Scott looked around wildly.
Whatever or whoever did this could still be here.
Terror seized him, and without hesitating he ran to Phin’s house, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Phin! Phin!” He slipped on the dew but never slowed. “Phin! Someone killed her! Someone killed her! Phin!”
Before Scott reached his back porch, Phin was outside, rifle in hand and pumping the lever on the bottom. “What’s wrong?”
Breathless, Scott leaned on the rail. “Someone killed Henrietta!”
“What?” he demanded, eyes everywhere but on Scott. “Who’s Henrietta… wait? You mean someone killed my chicken?”
Nodding, Scott pointed to his back porch. “Her head’s been chopped off.”
Then Scott started to cry. He didn’t know why, but it just happened. Adrenaline, fear, and shock tore through him, and it came out in sobs. “She’s d-dead!”
Phin hurried to Scott’s side and put an arm around him, then led him up the steps. “C’mon, Mouse. Let’s get inside and call the sheriff.”
The homey, savory smells of Phin’s kitchen, along with something that smelled like burned sugar welcomed Scott like an embrace. Sniffling, he collapsed at the table, trying to get a hold of himself. “Sh-she-s d-dead….”
Rifle still in hand, Phin locked the door, then looked out the window. “Tell me what happened.”
Scott took a deep breath, feeling calmer and safer with Phin by his side. “I went outside to see if Henrietta laid an egg because she leaves me one every day. And there she was… blood everywhere… her head cut off… I saw something last night, maybe a coyote? But that would’ve eaten her, not chopped her head off, right?”
“You saw something last night?”
“Yes, no, maybe? I don’t know. I thought I saw something move across the yard between our houses. But the chickens were locked up, right?”
“Yes.” Phin did something with his rifle, then placed it on the table. He went to his wall phone and began dialing. “Whoever did it must’ve done it after I came inside from watering.”
“They could still be out there,” Scott whispered. “Do you think it was Mike?”
“I don’t know, but I’m calling Sheriff Bentley. Hello?” he said into the phone. “Hi, this is Phineas Robertson. I live on 6-B. I need the sheriff to come as soon as possible. My neighbor received a threatening phone call, and someone just chopped the head off one of my chickens and left it on his doorstep.” He was quiet for a moment. “Yes, Joan. At Nancy’s old house. Yeah.” He paused again. “Yeah, her grandson. Can Sheriff Bentley come? Okay, great, thanks.”
After Phin hung up, he walked to Scott and drew him into his arms. “You okay?”
“Better now.” He softened into that warm embrace.
“Lemme get you something to eat.”
“I don’t think I can eat after….”
“Okay, then coffee.”
Once Phin had Scott settled with a hot mug, he paced in front of his window, checking the front door too. Scott stared at the rifle on the table and shuddered. Phin had Mason jars all over the counter. Probably canning something. Then he noticed that a commercial played from Phin’s iPad propped on the counter. He must’ve been watching a show.
The hint of burned sugar tickled his nostrils. “Something’s burning.”
“That would be my raspberry jam,” Phin explained, coming back into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, it’s probably my fault.”
Phin laughed. “Actually, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Tell me.”
“Maybe later.”
“No, please tell me,” he begged. “I need to think about something else.”
“Well,” Phin hedged, then explained, “I was watching Game of Thrones and stirring up my raspberry jelly. It was a boring episode with the Starks at some wedding. I was only half paying attention. Then everybody starts stabbing everyone, and there’s blood everywhere. They even killed the Dire wolf. I stopped stirring my jam because I was so shocked. Then it just bubbled up, spilling all over the stove.” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Everywhere I looked, there was red.”
Scott’s stomach rolled. “Oh, the Red Wedding? I don’t need to be reminded of that right now.” Visions of the poor chicken and all the blood made the coffee churn in his guts. He set the mug down, burying a belch into his fist.
“Sorry.” Phin looked chagrinned. “I suppose it would’ve been funny under different circumstances.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
As Phin cleaned up the red mess from his stove, Scott tried not to watch. He’d never had a weak stomach, but he’d never seen anything murdered before.
Phin brought Scott one of the T-shirts he’d left there since all he had on were his pajama bottoms and flip-flops. He pulled it over his head just about the time the sheriff arrived.
“Wow, that was fast.” Scott prepared himself to see the massacre again. “Let’s do this.”
“No, you stay here. I’ll go show the sheriff, then come get you so we can play him Mike’s message.”
“Messages.”
Phin opened the door and paused. “As in more than one? Mouse, you should’ve told me.”
“I know! But I’ve been kinda distracted with all the sex we’ve been having,” he said in exasperation. Then he flinched. The sheriff stood on the porch already, hearing him plain as day.
Dammit.
Phin made a face, then stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Hey, Sheriff Bentley….”
Through Phin’s greenhouse window, Scott watched the two men head back to his house. The sheriff took some pictures with his phone, and they walked around a few times, studying the ground. After some time, Phin headed to the barn and returned with a shovel and a garbage bag.
My knight in shining armor is cleaning up the mess.
When Phin dragged his garden hose over, Scott waited a few minutes—long enough for the blood to be washed away—then joined the men outside.
“I thought I said you should wait inside,” Phin scolded.
“I’m not a baby,” he snapped. That’s why you waited until the chicken mess was cleaned up!
The sheriff looked back and forth between them, brows raised.
Not wanting to sound so bitchy, Scott hastily added, “Thanks for cleaning it up.”
“No problem, Mouse.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You wanna play those messages for the sheriff?”
“Yeah.” He extended a hand to the sheriff. “Hi, I’m Scott Howe.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sheriff Bentley. I knew your grandmother. One helluva woman. Sorry to hear about her passing.”
“Thanks,” Scott said politely, then headed into the house.
They followed him to the living room, and Scott played the first message, then the second one, from the night before his family visited:
“I’m gonna get back what’s ours, faggot. You can sit in the kitchen writing your cock-sucking books all night long, thinking you won. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
“Mouse,” Phin said, eyes frightened. “You write at night, in the kitchen. That means he’s seen you. He’s been here.”
Scott suppressed a shudder. “Or it was just a lucky guess.”
“I’m not so sure about that, young man,” the pot-bellied sheriff said. “You say this guy is on parole?”
Briefly, Scott explained his nonrelationship with his cousins and how angry they were when Scott inherited the house. “Mike’s on parole in Kentucky still, I think.”
“I’ll contact his parole officer, then,” the sheriff said. “In the meantime, I’ll have my deputies keep an eye out for him. Have ’em drive by the house more often. You have somewhere safe you could stay for a few days? If he was here, there’s a chance he could come back.”
“He’s staying with me,” Phin announced.
Scott shrugged and pointed at his boyfriend. “I guess I’m staying with him.”
&nb
sp; The sheriff wore disapproval all over his face.
“Yes, we’re dating if you must know,” Scott said, annoyed by the man’s awkwardness. “That a problem?”
“Nope,” the sheriff said at once. “My best deputy is gay. Ain’t none of my business about that. Not sure if staying next door is the wisest choice, though. You boys are pretty secluded out here.”
“I have a couple rifles. And a .357. I’ll keep him safe.”
The sheriff frowned. “I don’t want to be called out here to pick up a body, Mr. Robertson.”
“I’ll aim for the kneecaps.”
“Not funny.” He headed to the door. “You boys keep a low profile, okay? I’ll see what’s going on with this guy’s parole officer and get back to you.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” Phin walked him to the door. Then he came back and said to Scott, “Get your things.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I CAN’T believe this happened.” Scott dropped his duffel and computer bag on Phin’s dining room table.
After shutting and locking the door behind him, Phin approached his shocked lover and embraced him. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Do you think Mike did it?” Scott tightened his arms around Phin’s waist.
Phin leaned back and touched his cheek. “Do you have any other enemies?”
“I didn’t even know I had enemies.” He stepped away, frustrated. “I mean, Mike’s obviously crazy. Who chops the head off a chicken? What does that idiot want? Is he gonna keep chopping the heads off chickens until I go down to the bank and sign the title of the house over to him? That’s not gonna happen. Like seriously? What a freak!”
“I told you he was unstable.”
“But this is beyond unstable, right?”
Phin didn’t want to scare Scott further, but people who killed animals were one step away from doing real harm to people. Rather than saying that, Phin caressed Scott’s back. “You’ve had one helluva morning. Why not go upstairs and have a laydown?”
Scott’s brows creased, and for a moment, Phin expected him to argue, but then his face softened. “I don’t know if I could sleep. But maybe I could lay down?”
Phin kissed the top of his head and guided him to the stairs. “I’ll hold the fort down, and if the sheriff calls, I’ll let you know what he said.”
“You’re not gonna lay down with me?” Scott asked in a childlike voice Phin was powerless to resist.
He glanced at his pot on the stove, the hot raspberry jelly and the jars sitting on the counter waiting to be sterilized. But Scott took precedence over everything. “Yeah, I’ll join you. Just give me a sec.”
He hurried over to his pot and removed the lid.
“Oh, never mind. I don’t want to interrupt what you were doing.”
Phin smiled at Scott. “I can finish this later.” He tore off a large piece of Saran Wrap and gently patted it on the surface of the jelly so it wouldn’t dry out, then returned the lid. It hadn’t set yet, so it could wait. Katie was sound asleep in her bed, oblivious that they had a house guest. Not wanting to leave her alone, Phin scooped her up. “All done. Let’s have a laydown.”
Scott gave the old dog a rub behind the ears. The three of them went upstairs and spread out on Phin’s bed. Scott snuggled in Phin’s arms immediately. Katie took up the foot of the bed like a diva, kicking her legs a few times to make sure Phin moved his foot so she had plenty of room. Squished between lover and dog, Phin was wide-awake, adrenaline still pumping.
Scott was breathing so softly, it surprised Phin when he spoke. “Thank you for being here. For helping me.”
Phin squeezed him tight and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll always be here for you, Mouse.”
And he meant it.
It didn’t take long for Scott to be sound asleep. Phin’s arm had gone numb, but he didn’t move. After a little while, he dozed too.
A shrill bark woke him.
Katie sat upright at the foot of the bed, barking.
Scott stirred. “She needs to go out. I can take her.”
Phin untangled himself and put a gentle hand on his chest. “No, no. You stay here. Rest.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and picked up his dog.
After unlocking the door downstairs, he took her outside. She became weaker every day. Probably because the little stinker didn’t want to eat any of the food he kept presenting to her. She had two raspberries this morning along with a couple pieces of bacon. Not the most nutritious, but at this point, he was satisfied with anything she ate.
He kept one eye on Katie as her weak legs wobbled when she squatted to go to the bathroom. It pained him to watch her having greasy poops, but there wasn’t much he could do if she didn’t want to eat her regular dog food. As far as he could tell, she was in no pain. She’d been to the vet two months earlier and was still on her puppy aspirin regimen for arthritis. She was just slow, weak, and old.
Phin stood over her, surveying their properties. He and the sheriff had seen a couple bloody footprints leading away from the porch, but after about six steps, the perpetrator’s shoes had been washed clean on the dewy grass. Neither Scott nor Phin had heard a car. But it would be almost ninety degrees today. They’d had the windows shut and the air conditioning on.
With Scott at his own house, because he needed to get his edits done and didn’t need the distraction of Phin’s bedroom, Phin had planned to stay close to home too. Fearing his beloved Katie’s time was close and knowing he could do nothing but make her comfortable and wait, Phin did what he always did when he was upset.
He made jelly.
Might seem strange to some, but Phin found catharsis in canning. He’d joked with Nancy once that the state of his mental health could be directly measured by how many jars of jams, jellies, and preserves he had in his pantry.
Funny, but the last few years he hadn’t made very much. After losing Nancy and with Katie going downhill, he’d made more. While his time with Scott had been a blessing, there had also been a lot of turmoil. Hence the twelve pints of rhubarb jelly, seven half pints of violet jelly, eighteen strawberry jams, and now the batch of unfinished raspberry.
He supposed it would be a good way to keep him distracted this afternoon. He had a conference call with one of his clients after lunch, but then it would just be him and Scott.
Katie stood very still in front of him, her legs wavering. Phin gave her side a rub, and she leaned into him. “Why don’t you walk a little bit? Got to keep your strength up.”
But am I keeping her strength up for me or her?
Phin sighed, scooping up his baby. Holding her in his arms, he walked around the house and inspected his windows on the first level, then did the same at Scott’s house. Everything was buttoned up tight.
Locking the door behind him was a strange sensation since he rarely kept them locked during the day. Phin placed Katie in front of her water bowl where she took a very long messy drink, her mustache splashing water everywhere. She made her way back to her bed, did a little circle, then collapsed heavily. She’d always been a pillow puppy, and she placed her head on the bolstered edge of her dog bed and fell asleep.
Phin gave her a little caress and put a biscuit by her, just in case, then headed upstairs to check on Scott. His lover had climbed under the covers, snoring soundly.
Smiling, he decided not to disturb him. He went back downstairs to finish his jam. He had another episode of Game of Thrones queued up, but after that Red Wedding business and Henrietta, he wasn’t in the mood for anything gory. He flipped on the radio instead. Finding a country station, he let the soothing lyrics settle his nerves.
He turned the stove to a low simmer to reheat the jam. He made sure to put a tablespoon of butter in the pot so it wouldn’t bubble over this time. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that. No wonder it had overflowed. Then he put a tray of hot water in the oven to reheat the jars, lids, and rings. Soon he lost himself in the rhythmic, busy work of canning.
Phin used an immersion blender to break up the seeds and puree the jam, preferring a smooth spread. And the seeds would provide the pectin it needed. Periodically he took a spoon from the freezer, dipped it in the hot liquid and waited for it to sheet off the spoon, signifying it would set.
When the jam was ready, he took out his jars and filled them all, leaving a quarter inch headspace. He methodically cleaned the rim of each jar first with a wet cloth, then with one wetted by white vinegar for sterilizing. Some people recommended water-bathing jelly, but Phin never had. Placing boiling fruit and sugar inside a scalding-hot jar didn’t really need the extra step, in his opinion.
After finishing his project, thirteen jars sat on a baker’s rack, too hot to touch. He smiled at how pretty they looked, then began cleaning the mess. Jelly making was a sticky business, so he washed the pots and pans, delighting every now and then in the pop of the canning jars sealing themselves.
With the kitchen once again clean and tidy, Phin stepped onto the porch with a crisp glass of iced tea. His chickens wandered around happily, all but the one some deviant had threatened his boyfriend with.
Anger simmered inside him.
Phin’s life had many ups and downs, but more downs than anyone should have to deal with. He’d lost his only brother and suffered alone during the years that followed with his parents becoming distant. Then the loss of Tom had pushed Phin into a deep depression, where his carelessness had saddled him with a life-changing disease. He’d lost Aunt Nina, the only person he had ever looked up to. And then Nancy.
But despite all that loss, Phin’s heart still had love left to give.
He and Scott had something very different than what he’d had before. It was a more mature relationship. Open and honest. Not with any of the youthful manipulations of people in their twenties. He’d feared losing Scott when he told him about his past and his disease, but Scott saw past it all. They were going to find a happily ever after that Phin never believed he would have again.
But now Scott was in danger.
Would Phin lose him too?
Just how did Mike get one of Phin’s chickens and chop its head off without being seen? Phin’s gaze fell upon the playhouse Nancy had built for her great-grandkids.
The Rhubarb Patch Page 23
