a pillow over his face.”

  I laugh. “You must be joking.”

  “Insufferable bastard.”

  “That’s really too bad.”

  “Without the bottle, he’d just as rather be gone.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It mustn’t be easy on you.”

  “Counting down the days until I’m back there. Try to tend my caseload, will you? No more disappearing. Gave me quite a fright.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The line crackles. “We’ll talk later. This has been a long ordeal. I’d like some rest now.”

  My heart pitter-patters. “I do have a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  I feel the sharp blade of his temper even through the phone line. I inhale…then let the breath out. “I need the location of the safe’s key. You know—”

  “The only one. Yes, I know. What for?”

  “For him—for Carnegie. He’s got an injury, a shoulder that’s giving him pain.”

  “Injured in the fall, then?”

  “I’m not sure when.”

  “Weren’t you there?”

  “Well, yes. But—”

  “Is it an old wound or a new one?”

  I bristle, as I almost always do in the past year when we speak. “Likely old. Truth be told, I didn’t ask.”

  “What do you need the safe for?”

  “Well, for the controlled substances. For the pain. I’d hoped to give a bit of something.”

  “Did he ask?”

  “He wouldn’t ask. But I can see it pains him. I didn’t want to broach the subject without having the safe’s key.”

  “Broach the subject? Is it a tough one then? I’m quite sure I’m missing something, but I don’t know where. Care to enlighten me?”

  I shut my eyes. “Doctor…he’s got a bit of history, I believe. That’s how I know he’d never ask.”

  “A history? And you want to give him more? Are you out of your gourd?”

  My stomach clenches. I feel foolish, as I always do around Doctor. “I don’t like to see him hurting.”

  “You’re too soft.”

  “Perhaps. Is there something I could give to help him rest or help with pain that isn’t those things?”

  “Nothing that you’d need a safe key for.”

  “What if the pain becomes unbearable?”

  “You won’t know then, will you? You just said he wouldn’t ask. And if he does ask, how can you trust him? That’s the trouble with you native Tristanians. Never having lived off the island, you’re ridiculously naive.”

  My stomach twists as anger builds. “Don’t be unkind, sir. I’m simply advocating for a patient. You know we can’t gauge injuries like that here on the island. Something in the shoulder could be torn or broken.”

  “In ordinary society, this is why one has what’s called a family doctor. Let him contact that person if he has a need, get a prescription. They can contact me. Until then, offer NSAIDs. And Finley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be wary of him. Sort like that—he’s damaged goods. Quite likely to do near anything.”

  My throat is tight as I whisper, “Okay.”

  There’s no arguing with
Doctor, but my eyes well as the line goes dead. I put the dress away and start on soup. I’m chopping onion when I slice my fingers. Blood pools all around the rings, so dark there in the shadows that it looks black.

  I put the rings away, bandage my hand. I curl up in an armchair while the soup burbles. The house feels empty.

  I can’t bring myself to call him.

  I don’t sleep but remain curled there in the chair until the sun is up. When other voices echo down the lane, it feels safe enough to rise.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Finley

  I open the door to find Dorothy standing on my small porch in a dreary fog. She’s grinning wickedly as she leans against the door frame.

  “Tell me all of it, trollop. You know I need to slurp back every detail.”

  “Slurp?” I lift my brows, and she lifts hers like a mirror.

  I run my gaze up and down her, taking in her lovely yellow dress and red sweater, her vibrant lipstick. “What have you got on, then?”

  She runs her hand down the fabric, which looks a bit like silk.

  “You were there when I made it. Saturday night sewing…” She twirls her hand in the air as if miming someone with a duster, and I swallow back shocked laughter.

  “You’re dressed for him!”

  She makes a duck face. “I’m dressed for me, but he could benefit.”

  My belly goes all topsy-turvy at her tone, but I make sure not to show it when I snort and say, “Saucy.”

  I turn back toward the kitchen, and Dot follows, her ludicrous heels clicking against the pale green linoleum. She spots some wedding cookies in a tin and pops one into her mouth.

  “Careful there, Madonna. You might ruin your lipstick.”

  She holds up a tube of it, and I realize she got it from a small, brown purse. Dot never carries a purse.

  “Ready for the ball then, are we?”

  “Aunt Bea lent it to me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Dot’s Aunt Bea is a mere six years older than her, three older than me. She married poor Oliver Green but sets her sights upon the tourists like she’s hoping she’ll be spirited away.

  Dot makes a silly face—a pretty face.

  “You’ve got white powder…” I wipe a cookie smudge off her chin, and she smiles. “What’s he like, though? Really, Finley. Humor me. I’ll help you carry everything.”