Hazard and Somerset Gregory Ashe (the little red hen ebook txt) 📖

“I don’t think we’re allowed to defile this classroom.”

“It’s a public high school,” Hazard said. “I’m pretty sure it’s been defiled plenty of times.”

Laughing, Somers passed Hazard another mini quiche. And, because it was Hazard’s birthday, he accepted.

“John?”

Somers made a noise as he picked through the pineapple on the fruit platter.

“You know this whole scavenger-hunt thing you made me do?”

Somers’s hand hesitated over a slice of honeydew.

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t terrible.”

“Oh,” Somers said, grabbing a strawberry and popping it in his mouth.

“And I don’t like the thought of you racking your brain for something new every time my birthday comes up.”

“Maybe I should do this again,” Somers said. “Is that what you mean?”

“If it makes things easier for you. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah,” Somers said, a grin slipping across his face and then vanishing as he leaned to kiss Hazard again. “I need all the help I can get.”

HAZARD AND SOMERSET: OFF DUTY

These vignettes take place after The Keeper of Bees.

I

OCTOBER 26

SATURDAY

3:16 AM

THEY PARKED THE MUSTANG in one of those massive parking garages on the southside of I-70, just outside of St. Louis, and before they had even made it out of the garage, Somers knew they had a problem.

“This route is completely inefficient,” Hazard growled as the shuttle cut down another aisle of cars. Their driver, an ancient man sitting on a lumbar support cushion so he could see out the windshield, wore a t-shirt that said JESUS, DON’T TAKE THE WHEEL YET! I’M HAVING TOO MUCH FUN! The shuttle crept along at about five miles an hour. They’d only made it through three of the five floors, and it felt like they’d been on the shuttle for a day.

“It’s fine,” Somers said.

“It’s not fine,” Hazard said. He leaned over to the luggage rack and worked his backpack lose. “I think I packed a whiteboard. I bet I can plan out a more efficient route in five minutes.”

“Dear God,” Somers whispered.

“Ok, three minutes.”

“Not that. You packed a whiteboard?”

“Of course,” Hazard said. “They’re very useful when I need to make a point. Exhibit A.”

“Of course,” Somers echoed, although to be fair, he probably should have imagined his honeymoon with Emery Hazard would be something like this.

The driver had to stop the shuttle completely when Hazard went up to talk to him. The conversation went on for fifteen minutes. Hazard was explaining—volubly—his innovative plan for the parking garage. The driver nodded and made whispery replies that Somers couldn’t catch. Then Hazard made a furious, growling noise and stomped back to Somers; the shuttle rocked on its suspension.

“Well?” Somers said.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just curious what he thought about this master plan.”

“Stop.”

“Did the whiteboard help?”

Hazard looked so heartbroken that Somers helped him wipe the board clean and stow it again. When they’d finished, Somers opened his mouth and then stopped. It was hard to tell with only the faint light of the garage fluorescents filtering into the shuttle, but—

“Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“What in God’s name happened up there?”

Hazard glared at him, but after a moment he said, “He asked if you were my candyboy, which I think might be a sexual term from the 1600s or whenever he was born.”

Somers blinked, nodded, and slumped against Hazard, trying to fall asleep. This was exactly what he should have expected.

Two days later—at least, it felt like it took that long—they finally got to Lambert-St. Louis. The airport was mostly empty at this hour. At the Delta counter, they got their boarding passes and checked their baggage. The Delta agent was Don, a middle-aged gay man with a mustache like an old movie villain; he was popping his gum between every other word.

“Boys,” he said. “We’ve got a problem. This bag is a pound overweight.”

“That sounds familiar,” Somers said to Hazard.

Hazard’s scarecrow eyes narrowed. “Enough.”

“No, I like it. You’re really filling out those jeans.”

Don laughed. “You boys are too cute.”

“Enough,” Hazard said to him.

Don choked on his gum and had to wobble away for another agent to pound him on the back.

“Come on, let’s see if we can move things around,” Somers said.

“No, I’ll do it,” Hazard tried to say.

But Somers had already opened the luggage.

“Oh, Ree.”

“It made sense at the time.”

“A dictionary?”

“I . . . you seemed interested when we were talking about etymologies the other day. I just kind of threw it in there.”

“And pepper gel.”

“You told me I couldn’t bring a gun.”

“But a twenty-four pack?”

“I bet you won’t be complaining the twenty-fourth time we’re mugged.”

Somers sighed, opened his suitcase, and tossed the dictionary inside. By this time Don had made his way back, and he glared at them as he checked the bags, gave them their claim tickets, and sent them to security.

Traffic in the airport was picking up: a businessman jabbering into his phone, something about purchase orders; a mother with three small kids; a lesbian couple kissing outside the Starbucks. The mixture of cinnamon and fresh-ground coffee made Somers float toward the café, but Hazard grabbed his shoulder.

“Once we’re through security,” he said.

“The line’s short,” Somers said.

Hazard tightened his grip, which Somers thought displayed a shocking lack of trust. He explained this to Hazard.

“Uh huh,” Hazard said, still holding his shoulder until they were showing their passports to the TSA guard.

Somers got through no problem; the TSA employees sent Hazard back once because he was still wearing his sneakers, and then, after he stood in the machine, they sent him off to the side and patted him down. Thoroughly. His face was bright red.

They were halfway to their gate when they had to go back because he had left his backpack on the conveyor belt.

By that point, there was no time to stand in the massive line at Starbucks. Their flight was boarding, and they queued at the gate.

“You stay here,” Hazard said. “I’ll run and get you a coffee with plenty of gross milk and diabetes-inducing sugar.”

“Yum.” Somers caught his wrist as their zone was called. “Come on. Time to board.”

“But your coffee—”

“It’ll be fine,” Somers said. “They’ll have coffee