Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie

by Marianne Stillings

  Frustrated by that, she shoved the quilt off her legs and went to the enormous armoire that stood against the common wall her bedroom shared with the one next door—Max’s, as it happened. Quickly undressing, she slipped into her nightgown.

  By the light of the summer moon, she regarded the lovely armoire and her ghostly reflection in its oval mirror. The ancient piece of furniture was nearly as large as the wall itself, and so heavy it was immovable. Having been designed in a time before closets existed, it was wide and deep, able to hold a person’s entire wardrobe.

  As she began to close the door, a glint of something near the back caught her eye. With only the moon to guide her, she shoved the clothing aside and bent to investigate. A small piece of wood had apparently come unglued and fallen to the bottom of the armoire, revealing a brass knob about waist high.

  Her fingers closed around it and she tugged. Immediately, the back panel of the armoire silently slid open.

  Well, would you look at that. She straightened and stared at the narrow doorway, just wide enough for her to step through. Evie’s heart began to beat wildly as excitement tightened her nerves.

  When she first came to Mayhem Manor and Edmunds told her about the secret passageways, she’d tried to find as many as she could. Though she’d come across several, they all seemed to lead no farther than the adjoining room, which was not all that exciting for a little girl—no skeletons, no treasure, no ghosts—so after a while she lost interest and stopped searching.

  But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and there was treasure, and then there was treasure. If her theory held true, this particular passageway would lead to…

  A flashlight. Did she have a flashlight? No, dammit. Okay then, a candle?

  Quickly, Evie stepped back and hunted through the desk drawer for a candle. Ah, there. She found a book of matches, struck one and touched it to the wick. The acrid smell of sulfur nipped her nose.

  She held the candle in front of her, one hand cupped protectively around the flame. Stepping into the armoire, she peeked through the hole, holding the candle as far in as she could reach. Peering inside, she held her breath.

  The passage was narrow, made of wood and brick. It seemed to follow the line of her bedroom wall for as far as she could see. Beyond the reach of her candle flame, all was blackness.

  The temptation was too great. She’d seen all those movies where the nightgown-clad heroine was lured into a secret passage and then set upon by the villain or ghosts or killer birds or something. But this was different. She wasn’t going to go more than a few feet.

  Gingerly, she stepped through the panel and into the secret passage. Nancy Drew would be so proud.

  Instantly, the panel closed behind her.

  She turned, thrusting her hand toward the opening, trying to stop the door from shutting, but her movements were too quick. The flame on her candle flickered and danced and sputtered and died, leaving her in utter darkness.

  “No!” she cried. “Damn it, I hate it when that happens!”

  Reaching out, she slammed her palm on the wood. She felt around the edges for the knob to reopen it, but found nothing. Doubling her fist, she pounded on the panel.

  Options… options… options… Well, she could stand there and pound on the panel until somebody heard her, came into the room, figured out what had happened and let her out, but that could take all night, maybe longer.

  She let the candle fall to the floor as she placed her open hands on the tunnel wall. The air in the passage was warm and stale, and she figured if she didn’t get out of there soon, she might suffocate.

  Moving slowly to her right, she shuffled along the narrow corridor until she reached another wall. She felt around in the dark for a knob or a loose board, something that would trigger the mechanism that opened the panel to the adjoining room, but her fingertips were met only with smooth wood.

  “Max!” she yelled. “Max! Help!”

  Doubling both fists, she pounded on the wood and brick, but the thick walls seemed to absorb her yells, and she began to worry the tunnel was soundproof. She tried not to panic, but the air seemed to be getting awfully thin.

  “Max? Help me!”

  She pressed her palms against the wall, feeling her way in the darkness. The wood was rough under her fingertips, but nothing she touched felt like any kind of knob or handle, nothing that would open a secret door.

  Panting, her heart frantic in her chest, she doubled her fists again and pounded, screaming her head off. Then one of her punches did something. A panel slid open and she fell through, right into Max’s waiting arms.

  Chapter 18

  Dear Diary:

  We learned about sex at school today. How gross! How disgusting! They say that’s the only way people can get babies, and that it is just how life is formed, but still! I guess I’m never going to have a baby because I will never, ever, ever, never, ever do that with a boy! Yuck!!!

  Evangeline—age 12

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “Right here.” Sam Ziwicki produced the Smith & Wesson .357 Revolver that had once belonged to the late, highly unlamented T.E. Heyworth. “I’d like to keep it, if it’s all the same to you. Thanks for the memory, and all that.”

  “Give it to me. Is it loaded?”

  Sam grinned as he handed over the gun. His customer was so testy tonight.

  “I only spent a few bullets. Waste not, want not, my grandma always said. She lived through the Depression, you know, and they all say that.”

  “Where’s the boat?”

  Talk about a one-track mind, Ziwicki thought. Christ, lighten up. “It’s all snuggled safe inside a very out-of-the-way boathouse over on Whidbey, just like we discussed.”

  There was a pause, then, “Was there any damage to the hull?”

  “Yeah, the bow got smashed up a little. After things simmer down, you can get it fixed.”

  No response.

  Since he’d gotten out of the army a few years back, he had done a lot of custom work for this guy, but he had frankly never enjoyed it. The pay was healthy, and it sure put the sharpshooting skills he’d picked up in the service to good use. Highly decorated, that was him. After his mother had died, her sister had raised him; his aunt had all his medals tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

  She was real proud of him, too. Showed them off to all her old crony friends whenever the spirit moved her, even though she never let on it was still how he made his living. She told them he was a successful entrepreneur, and sort of left it at that. Yeah, popping people off was pretty lucrative, all right. “I’m not happy with you, Sam.”

  Uh-oh. Pissed off again? Some people were just so friggin’ hard to please.

  “Why not?” he protested. “I done the jobs. Heyworth’s dead, ain’t he?”

  “But you failed to eliminate that annoying poet.”

  Sam shook his head. “Now, see. I don’t know what happened there, because I had the guy in my sights and I just do not see how I could have missed.”

  “The fact that he’s alive and well and showed up for Heyworth’s idiotic game proves you were sadly mistaken.”

  With a shrug, Sam said, “We all got our off days, you know? Now, the thing at the tavern went down bad, that’s true. But I finally got her with the boat. She’s—”

  “Alive.”

  Sam’s brows shot up. “No shit,” he drawled as he casually unwrapped a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. Spearmint, his favorite.

  “No shit. Honestly, I can’t afford any further screwups. I have so many loose ends to tie, then move on before the cops begin to probe too deeply. Your incompetence has added to my stress, Sam, not to mention putting me in jeopardy.”

  “Hey,” he laughed. “That’s my aunt’s favorite show. ‘I’d like Potent Potables for five hundred, Alex.’ ”

  Sam chewed his gum, letting its minty sweetness tickle his tongue. “Look, I followed them from her house and waited until I seen them leave the dock. No run
ning lights, just like you said. It was getting foggy so I stayed close behind, but not so close so’s they’d get freaked. Then, when the time was right, wbammo! They never seen me coming. And the boat’s hid so good, it’d take a fucking psychic to find it. Just like always, nothing ties any of this to you. See?” He smiled. “What say I try again tomorrow? No extra charge.”

  The location for their meeting was nice—a windswept cliff above Port Henry where you could see the whole town, the harbor lights, the bay, and all the way out to Heyworth Island, Whidbey Island, and, on a clear day, clear on up to Canada. They’d met here before, several times. It was private property. Nobody would bust in on them, so, while his grumpy employer stood a few feet away, Sam decided to simply enjoy the view.

  “I don’t know, Sam. I’m just not happy about any of this.” He rubbed the barrel of the revolver with his thumb.

  Sam shrugged. “Hey, it’ll be okay. Besides, if you’re worried, just give me what you owe me, and I’ll, you know, like, disappear.”

  A second passed, then another. Slowly, the barrel of the gun shifted until it pointed directly at Sam’s heart.

  “Interesting choice of words, Sam.”

  And then Sam disappeared.

  “Well now,” Max said. His voice was filled with husky appreciation; his hands were filled with Evie. “Will you look at what popped out from behind Door Number One?”

  As he hugged her to him, her fingers curled over his very broad, very naked shoulders. Against her breasts she felt the smooth muscles of his chest.

  Against her belly, the taut muscles of his stomach. Against her hip, okay, that was no muscle, but it was definitely worth noting.

  “In the armoire in my room,” she said. “There’s a secret door and…” Her words dwindled away as she realized they might not get much talking done tonight after all.

  Moonlight washed his room in silvery tones, grazing his cheekbones and sensuous mouth with its light, illuminating the side of his strong neck, the curve of his shoulder, the rounded muscles of his pectorals.

  He looked over her head to the large mirror behind her, open now like a door. He peered inside, then pushed it closed.

  “I wondered what all the racket was,” he said. “I figured it was either you or a steroidal mouse. I was beginning to think I might not have enough bullets to bring the sucker down.”

  He ran his fingers along the mirror’s frame. “So a panel in your room leads to this mirror in my room. Intriguing. It probably made secret assignations much easier that way.”

  “Pr-Probably,” she stumbled. “You’re naked.”

  “Pretty convenient, huh.” He chuckled. “I was just getting changed to come to your room, but unimaginative traditionalist that I am, I was going to use the door.” His arms tightened around her a little more. “But this works. This definitely works.”

  Against her breast she felt the rapid beating of his heart. Deep inside and low, she tightened. Oh, yes. Naked. Making love. With Max. Oh, yes. Her eager body remembered him fingering her sex, sliding into her, bringing her incredible pleasure, leaving her wanting so much more. And tonight… oh, yes…

  He was silent a moment, then murmured, “Busy day, wasn’t it?” His hand glided to her hip.

  She nodded.

  “You’re probably beat.” His hand moved up her rib cage.

  She nodded again.

  “Way too tired for any kind of strenuous activity.” His thumb grazed the bottom of her breast.

  Her breath caught. She swallowed.

  “Guess that leaves it up to me.” His thumb brushed across her taut nipple.

  Oh God…

  He slid his hands under the shoulder straps of her nightgown.

  A little cry escaped her throat as the silky fabric slipped down her breasts to catch on the peaks of her upturned nipples. He shoved the bodice down to her waist as though he were too hungry to wait, too impatient for patience.

  “Jesus, Evie,” he panted as he stared at her bared breasts. He bent, took one nipple into his mouth and sucked.

  Her high cry mingled with his groan of satisfaction. Pleasure swirled through her with every lick of his tongue. Cradling his head in her hands, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, learned the shape of his skull, the strength of his neck and shoulders as she held him to her breast.

  He grabbed the edges of her nightgown and tugged it down over her hips until it pooled at her feet. Immediately, his hands were on her bottom, gripping, kneading, tugging her against his loins.

  She muffled a small cry, and he stopped.

  “Did I hurt you?” His low voice was edged with concern.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, lowering her head. “It’s the bruises. They’re still terribly painful.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Evie,” he rushed. “Did I hurt you before, too? Why didn’t you say something? Maybe we should wait—”

  “No!” Her head came up and she put her fingertips to his mouth. “Don’t say that, don’t even think it. If you don’t make love to me tonight, I’ll… I’ll…”

  Suddenly, his hands and mouth were everywhere, making her body sing with delight. His touch was tender and he was careful to stay clear of the bruises on her shoulder and hip.

  Then his arm went under her knees and he lifted her, taking her to the bed. He laid her there, pushed her knees apart, and settled himself between her thighs, taking her open mouth in a lusty kiss. He lifted her arms over her head, dominating her, keeping her body completely available to him and to whatever he wanted to do to her.

  Evie arched against him, rubbing his erection until he moved his hips and the head of his penis slid into place… there. Right. There. She wanted to scream from the pure sensation of it, but she was breathing too hard to catch enough air.

  Breaking the kiss, he pulled out of her and grabbed for the nightstand. A packet tore open, his hips moved, then he was poised over her again.

  Panting, he said, “Jesus, Evie… you’re like a candy store, and I want a bite of everything I see. I want it all.”

  She wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted herself to him. Her eyes closed, her back arched, she whispered, “Then take it.”

  She felt every inch of him as he slowly entered her. Kissing her neck, he put his mouth next to her ear and panted, “Good?”

  Dear God, yes. He thrust into her again.

  Sensation reached every corner of her body as he gently thrust in, then pulled out. She felt the heaviness of his muscles and bones on her, the strain on his arms as he held himself a little away so as not to crush her. The movement of his smooth chest against her breasts increased the pleasure a hundredfold.

  She slid her hands down his taut stomach and flattened her palms over his hips. The movement pushed her breasts together, allowing him to lick each nipple in turn.

  Her body went rigid and she couldn’t catch even the smallest breath. Mounting pleasure shut down her brain, and it was all she could do to hang onto him while her orgasm swelled. One last thrust, one last lick, one more lusty kiss, and she cried his name, clenching around him over and over as the pleasure of her climax caught her and would not let go.

  The world disappeared. There was only Max and his heat and the feel of his skin under her palms, the harshness of his breath against her neck, then the taste of his mouth on her tongue.

  He groaned and made a low-pitched choking sound, slamming into her until the force of his own release had him cry out.

  Wrapping her arms around him, she held him close, feeling the lovely beating of his heart against her own. Simply being near him had made her feel sexy and feminine, special in a way she had never known. Kissing him had set her body on fire. Now, making love with him brought her to a new level of awareness, of satisfaction, of finally feeling whole.

  He remained inside her. She contracted her muscles, squeezing around him a little, and he laughed against her neck.

  “Give me a sec, okay?” His body was hot, his forehead damp.

  “A sec?” sh
e purred.

  He shifted and looked into her eyes. “Okay. Two. Tops.”

  “Wow. I am impressed.”

  As he brushed a stray lock of her hair off her face, his eyes grew serious. “Stay with me tonight.”

  She smiled tentatively. “Of course I will. Why? Do you usually send your women packing as soon as you’re done?”

  There was silence for a moment, then he whispered, “Yes.”

  Oh. I see…

  “Well, it all depends,” she said softly, trying to shove her fears aside. “How many condoms do you have left?”

  Max generally awoke slowly of a morning, but he was rarely disoriented. He always knew where he

  was, what he’d been doing, who he’d been doing it with, and where he’d left his gun.

  Though he avoided putting himself in that position anymore, he was still aware that the morning after a long night of first-time sex was often fraught with emotional peril. So he’d mentally prepared himself to feel what he usually felt when he accidentally ended up spending the night with a new woman—the urgent desire to thank her for a great time, then beat a hasty retreat.

  But not this morning.

  No, on this particular morning he wasn’t done doing what he had been doing and hadn’t done nearly enough of, and if the sleeping woman in his arms could be made to see reason, he’d be spending the next several decades refining the details.

  Evie’s butt was nestled snuggly in his crotch, her smooth back pressed against his chest. He frowned as anger heated his blood.

  Even with the room still veiled in shadows, he could see the deep purple of the contusion on her shoulder, evidence of her near fatal fall in the barn. Silently, he renewed his vow to get the SOB who’d done it to her.

  Her injuries were part of the reason he hadn’t made love to her last night as much as he’d wanted to, part of the reason he was both sated and yet hungry for more of her.

  The honeysuckle scent of her hair blended with the musky aroma of sex, flaring his nostrils like a wolf scenting his mate. He inhaled deeply, then bared his teeth and tenderly bit her unbruised shoulder. Ending the attack with a kiss, he found himself enthralled once more by the incredible softness of her skin.