Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

A moose darted across my path.

I slammed on the brakes. Kendall swerved, clipped my bumper, and screeched to a stop beside me.

I sat there, my heart pounding. The moose had darted into the woods and was gone.

Kendall rolled down his window. “You okay?”

“I think so,” I said, out of breath. “Good reaction time.”

“I saw the moose coming. I always keep one eye on the road ahead and the other on the dark woods surrounding me.”

“Not a bad philosophy,” I said. “Is your bumper okay?”

“It’ll be fine—a few bucks at the body shop. I won’t tell insurance if you don’t.”

“Fine with me,” I said. That was the beauty of driving an old car. A little dent wasn’t noticeable.

“How about I take point?” Kendall said.

“Do you know the way?”

“I’ve got my GPS. Besides, my car has cameras on each of the side mirrors, so if anything’s lurking on the side of the road, it will let me know. It’s practically herbivorous.”

“What about your rear end? Do you trust me with it?”

Kendall raised an eyebrow.

“That came out wrong,” I said.

He smiled. “I trust you.”

I followed his red taillights back to Beacon Street. He was a superb driver, five MPH above the speed limit at all times, and never accelerating too fast to make me feel like I was falling behind. He was so good, in fact, that by the time we pulled into my driveway, I was wishing I had washed my bedsheets.

Kendall turned off the engine and got out. I pulled up beside his car and parked half in the grass so he would have an easy time getting out.

“So this is the famous Inn on Beacon Street?”

I grabbed my purse, closed my door, and headed to the front porch. “When there are no guests, it’s just a house.”

He followed me. “I like what you’ve done with the trim.”

“That wasn’t my choice. That was Phyllis Martin’s.”

“The outside is lovely, but I’d love to see the inside. Any chance I could get a tour?”

I smiled. I didn’t even have to fake it. I fished in my purse for my keys. “Things have been so crazy, I haven’t tidied up.”

“I don’t mind. Really.”

“But I do. This is my home and my business.”

He gazed at me. Then he leaned toward me. I didn’t pull away, just stood there like an idiot and closed my eyes. He kissed me on the lips. I didn’t reciprocate. I didn’t fight it either.

Kendall pulled away. “You ever wonder what it would be like to go back in time and tell your younger self all the crazy things that are going to happen to you?”

“Sometimes,” I said quietly.

“Back in high school I never would have anticipated this moment.”

“Me neither.”

In the dim light, Kendall studied me, his eyes shifting back and forth. “Your face, my lady, is as a book where men may read strange matters.”

“Macbeth,” I said quietly.

“Yes, impressive. You look as if you’ve got weighty things on your mind this evening.”

“Sorry. It’s not you.”

Kendall smiled and stepped off the porch. “Of course not. It’s never me. There’s no need to apologize. I’ll let you go now. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I had an…interesting…time.”

“Me too.”

“Hopefully, I’ll see you around?”

“Yes, hopefully,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to leave. “Thank you again for helping Matt.”

He snapped and pointed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I watched as he headed back to his Mercedes. He gave one last wave and then ducked into the car and backed out the driveway, his wheels throwing stones at the trees.

I felt pretty stupid. I mean, what was the harm in a night of fun? Besides, it had been a long time, so long that I considered myself a born-again virgin. Here I was, with a perfectly perfect gentleman, ready to massage my feet and treat me as if I were the only woman in the world, yet I sent him home so that I could do what? Clean? Read? Make breakfast?

Ugghh. I turned to put the key in the deadbolt, but the door pushed open.

“What the—”

The fire was going. And sitting in my antique armchair was a massive, dark figure.

18

The figure was pointing something right at me. I reached for the umbrella pail and grabbed the wooden handle of an umbrella that one of my guests had left behind and wielded it as if I were about to throw a javelin at the figure’s heart—not that I would be able to throw it past the foyer before it unfurled in a web of crooked spokes and dust—but it was a better weapon than my puny fists.

The figure’s shoulders were so wide, they touched both sides of the armchair. It stood, pointed the object at me, and then whipped it with a sideways chuck into the fire. I caught a fleeting glimpse of exploding rose petals before the bouquet landed in the flames and hissed and popped.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

It was Matt Mettle.

I lowered the umbrella. “You scared me half to death! This is my house! What are you doing in here?”

“I came to surprise you,” he said. He pointed with his thumb toward the kitchen where two candles were lit at the table. Next to each candle, was a paper plate. “It’s nothin too fancy, but I thought we might have a romantic dinner. There’s a frozen chicken thawing in the oven.”

I didn’t let the gesture soften my ire. “You didn’t answer my question, Matt. How did you get in here?”

“I’m a cop. It’s my job to get into things.”

“You broke in? Breaking and entering is your job now?”

“I’m not a cop, remember? I’m suspended. So technically, I haven’t violated the constitution.”

“Yes you have! You broke into my house. Whatever happened to Mr. Plays by the Rules?”

“He got burned one too many times.”

“So one suspension and you’re ready to throw all your principles out the window?”

“I wanted to see you,” Mettle said. “Nothing more. I hope that’s not a crime. Sorry for caring about you.”

I