“Drinking.”
“But don’t tell them that.” He took two of the wineglasses. “They might try to witness to us or something.”
Evy grabbed the others. “Oh my God, what if they do?”
“Then start acting like you don’t feel well.” A deep breath lifted his chest before pushing back out between his teeth. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Evy led the charge back outside, pasting a pleasant smile across her face.
“Let me get that for ya,” Jim said, taking the wine opener from Dean and cutting the foil around the top of a bottle. Twisting the corkscrew, he studied Evy, who shifted uncomfortably next to Dean on the couch. “Did y’all hear the news?” he asked, pulling the cork out with a pop.
“News?” Dean traded a nervous look with his wife. Their act of exhibitionism at the bait shop skipped through his mind. Cameras are everywhere these days and it’s probably plastered all over social media by now. He cringed. How could they be so stupid? The real Jr is probably whacking off to it at this very moment. Dean swallowed dryly and cleared his throat. “What news?”
Filling her lungs, Trisha pulled her yellow dress down and spilled the beans. “They found two men dead in a plumbing van down the road from us,” she said, thumbing to the gravel road out front.
Everything got quiet and the world rushed past Dean in a long, hollow blur. He came to a screeching halt, finding himself staring into Trisha’s big blues. After what he and Evy went through with Clay Crawford and Mr. Ryder, he was more than jumpy. And understandably so. “What happened?”
Jim poured wine into the glasses and undid a shirt button. Dark chest hair curled out from his lavender button-down. “Looks like someone might’ve pulled the old Beverly Hills Cop trick and stuffed a banana up the van’s tailpipe. Carbon monoxide poisoning.” Wine gurgled into the glasses. “Poor guys probably fell asleep with the heater running,” he said, handing Evy a glass. “Can get cold out here at night.”
“Oh my God,” she said, taking the glass. “Gosh. I mean, oh my gosh, that’s horrible.”
He smiled at her correction and passed out the other glasses. “You come out here to get away from that kind of stuff and, somehow, it follows you here.”
A sudden gust lifted Evy’s hair from behind, making her shudder. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat and lightning flickered on the horizon, the sky growing as dark as the feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Do they have a suspect?” he bravely asked, sipping some chardonnay.
“The authorities think it may be a double suicide,” Trisha said, swirling wine in her glass. “But they’re not ruling out foul play either.”
Dean and Evy looked at each other, flinching with a sudden clap of thunder. “But they don’t have anyone in custody?”
Jim pressed his lips tightly together. “Not yet.”
“I guess we could have a murderer on the loose.” Trisha shivered as if someone just walked over her grave. “Scary to even think about.”
“As if the bears weren’t bad enough,” Jim chuckled, tipping his glass back.
Dean took another lackluster drink, wheels turning in his mind. Lightning flared and a loud peel of thunder was quick to follow. The stars disappeared behind a rolling cloudbank and the skies opened up, dumping buckets of rain that blurred the surface of the lake.
Shrieking, Evy scooped up her glass and hurried inside. Dean ran for it as well, Trisha and Jim laughing and following close behind.
Evy shut the French doors behind them and locked the deadbolt against the wind. Watching the firepit go dark, she turned from her wet reflection to face everyone in the dimly lit living room. Water dripped from her hair and nose. Lightning flashed, turning her to a silhouette against the glass. “Well, that came out of nowhere!”
Jim set a wine bottle down on a coffee table and shook water from his rain spotted shirt. “They say if you don’t like the weather around here, wait five minutes.”
Trisha looked down and spread a sheepish smile. “Looks like I wore the wrong dress this evening.”
“Oh, my word,” Jim said with a weird laugh.
Dean stared at the dark nipples peeking through her wet dress. Looking up, Trisha gave him a warm smile, making no attempt to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Evy rushed across the room. “I’ll get some towels.”
With water dripping from his hair, Dean struck a long match against the stone hearth. Touching the flame to the kindling Kirby stacked inside, the fireplace came to life, lighting up the room.
“This is such a cute cabin!”
He glanced at Trisha and forced a weak smile. “Thank you. It belonged to my parents.”
“You’ve been coming here since you were a kid?” Jim asked, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Lucky kid,” he grunted, surveying the pictures on the mantel.
“Do your parents come here often?” Trisha asked, bending for a closer look at the photograph from atop Vail mountain.
“Uh…” Dean trailed off to swallow thickly, warm tentacles of air slipping between his legs. “They actually passed away in a car accident several years ago.”
She covered her heart. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s okay. This is the first time I’ve been here in a while, and it’s been good to be back.”
Jim lifted his brow. “So…what’s the special occasion for your return?”
“Here we go,” Evy panted, coming back into the room and passing out towels.
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Dean answered, drying his face.
Trisha’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations you two!”
“Thank you,” Evy replied, toweling off her hair. “I didn’t even know he owned this place until yesterday.”
“Wow, really? That sounds like a pretty special wedding present.” Jim gave Dean a wink of endorsement.
Tossing a towel on the recliner, Trisha raised her wineglass into the air. “To Evy and Dean! My heart is ever at your service.”
“Here, here,” Jim approved, clinking his glass against hers.
Sipping wine, Jim and Trisha took the couch while Dean and Evy snuggled up on a loveseat near the budding fire. The room grew quiet. Flickering shadows changed their faces. Jim seemed like he was going to say something but brought a fist to his mouth and coughed instead. Trisha patted his leg in a soothing manner, eyes jerking between Evy and Dean, a pleasant smile attached to her lips.
“Is anyone hungry?” Evy asked, looking for another excuse to get out of the room. There was a blanket of tension smothering the conversation that Dean couldn’t quite put a finger on. Trisha probably told her husband about catching him naked last night – and that was definitely awkward enough – but that wasn’t it. They didn’t seem upset or concerned. No, it was something else.
“No, thank you, Evy,” Jim replied, resting an arm along the back of the couch. “We hit the marina for some fish and chips and it was well worth the drive around the lake.”
“Best fish fry I ever had,” Trisha affirmed, sipping more wine.
Jim scooted to the edge of the couch and squinted at a bookcase across the room. “Scrabble!” he announced, eyes getting round. “My specialty. Anyone care for a quick game?” Lightning pulled his gaze to the rain streaked glass before thunder vibrated the pictures against the walls. “Looks like we might be stuck here for a bit.”
Dean’s spirits sank with the white wine going down his throat. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. He could barely keep his eyes open and knew Evy was in the same boat. Probably worse. She wasn’t used to wakeboarding beneath the summer sun all day and her beet red shoulders were proof.
“It’s really coming down,” Evy admitted, trying not to sound glum and failing miserably.
“We can play teams.”
Eyes jerking to Trisha, Dean stopped the wine glass in front of his lips. “Teams
?”
“That’s a great idea, sweetheart!” Jim rubbed his hands together. “How about Evy and I against you and Dean? Shake things up a little.”
“That is a wonderful idea,” she exclaimed, getting up and crossing the room.
Evy traded a disconcerted look with Dean that made him wince inside.
Yawning, he leaned back into the loveseat and stretched an arm along the back. “You know, I’m not sure I can last for an entire game,” he said, blowing out a tired breath. “It was a long day out on the boat.” Absorbing the blank looks coming from Jim and Trisha, he cleared his throat. “In the hot sun.”
“It goes much quicker with teams,” Trisha assured him, prying the Scrabble box from between Monopoly and Scattergories while Jim made room on the coffee table. “You know what they say: two heads are better than one.” She stopped in front of the loveseat and smiled down at Evy. “Evy? You wanna trade places with me?”
Thunder cracked, rattling Evy nearly as much as the question. “Uhh,” she said, looking to Dean for help. “Okay.”
Grasping at words just out of reach, he watched her get up and go sit next to Jim. He wanted to throw her a life preserver but the cushion next to him dipped when Trisha sat down, sinking his rescue. She set the game down and kicked off her sandals, her sweet-smelling perfume wafting over him on a warm wave, choking his thoughts.
“I’ll have you know, Dean,” Jim started, pulling the top off the old-fashioned box, “Trisha used to teach English, so you are in good hands, my friend.”
She patted Dean’s knee like she did to her husband, making him tense up. “Fourth grade English, but I think we’ll do alright together.”
“Don’t worry, Evy. I’m no slouch myself.” Jim spread a devilish grin. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Dean watched him remove some old sheets of notebook paper covering the folded board and his heart started beating faster in his chest. The handwriting pulled him closer to the coffee table. Grabbing the top page, Dean brought it to his face to examine it in the fire’s jittery light. His underlined name sat just above a column of mounting scores on one side of the page – Sarah scrawled across the other with her tally listed below. He swallowed thickly. How long had it been since he’d seen his mother’s handwriting? Ten years? More? Even then, he would recognize it anywhere and fought tooth and nail against the tears building in his eyes. Over in the margin, his blurry gaze stopped on a small doodle of a rose – one of his mother’s favorite things to draw. She drew them everywhere, from bare spots in magazines to the chalkboard hanging on the pantry door. Half the time, Dean wasn’t even sure she knew she was doing it. Sometimes she would draw them while humming along to some magical tune playing inside her head and other times she would…
“Dean?”
Looking up, he found Jim’s waiting eyes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I just…”
Trisha set a hand on his forearm. “Is Sarah your mother?”
Staring at the score sheet in his hands, he replied with a shallow nod. “Yeah.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, tossing Jim a pitiful look he didn’t care for. “We certainly don’t have to play.”
“No, it’s fine. I just…haven’t seen any of this stuff in a long time.” Dean met Evy’s glassy eyes head on and forced a tightlipped smile. “It’s time to create some new memories.”
Smiling weakly back, she ran a finger beneath an eye.
Jim swept his glass up and lifted it into the air. “To new memories,” he said, cheering everyone and taking a long drink. Dean ignored him and unfolded the Scrabble board he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen or seventeen. There came a time when he didn’t want to come here anymore. Didn’t want to play board games with his mom or go fishing with his dad. A time he chose to spend with friends instead, drinking beer and chasing girls. A time that made him sick to his stomach. If he’d known his parents would vanish from the face of the earth less than two years later, he would’ve played one more game on this worn-out board. Would’ve beaten the sunrise to Lost Cove with his father one last time.
“When I was young,” Trisha said, stirring him from his thoughts, “my grandmother and I would play cribbage on her sunporch for hours at a time. Nanna would make sweet tea and pans of lemon shortbread to keep us running long into the night.” She sighed, lowering the chest desperately trying to escape her wet dress. “It’s innocent moments like that I miss the most. Things were different back then.”
Jim snorted his amusement. “They sure were. Now, people can’t stay off their phones long enough to hold a decent conversation.”
“Amen.” Trisha leaned back. “Heck, we can’t even let our kids walk to school alone and it’s a doggone shame. I used to love walking to school with my friends but it’s just not safe anymore.”
Evy cradled her wineglass in both hands. “How many kids do you have?”
Jim gave her the peace sign. “Donavon just turned fourteen last week and Brittany will be sixteen in the fall.”
“My sister is watching them for us and it is so nice not to have to take anyone to soccer or band practice at the crack of dawn.” Trisha crossed her legs. “I love those kids to death but I get tired just thinking about them.”
Jim chuckled. “It’s sure nice to have some alone time. How about you two?” he said, placing a tile holder in front of Evy. “I know you just got married but this place will be great for kids.”
“We were just talking about that,” Evy sheepishly confessed. “They will love it here, but we’re in no hurry.” Looking at Dean, she smiled weakly. “Right?”
He set a tile holder in front of Trisha. “Right.”
Thunder cracked and Evy and Trisha screamed at the same time before bursting into laughter. The lights flickered and everyone watched the floor lamp steady itself in the corner.
“That’s not good,” Evy muttered, sinking into the couch.
Jim held open the velvety bag of letters. “Shall we draw to see who goes first?”
“Maybe we should draw to see who draws first,” Trisha cackled. “Just kidding! Go ahead Evy.”
Jim held the bag out to Evy and then Trisha, who dug down deep to the bottom.
“Okay Evy,” she said, holding a fist out. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Evy opened her hand, revealing an X tile.
Smiling coyly, Trisha unwrapped her fist. “E!” she squealed, returning the tiles to the bag and shaking it up. She picked seven letters and passed it to Jim. Huddling together, Dean and Trisha studied their tile rack with soft whispers floating from their lips. Lightning strobed before plunging them back into the warm glow of the fireplace. Trisha leaned against him, flushing his side with heat and whispering in his ear. He tried not to look down her dress while Evy and Jim strategized across the table.
Trisha patted Dean’s knee and began laying letters across the pink star in the middle of the board.
His eyebrows dipped. “Ramrod?”
Jim laughed. “What the heck is that?”
“You know, like to clear the barrel of a firearm with a ramrod,” she said, proudly reaching into the bag to replenish their rack. “My daddy was an avid hunter and, don’t forget, that’s a doubleword score.”
Shaking his head, Jim wrote it down. “What do you think, Evy?” he said, setting the pad next to the board.
She studied their letters and tapped a finger against her lips.
Jim pointed at the tile rack and whispered something in her ear. Frowning, she gave him a weak shrug. He nodded and began placing tiles on the board. Looking up, he clasped his hands together and grinned.
Dean arched an eyebrow at him. “Doggy?”
Trisha chuckled. “That’s a good one, Jim,” she said, elbowing Dean in the ribs. “We have two little doggies at home and they are always getting into such trouble.”
Jim woefully shook his head at Evy. “Always digging around in places they know they shouldn’t.”
“Ha!” Jim bellowed. “If you call a chicken bone the forbidden fruit.”
The duo shared in some rolling laughter while Evy’s eyes darted to Dean, who was waiting for her stare. He knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it as well.
“You sure you guys aren’t hungry?” he said, pulling on a Brewers ballcap and getting to his feet.
Jim exchanged a quizzical look with his wife, lips pulling down at the corners. “Uhh, if you’re having something, sure,” he replied, retrieving new letters from the bag.
“Hurry back, Dean.” Trisha curled her legs beneath her on the couch, dress rising just enough with the movement to reveal she was going commando tonight. “It’s our turn.” She winked at him.
Flushing, Dean looked away but it was too late, the bushy glimpse already branded into his mind for all of eternity.
“I’ll help you,” Evy said, following him into the kitchen. “There is something off with them,” she whispered, fear flashing with the lightning in her eyes. “What if they killed those two guys in the plumbing van? What if they’re some weird husband and wife killing machine like Bonnie and Clyde?”
Dean grabbed his phone from the countertop and ran a quick search, watching the wheel spin and spin. “No signal,” he moaned, setting it on the counter. “Wait, got it.” Clicking on a link from The Cottage Grove Gazette, Evy craned her neck to read the headline.
Plumbing van with two dead men found inside doesn’t belong to any companies in town. Sheriff Bob Taylor says men wore plumbing uniforms but aren’t certified.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, backing away from the cellphone like it was radioactive. Lightning flickered against the oily horror spreading in her eyes. “This is Ryder,” she whispered coldly, glancing down the hallway like she just heard something. “This is no coincidence.”
Dean put the phone to sleep and set it down, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Evy, it’s not Ryder. Trust me, that guy is just as gone as Clay’s money. That’s how it works. Nobody rides for free and, financially, Clay is running on fumes.”
Fate Interrupted_Just Married Page 7
