by Cat Johnson
She wasn’t the type to wander into the kitchen, throw on an apron and whip up some pastry from scratch. And with a professional baker as one of her best friends, she didn’t have to.
Since I’d never lacked for something sweet at Agnes’s house where Harper lived, I wasn’t worried about my girlfriend’s lack of interest in baking.
I took the empty seat at the kitchen table next to my mother to wait for Cash to sit and Boone to start talking. This was his show, after all.
“Do you know what Boone wants to talk about?” my mother asked.
“No. You don’t?” I glanced up from the flaky remains of my turnover crust.
“No.” She shook her head.
Cash pulled out the chair next to me, scraping it against the floor with a loud noise before he collapsed his body into it.
He reached for the plate in the center of the table and pulled the whole thing toward himself, looking like he might hunker down and finish it all.
I raised my brows and stared at him. I received a scowl in return as he took one and then shoved the plate back to the center of the table.
Boone had cleared his throat and, still standing, hovered nearby.
Dad, seated on the other side of Mom, tipped his head. “Go on, son. What’s on your mind?”
My youngest brother cleared his throat. “So you know Sarah’s awards dinner was Saturday—”
“Which was why Cash and I had to cover your chores all last weekend so you could spend Saturday night and all day Sunday at her place,” I pointed out.
“Yes. Thank you.” Boone rolled his eyes, which didn’t exactly lend a whole lot of sincerity to his thanks.
“She was nominated for an award, wasn’t she?” Mom asked. “Did she win?”
I wasn’t sure if Boone’s girlfriend winning some advertising award last weekend was just cause to call a family meeting, but since I was here, and there was coffee and pastries, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“Her company did win.” Boone nodded.
“How nice for her. She must be so excited.” Mom’s exuberance was cut short by Boone raising one hand.
“That’s not why I called the meeting.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Cash mumbled.
I echoed Cash’s opinion with a sniff of my own as Boone continued, “I, uh, asked Sarah to marry me. And she said yes.”
Silence met that announcement.
Of all the things I thought Boone might say, that wasn’t one of them.
Even Mom seemed out of things to gush about. But Cash wasn’t without words.
“She knocked up?” he asked.
“No. Jeez.” Boone glared at Cash.
“Then why get married? You’re only twenty-six.” I pointed out.
“Twenty-seven,” he corrected. “And that’s older than Mom and Dad were when they got married.”
“Things were different in the old days,” Cash countered.
Mom shot him a frown. “Old days? It wasn’t that long ago.”
I gave up on arguing his age and switched to my next objection. “You haven’t even been dating a year yet.”
“Yes, we have. We were already dating for last year’s Autumn Fest.”
Mom finally recovered from her shock and stood. She walked to Boone and wrapped her arms around him. “That’s wonderful news, baby. I’m very happy for you and Sarah.”
While Cash and I both stayed glued to our chairs, Dad stood and shook Boone’s hand. “Congratulations, son. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
“Can you let me tell Bart when he gets home from school? I want him to hear it from me, but I didn’t want to wait too long to tell you all. We'd planned to get you all together for dinner or something this weekend and make the official announcement. But you know how this town is. Sarah's back in town today and I figured one of the gossips might see her ring and then everyone would know before I had a chance to tell you myself.”
“Jesus. He even got her a ring?” Cash mumbled.
“Frigging show off,” I hissed under my breath, which was answered by a short humph of agreement from Cash.
“Of course you can tell Bart,” Mom said, still too involved in her conversation with Boone to notice her two eldest sons were not on board with this whole thing. “Have you thought about a date?” she asked.
That was my mother, right on top of organizing everything.
“Maybe Christmas,” Boone supplied one more detail to ruin my day.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t get past thinking about how this would affect me. As Boone, Mom and Dad discussed dates and locations and whatever else weddings entailed, I didn’t hear most of it as my mind spun.
My little brother was getting married. Before me. Before Cash. And after only dating Sarah for a year.
Meanwhile, I’d been with Harper for twice that. And Cash had been dating Red for just a few months less than us.
Crap. This was not going to go over well.
“I’m screwed,” I said, mostly to myself.
Cash let out a snort. “Good chance we both are.”
THREE
HARPER
It didn’t matter how long I stared at the post on the Mudville community bulletin board, it still didn’t make sense to me.
Finally, I reached for my cell phone and tapped in a message to Red.
Harper: Why would someone sell body bags?
It took her longer than I had patience for to respond, but I couldn’t get too annoyed since she was running a shop and was probably away from her cell or busy with a customer.
Finally my phone dinged. I grabbed it to read her reply.
Red: Is this a trick question?
I let out a huff and hit the button to call her. My patience for texting was short today.
When Red said hello, I didn’t bother with niceties and instead launched right into my concern. “Someone posted on the Mudville online community bulletin board that they’re selling fifty new body bags. Which raises a couple of disturbing questions in my mind. First, why does he have them? And worse, who is going to buy them and for what purpose?”
“Well, I guess new body bags are less concerning than used body bags.”
Not denying that logic, I was still baffled. “But where did he even get them?”
There was nothing I hated more than a mystery I couldn’t solve. An unanswered question was like a splinter in my skin. I was going to waste too much time and think much too much about this. I knew that already but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Harper, I really couldn’t tell you. Why don’t you message and ask whoever posted it?”
Contact this possible whacko? I let out a huff. “Over my dead body. No pun intended.”
Red let out a short laugh. “I did tell you there was a lot of action happening on the community board now.”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect to see serial killer supplies for sale.”
“Sounds like good fodder for a book to me. . .” Red dangled that suggestion temptingly. She knew me too well.
“Don’t think I didn’t already consider that. It was the only thing that didn’t send me running. Although I’m still considering if I should call the sheriff’s department.”
Red chuckled. “You totally should. I’m sure your call about the body bags will be the highlight of the day at the sheriff’s department. Damn. I’m stuck at the store. If you do call, you have to come over here to the shop to do it. On speakerphone. I need to hear what they say.”
I sighed. “I’m not actually going to call.”
Although, I couldn’t help picturing News 12 knocking at my door as they interviewed people in the village after fifty bodies in bags were discovered in some nut job’s basement.
Then I’d have to admit I’d considered calling to report the oddity and hadn’t. Then I’d feel really shitty. Criminally negligent, even.
I’d be partially responsible for all those deaths . . .
The thought had me second guessing myself yet again. Sometim
es an overactive imagination was a curse.
“Harper?” Red’s voice on the phone knocked me out of my own head.
“Yeah?”
“It’s going to be okay. Move away from the forum.” Red’s voice was patronizingly calm, as if I were the crazy one rather than the guy selling the body bags. “Don’t you have a book to write?” she asked.
I frowned. There was nothing worse than being called out for my procrastination.
“I’m taking a break,” I defended.
“Okay. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I said, “You’re probably right.” I was tired of fighting this battle I wasn’t going to win. I drew in a breath. “I’ll let you go. I know you’re at work.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately. But I’ll see you later at the football game?”
“Yes, ma’am. Stone and I are walking Petunia down to the field right after dinner.” Even as I said it I realized how crazy this town—and my life in it—was.
“All right. See you there. Gotta run. Bye.” Red disconnected, but I sat there with the cell in my hand, thinking.
The fact that part of my regular Friday night routine since I’d moved to Mudville involved hooking my Great Aunt Agnes’s pet pig up to a leash and walking her down Main Street to the high school for the football game, was surreal.
Completely bonkers.
But it proved Red was right. Some guy having a fifty-pack of body bags was no stranger than everything else around here.
Even so, I was going to ask Stone’s opinion about it when he got here this evening.
He’d lived here all his life. He viewed things through a different filter than I did. And he was used to my overactive imagination and propensity to worry about things—and he loved me anyway.
Satisfied I’d be doing my due diligence by asking Stone later, I went back to reading the forum news feed. I needed to see how I could implement my plan for revenge against the old biddies for giving me that nickname.
Red and Bethany said people asked questions and got answers on the forum. Scrolling through, I saw they were right.
There was some guy answering questions. Answering them badly, I might add, about everything from farm stuff to relationships.
Okay, maybe the farm advice was all right. I wasn’t the one to ask about that. But the advice he gave other men about women? I rolled my eyes so hard a few times I gave myself a headache.
Not that I knew for sure it was a man. The screen name, Anonymous, didn’t exactly tell me much.
What an imaginative choice of a name. I rolled my eyes again.
As I read more I decided it had to be a man because no woman could be that wrong. Such as when Anonymous told some guy that if he was too nice, the girl he liked wouldn’t like him back. That females were attracted to a man who presented a challenge and if he appeared too eager it would turn the girl off. That the best plan was to be a bit of a dick to her.
How ridiculous. Not to mention untrue.
I scowled and actively began to search for more posts by this Anonymous person.
The more I found, the more I realized that he fancied himself a renaissance man. At least by Mudville standards. He commented with his questionable expert advice on everything from woodworking, to hunting, to farm animals, to agriculture, to real estate. And, of course, women.
Reading his bull shit only made me more determined to do what I’d come to the forum for in the first place. I was going to set up a profile and give advice of my own. And I’d already chosen my new username.
Thanks to the biddies, I was going to be Ms. Naughty. That would teach them. Turning their own name for me against them and using it to my benefit was the best revenge I could come up with.
The community forum was a hot mess of small town crazy but since it was the only game in town, here was where I’d have to set up shop.
The event page sported posts for the annual squirrel hunt being run by the local bar, as well as the Mudville Hogs game schedule and fundraisers. The marketplace page had, of course, the body bag post, along with hundreds of other things listed for sale.
Then there was the general information page. That was where most questions were asked and also where Anonymous dispensed his questionable love advice.
That was where I’d make my first post—maybe a quote about love from one of my favorite Shakespearean sonnets, followed by a little tidbit on the subject from me.
I figured one or two posts daily, a variety of pictures, personal anecdotes, memes and quotes, would spur interaction.
And of course, questions. Once I got my footing I’d solicit questions from readers. The goal was to get the people on the forum to ask me anything and everything. The naughtier the better.
Ms. Naughty. Ha! I’d show them naughty.
Now, instead of just offending them with my romance novels, I was going to lean in. Take my naughty to them. Right in their faces. On their own online community forum. That would teach them.
And I’d go a step further too. I was going to comment on all of the posts about relationships and sex made by Anonymous.
That seemed like the perfect way to get my name out. Establish myself as an expert. An authority in the subject of love and life.
Pointing out the error of his answers would just be a bonus.
Perfect.
FOUR
STONE
Cash’s brows drew low as he stared at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
I sure as hell couldn’t tell him the truth so I employed the best thing I could think of. A counter-offensive. “Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Jeez. Forgive me for asking.”
“You’re forgiven.” I lobbed that parting shot knowing it would annoy him even more.
My plan worked and he stalked away, mumbling as he went, which left me alone with my own bad mood.
What I hadn’t told Cash was that some woman, using the screen name Ms. Naughty, had gone through and commented on most of my posts on the community forum.
But she didn’t just post a comment. Oh no. She disagreed with me. About everything.
It was all pretty insulting. Not to mention infuriating. She actually corrected me. About man stuff.
What did she know about being a man in a relationship with a woman? Nothing. That’s what.
In any case, I had better knock myself out of my bad mood before I saw Harper. She’d pick up right away that something was wrong. And girlfriend or not, she didn’t need to know I spent so much time on that stupid Mudville bulletin board.
Damn. I had been looking forward to the football game but my enjoyment of the night had started to look pretty grim starting with Boone’s surprise announcement this morning. I’d have to tell Harper tonight about the engagement, before she found out from the gossip mill.
That she hadn’t already was a miracle. I assumed Cash hadn’t told Red yet or I’d already have a text from Harper about it. Harper and Red were thick as thieves.
I had to guess Cash was dragging his feet for the same reason I was. Fear our girls were going to flip out that Boone was getting married before us.
But who knew? Maybe Harper would surprise me and not care.
Yeah, right. And maybe Petunia would fly to the game tonight.
It wasn’t that I was opposed to marriage. Not at all. I just didn’t feel the need to rush into it. And when Harper and I did get married, it would be in my own time. Not because my little brother made me look bad by committing first.
He should be committed—to an asylum.
One damn year of dating and he was already proposing? Insanity.
With a huff, I stalked to my bedroom. Inside, I forced myself not to check the online forum on the iPad again. Instead I reached into my closet and pulled a thick fleece-lined flannel shirt off a hanger.
Tonight was going to be a cold one. Once the sun set, the temperature woul
d start to drop. And since Petunia was the team mascot, we’d be there until the very end of the game, no matter how long it ran.
I was about to head out when I turned back and grabbed a second flannel shirt for Harper.
She always insisted she was dressed warmly enough. Then halfway through the game, she’d be freezing.
Even after two Mudville winters, she was still a city girl at heart and never dressed appropriately for the weather.
I knew how things went. I’d spend the rest of the night either cold myself because I gave her my jacket or hugging her in an attempt to keep her warm. Although that part wasn’t so bad. I kind of enjoyed holding her close against me with my arms and my jacket wrapped around her, while I copped the occasional feel when no one was looking.
Christ, I hope Boone’s news didn’t cost me our usual Friday night post-game lovin’. I’d worked hard to finish the massive attic in Agnes’s Victorian so Harper and I could have a private space to be together.
I’d spent a lot of time and money to winterize it. At least that’s what I told Agnes I was doing. In reality, I insulated the hell out of the space, then added carpet, so it would be virtually soundproof.
But if Harper got upset because Boone and Sarah were getting married, there’d be no hope of taking advantage of that space tonight with some enthusiastic and extra loud sex.
Preemptively annoyed at something that hadn’t happened yet but very well could, I stomped to the kitchen to tell my mother I was having dinner at Agnes’s house with Harper before the game.
Armed with the extra sweatshirt and a blanket to sit on for the game, I drove the three miles or so from the farm to the grand old Queen Anne Victorian on Main Street.
It’s four chimneys soared high in the evening sky, extending the home’s imposing silhouette above all other surrounding structures.
What secrets those walls must hold from over the past hundred and twenty years. I’d always wondered that, even as a kid.
Back then, Agnes would invite Mom over and Cash, Boone and I—fueled on cookies and hot cocoa—would tear through all four levels of the house. Like it was our own private theme park.
