by Tegan Maher
Table of Contents
© 2019 Tegan Maher
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Thank you!
Shot Cross Buns
Sweet Murder
Connect with Me
Other Books by Tegan Maher
About Tegan
© 2019 Tegan Maher
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
“WELCOME TO MERCY, POPULATION 10,586,” I said to myself as I passed the sign announcing I’d arrived at the place I’d chosen to start my life over. A small smile slipped across my face as a little rush of adrenaline coursed through me. This was it. A new beginning, a new life, a new everything. No looking back, only forward.
I glanced around the town as I drove down Main Street. A few people were milling about, and there was a nice mix of ages. A huge plus in my book, since my former hometown, Orlando, leaned toward retirees and college kids. That didn’t leave much in the way of dating opportunities or even building a solid circle of friends, which was the first order of business on the list of things to add to my new life.
There weren’t a lot of cars, and the best part was there was no noise. No honking, no yelling, no sirens blaring. Nothing. I had a feeling Mercy and I were going to get along just fine.
I made it to the edge of town and looked down at the open GPS on my cell phone. Mercy Lodge was still two miles out. That would give me all the privacy I needed, but make it easy to get to town if I wanted. I hit scan on the radio, looking for a station as the first mile marker zoomed by. Static greeted me on every channel except one—a news station. Thank goodness for online radio because I needed my tunes.
As I passed mile marker two, I glanced back down at my phone. According to the map, I’d just passed the turnoff to the lodge, though I hadn’t seen a driveway or road. I carefully pulled my vehicle over and glanced around. There was no visible road in sight. Frowning, I picked up my phone and took a closer look at the map, then over my right shoulder which, according to the GPS, was where the turnoff should’ve been. Emphasis on should’ve.
Not wanting to do a U-turn for a turnoff that should be right next to me even if I could have maneuvered my mammoth SUV around on such a small road, I put it in reverse and backed up, scanning the greenery along the side of the road until the sun glinted off something silver. There, almost hidden by a giant bush, stood a faded sign that read Mercy Lodge. Just in front of it was a road, or what was supposed to pass for one, anyway.
I eased my way onto the turnoff and followed the broken asphalt path, paying close attention to the space in front of me lest I disappear into a crater, never to be seen or heard from again. I glanced at my pile of belongings in the back, hoping it all made it to my destination intact given the beating it was taking.
About a mile up the old, winding road, peaked roofs, including a turret, loomed over the tree line. I craned my neck to get a better view as I crept up the road, still keeping one eye glued to the road. When I rounded a bend, a massive house loomed a quarter of a mile or so ahead. Or at least the remainders of what had been a house at one point. The wood was old and rustic, and it had that gray-wash color that comes from decades of sun, wind, and rain exposure and too little upkeep.
I maneuvered around a small clump of bushes and was thankful the final bit of drive was clear. The road, although not perfect, was at least a full dirt road rather than the two rutted out tire tracks I had followed to get there.
There was a crumbling cement fountain with several cracks standing in the center of what had been a circular driveway. It was a Cupid standing on one foot and pulling back a bowstring. The road I was on curved either left to go around behind the fountain, or right to go in front of it. I figured the right side was for entering and the left side was for exiting.
Right in front of the double lodge doors sat a midnight blue Lexus SUV.
I pulled up behind it and took a moment to take a closer look at the place.
I cringed when I noticed several of the shutters were hanging askew, and the roof looked like it was missing patches of shingles. The grounds were so overgrown that the foliage was at least waist high, and I couldn’t even tell how much of it was grass and how much of it was weeds. Somebody had at least kept the space around the house mowed, so I wouldn’t have to worry about death by rattlesnake between my car and the porch. Small blessings, I supposed.
I pulled my keys out of the ignition, grabbed my phone and purse, and stepped out onto what passed for a yard.
“There you are!” A woman in a navy pantsuit stood at the foot of the porch steps, the pink scarf around her neck adding a cheerful pop of color. The almost manic smile on her face told me all I needed to know—she was busted and she knew it.
“You must be Marnie. Sorry it took so long. It was a bit harder to find than I thought it would be.” I extended my hand, and the woman took it.
Marnie nodded, giving my hand a limp squeeze. “And you must be Antonia. I imagine it’s a lot harder to find something out here in the middle of nowhere than it is in the big city.”
I gave her a wry smile. “At least in the city, we don’t have to worry about the plant life eating the signs or the roads. And please, call me Toni.”
“Toni it is, then.” Marnie smiled as she turned and headed toward the lodge, glancing over her shoulder to be sure I was following. Frankly, I couldn’t blame her if she was worried I’d run back to my vehicle and plow away from the place like my hair was on fire. It was an option I’d have considered had I not sunk almost all of my money into the place.
“Shall we?” she asked, and I heaved a sigh and followed, hoping against hope that I’d seen the worst of it.
I trailed behind her up the front steps, frowning when the wooden banister wobbled under my hand. This was not the house she’d sent me pictures of, or rather, the pictures she’d sent me must have been at least twenty years old. Still, it was mine for better or worse, even though I was cursing myself for not coming to see the place in person before I’d signed on the dotted line.
Maybe the inside wasn’t as rough as the outside. The double mahogany doors were gorgeous even if they did need a bit of sanding and a fresh coat of varnish. When I stepped into the main hall, the first thing that grabbed my attention was a giant antler chandelier, or that’s what it appeared to be underneath all the cobwebs. Still, I could work with that.
A river-rock fireplace took up a good portion of the wall facing me, and I groaned when I saw cracks in the cement and a few bare spots where the stones had fallen out. Several trophy mounts—a couple of deer, an elk, a moose, and a couple of antelope—adorned the walls, and the only piece of furniture in the room was an old, battered leather couch.
I frowned as a sliver of irritation coursed through me. “This looks like it has quite a bit more damage than the pictures you sent me portrayed.”
Marnie chuckled nervously. “Yeah, about that ... during the time you and I were corresponding, it was impossible to get up here to take fresh pictures because we’d just been hit with a blizzard.”
She glanced at me to see if I was buying it, but I kept my expression stern as she rambled on. “There was some snow on the roadways, but nothing your vehicle can’t handle. So, I sent you some older photos that we had on file. But you still got an amazing deal on this place. If it had looked as good as the pictures I sent you, the asking price would’ve been double or more.”
I turned to the woman and took a deep breath before I spoke. “It seems to me, in the interest of full disclosure, you should have told me those pictures were old and no longer representative of this lodge.”
“I’m sure I shared that information with you,” Marnie insisted.
I shook my head. “No. I definitely would’ve remembered that conversation.”
Marnie shifted from foot to foot. “I’ll have to go back and look at our correspondence, but I’m sure I mentioned it.”
“Tell you what,” I said as I took her by the elbow and guided her back to the main doors, “you go back to your office and find that correspondence. But I guarantee you’re not going to because we never had that conversation. So, unless you want me to report you to the Realtor Board of Ethics, I suggest you find a way to get me some of my money back. Because despite the load of bull you’re trying to feed me, I did not get what I thought I was paying for. Therefore I did not get, as you put it, an amazing deal on this place.”
I glared daggers at Marnie’s back as she scampered to her car and fumbled with the lock before finally managing to open the door and climb in.
“I left your keys on the table there by the door,” she hollered out her window as she pulled out. I nodded and shook my head as she drove away, waiting until she was out of sight before I turned and went back into the lodge. I had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t be hearing from her again, and I doubted I’d actually get any of my money back, but maybe she’d think twice before she tried to screw anybody else over.
“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” I grumbled. I looked around and pulled in a huge breath, puffing it out through my cheeks. This was going to be way more work than I had anticipated, and it wasn’t going to be cheap. Sadly, I’d sunk most of my divorce settlement into this place.
Sighing, I decided to finish my tour later, when I wasn’t exhausted and frustrated. I grabbed the keys, stepped out, and locked the door. I shook my head as I walked back to my vehicle, and decided the best thing for me to do right now was unpack and maybe go find something to eat.
I took a minute to take closer stock of the outside of the house. A swaying curtain reinforced my need to step back. Drafts meant something else I’d have to throw money at. I shoved my key in the ignition and put every ounce of self-control I had into not spinning the tires on the way out. After all, if I tore up any loose bricks, it would just be one more thing I’d have to fix.
A small road off to the left of the lodge meandered around a small curve and out of sight, and I guessed it led to the caretaker’s cottage. Since the lodge wasn’t even habitable in the shape it was in, I held out hope the cottage was in decent shape so I’d at least have a place to hang my hat until I could figure out what to do.
According to the pictures Marnie’d sent, it was plenty big enough for one person, and I’d even have an extra room to use as an office. I crossed my fingers, praying to every deity known to man as I climbed back in my car.
About a half-mile back near the tree line, a cabin squatted in the late afternoon light. Relief washed over me as I pulled up in front of it. At least the cottage seemed to be in better shape than the lodge itself.
I climbed out and made my way to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. There was a river-rock fireplace there, too—a smaller version of the one at the lodge, except it was in decent shape. The place was dusty, but it was immaculate compared to the main house.
A small round tea table with two wingback chairs draped in plastic sat in front of the window, and a doorway to the left of the fireplace led to a bedroom. The kitchen was right off the main room, complete with a glass-topped table and old but functional chairs.
I wandered through the house, happy to discover the two bedrooms were both furnished and in decent shape, even if they were small. There was even a laundry room, complete with washer and dryer, tucked between the kitchen and bathroom. The fixtures were old, but when I cranked the faucet on in the bathroom, clear water poured out.
Smiling at my small win, I headed back to my vehicle and began unloading it.
Chapter 2
MY STOMACH GROWLED as I finished making the bed with linens I’d brought with me. I hadn’t stopped for groceries, so the only option I had was to drive back into town and find a restaurant. I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to five.
Grabbing my keys, I maneuvered around my boxes and walked out the front door, locking it behind me. I glanced at my phone as I climbed into my SUV and was happy to see there was a signal, even if it was only two bars. I’d have to see about getting a landline installed just to make sure I always had phone service.
I backed my vehicle up and followed the road, enjoying the woodland view as I drove back to town.
The streets were still pretty barren, even more so than they had been when I’d arrived. I shook my head at the weirdness of it all. This was so unlike where I’d come from. A lone person here, a couple there. It was all so strange, but also welcome; it wouldn’t take me any time at all to learn my way around.
At the end of the block, a flashing neon sign read Fiona’s Bakery and Café. The parking spots in front of it were empty except for an SUV and a beat-up pickup, so I pulled in between them, popping three dimes into the meter on my way to the entrance. Starting out my new life with a parking ticket just wouldn’t do. I entered the café to the cheerful tinkling of a bell announcing my presence.
“Sit wherever you like,” A blonde woman who could only be described as buxom tossed me a smile over her shoulder as she bustled by carrying two platters of food.
There were only three customers in the entire café—a middle-aged couple sat at one table, and an older bearded man sat by himself at another, plowing his way through some type of meat smothered in onions and flanked by a heaping pile of mashed potatoes. I took a seat in a booth halfway down the wall and waited patiently as the server finished serving the couple and filled up the lone man’s coffee cup on her way past. She hurried to the counter, grabbed a menu, and hustled to my table, offered me a warm smile.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed me the menu. “The special today is liver and onions with steamed vegetables.”
“Thanks,” I said as I crinkled my nose and took the menu, “but I’ll take a hard pass on that. I think I’m just looking for a burger and some fries. And a Coke.”
The waitress—Audrey, according to her nametag—nodded. “How do want it cooked, and do you want cheese or bacon?”
I nodded. “Medium-well and cheddar and bacon would be great. And could I get a side of ranch for the fries?”
“You sure can, but we only have American cheese.”
“Then American cheese it is,” I said, returning her smile. At that point, I was hungry enough that I didn’t care if they had no cheese at all.
She wrote down my order, took the menu, and hurried towards the open window behind the counter. “Order,” she called as she clipped the piece of paper to a stainles
s steel wheel.
A hawkish woman a good twenty years my senior came to the window and tore down the order. She glanced at it and frowned. “Are you pushing the special?”
“Of course, Fiona, but she just wants a burger.” Audrey’s voice was laced with irritation.
Fiona glanced at me, her lips pursed. “Well, what am I supposed to do with all this liver then?”
Audrey shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not selling. Maybe you should just write it off and pick something more popular.”
“And that’s why I have a business and you don’t,” the crotchety woman snapped. “With stupid ideas like that ...” the woman continued muttering as she disappeared from view.
Audrey straightened her apron before turning to the drink station. She poured my drink, then came back, a weary smile plastered on her face. “Sorry about her,” she said as she glanced towards the kitchen window. “She isn’t exactly a people person.”
“So she decided to open up a café?” I arched a brow and glanced at the empty window.
Audrey nodded. “I know, right? Let me check on my other table, and I’ll be right back.”
She hustled away and refilled the drinks for the other people. My gaze wandered around the place; it looked about like every other mom and pop café I’d ever been in—Naugahyde booths, 70s-style floral wallpaper, and speckled white veneer tables, complete with metal trim. Audrey was even wearing the pink, dress-style uniform, complete with a white, frilly apron. I felt bad for her because it would suck to wear that thing.
My attention kept wandering back to the couple. The tension between them was almost palpable even though they were sitting several booths away from me.
“This is the last time, William. I’m not going through this again,” the woman growled, leaning toward him across the table.
The man glared at her. “Fine, don’t.”
Uh oh. Trouble in turn two. Not that I was eavesdropping, but the café was small and the only other sound in the place aside from the distant sizzle of meat was the clink of silverware the waitress was rolling. It’s human nature to be attracted to other peoples’ train wrecks, though, and I was nothing if not human. All the mistakes I’d made were testament to that.
