AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Brandywine99:HOLY. SHIT.
Chapter Five
Strawberries and Wine
Donni woke to the sound of sparrows chirping outside her window. It was such a calming, peaceful sound, that she wasn’t sure why her stomach was twisting itself to knots. And then she remembered—the money—the funeral—Rafe—
Rafe was coming by tonight.
She shot upright, causing Powderpuff to sit up in her basket, one ear cocked. Donni barely noticed.Where should I bring him?She wondered. Not her bedroom. She didn’t want his scent on her sheets or to see his pale, watchful eyes roving over her things.
The master bedroom, she thought, pulling on stretch-waist jeans and a vintage Carmen Marc Valvo blouse with a deep cowl neck that she loved. As warped as she suspected he was, he might relish the idea of fucking her in his father’s bed.
She realized she was stalling in front of her closet, toying with the hem of a little black dress. She pulled her hand away with a shake of her head and walked into the master bedroom, which she hadn’t entered since her husband’s death. A stale smell of fabric and old cologne wafted out. The sheets were still unmade from when Marco had last slept in them, his laptop slotted neatly between his side of the bed and the nightstand.
The en suite bathroom was a mess, everything spilled out on the counter. Razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, cologne. He would never use any of them again.
A housekeeper helped take care of the house, but she only came in on weekends. Madge Jenkins was her name, and that was really all Donni knew about her. The woman didn’t invite conversation and wasn’t particularly friendly, which had always made Donni feel awkward, because she was the type of person to fill silences with nervous chatter.
Once she had awkwardly offered to make Madge a cup of tea, as if she were a guest, and Madge had stared at her like she’d grown horns. Donni never made such an offer again and after a while, she just hid in her dressing room until she could hear the sounds of the woman getting ready to leave. Then she could cut the check and be done with it. With this pending lawsuit, though, she should probably dismiss the woman, but she didn’t know Madge’s phone number and had forgotten the name of the maid service who had recommended her. She’d have to look for it in her husband’s papers.
Late husband, her brain corrected her, as she swept everything into the trash can with a clatter that made her jump. She glanced at her reflection, and didn’t like what she saw there, so she went back to the bedroom and tucked the sheets in so tightly that she expected them to squeak. Not sure why she bothered—Rafe wouldn’t care—but she couldn’t bring herself to think aboutthateither, so she looked for something else to tidy.
When was he coming by? After dark, he’d said. But darkness came early now.
Was he going to expect her to make him dinner? Sweat was misting her body, making her shirt stick to her skin. Without being aware of it, she had wandered into the kitchen. Her eyes caught on the wine rack. An image popped into her head of him sitting at this very counter, drinking a glass of red, his eyes filled with a hunger of a very different kind as he watched her cook for him.
She shuddered.No dinner, she thought. It would give him the wrong idea.
Like he has the right one?
That ringing started in her ears. She could feel herself sinking into another panic attack.
And then her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans. The shock of it derailed her thoughts, snapping her into the temporary reprieve of sharp focus. She peered at it. Red Cypress Estates?
“Hello?” Why were they calling? Had something gone wrong? Could they send her husband’s bodyback?
“Hello, Mrs. Blake,” the man said, so awkwardly polite that she didn’t have the heart to correct him. “Our condolences for your loss, again. I hope the services met with your needs?”
“Yes, it was a beautiful service,” she said slowly. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just—well, a few of your guests apparently left some things behind. We don’t have a lot of storage here and there’s another funeral booked for this week. Do you mind coming to get them today? Or sending someone who can?”
Another funeral? She was nearly surprised—until it occurred to her that it could have been another one of her husband’s victims. Just like that, she felt her voice, and her resolve, dry up. It was a grim reminder that this whole situation was far from over.
“What kinds of things?”
“It appeared to be a glass cake plate and a cutter.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath of relief, not sure what she had been expecting. His sedate tone had made her wonder. “That’ll be Opal Walters’s. I’ll be over right now. She lives on my block.” And it would be easier than calling up the woman and having to explain, and then watch her demur the favor, she added to herself silently.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Blake. Just come right in through the front gate. Park anywhere.”
Maybe I’ll pick up something on the way home. With her nerves jangling the way they were, she’d burn the house down if she tried to cook something. She’d done that in one of her movies. InStarfucker—horrible, horrible title—she’d played a jealous groupie who had stalked her rockstar boyfriend before trying to burn his mansion down with the two of them in it.
A strange shiver crawled over her skin. And then—yes, another flash. She blinked the purple afterimage from her eyes, grabbed her keys, glanced at Marco’s silent Mercedes—I should run that, or the engine will conk out.But she still got in her Honda.
The funeral director—Ralph—had wrapped up the cake plate and cutter in a fancy bag like a gift. Donni was tempted to ask what the funeral parlor could have possibly sold that would need to be delivered in such wrapping, but she didn’t. Instead, she thanked him and got back in her car.
