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Eewwwwwww. I do not want to hear this.
“Oh, Hugh, Hugh….um, is your testicle supposed to look like that?”
“It’s fine. It was a printing press accident from many years ago. Don’t worry about it. Now, do that thing with your hips…that’s it…”
Why am I listening again? Oh, that’s right, I can’t bear to ignore a mystery, and Hugh Briston’s affairs are definitely a mystery.
The creaking and moaning grew louder, more frenzied. They both let out a strangled cry, and then the creaking stopped. Christina sighed happily.
“Hugh, that was amazing. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve dreamed about this day since I got my creative writing degree. I know that you and I will be great together, in publishing and in life. I’ll tell Charlie that I no longer need him. Maybe I’ll be able to get out of paying him the royalties—”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about any of that,” Hugh cut her off abruptly. “This contract is just between you and me. All you need to do is sign here…and here…”
There was a shuffling of papers, and then Christina said, “All done!”
“Wonderful. And don’t forget what we discussed. No telling anyone about our contract until the retreat is over. You’re now a Red Herring author, but that doesn’t automatically guarantee success – you’re going to have to work for it.”
“I will earn it. Hugh. I’m ready to work. I’ll work harder than I ever have—”
“I believe you. Off with you now. I have to get dressed. There’s a dining room filled with tedious writers I have to meet.”
Christina made a noise of disappointment. There was the sound of shuffling.They’re probably putting on their clothing and heading down to breakfast…
Shit. I’m right in the middle of the hallway. They’ll notice me—
As if on cue, light footsteps began to walk across the room, heading toward the very door where I was hiding!
I didn’t even think. I whirled around, grabbed the nearest door, and pulled. It was a guest room and was locked. But right next to it was a narrow door with no carved decoration or number. It must be a supply closet.
I yanked it open and threw myself and Oscar inside, closing the door silently behind us just as the door to Hugh’s room creaked open. Oscar pawed at my feet. I held his collar and scratched his ears to keep him quiet while I listened. Christina walked past and headed back to her room, and a moment later, her shower started running. My heart pounded against my ribs.
Hugh’s door slammed so hard that it made the wall shudder. The stairs creaked as he headed down to the restaurant. Christine was still in the shower. I counted to sixty with my heart in my throat before pushing the door open and letting a rather rattled Oscar lead us downstairs.
Quoth and Morrie were waiting at a table when we walked into the restaurant. Quoth got up and went through the buffet with me to tell me what each plate of food was and help me get the servings onto my plate. (Buffets can be a bit of a nightmare when you’re blind.) The staff gave Oscar a water bowl and some mashed vegetables, and I removed his working coat so he could sit happily under our table and enjoy his feast.
“You’re blushing, Mina Wilde.” Morrie’s breath grazed my ear as I tucked into my towering plate of pancakes, caramelized banana, berry coulis, and tiny breakfast sausages. “Is this about that salacious conversation you overheard, or did you and the Ornery Bear upstairs get up to a little mischief?”
I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn’t see the faces of the people at the tables nearest to us. “Are any of the other writers nearby? Or Donna?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, you’re not going to believe this…”
Morrie and Quoth leaned toward me. I told them everything I’d overheard Hugh and Charlie saying, and the exchange between Hugh and Christina upstairs.
“I’m glad Heathcliff isn’t here, because he’d acquaint Hugh’s facial features with a critical item used in the building of walls,” Quoth said.
“Who am I hitting with a brick?”
“It emerges from the deep,” Morrie intoned as Heathcliff collapsed into the seat next to him. His dark hair hung in his eyes, rumpled from sleep. He looked amazing, as always.
I was in the middle of whispering the story to him again when Donna clapped her hands for attention and invited us writers to begin our day of workshops with Hugh in the library, and the artists to start their classes in the east wing.
Quoth picked up his sketchbook and kissed my cheek as he headed off toward the art gallery and studios. Morrie closed his spa brochure with a happy sigh and said, “Take a good look at me now, gorgeous. By the time you see me at dinner, I’ll be an entirely new man.”
“Do I get a choice of which man you’ll be?” I asked. “Because I pick Jason Momoa.”
“Very funny.” Morrie took my hand and kissed my knuckles, sending a delicious, flirty shiver down my spine. “I have a full day of treatments – hot stone massage, cupping, LED facial, salt scrub, seaweed wrap… I shall emerge from my cocoon a radiant butterfly, whereupon you will delight me with your salacious tales. And maybe we’ll create a little salacious tale of our own.”
