Page 77 of Code Violation

Late Summer

Forrest sipped at his lemonade, the ice chinking musically against the sides of the tumbler, as he relaxed on the patio he’d had installed outside his Greyhound bus. Nero was ensconced in what had once been Forrest’s office, claiming he’d be “Done in a minute.” Experience told Forrest it could be a minute, an hour, or longer, and he was okay with that.

Nero was putting the finishing touches on a new podcast. Part two of the one about Cooper Springs. The results of the DNA testing on Kaylee Fernsby’s clothing had come back over a month ago and, even after Dina Paulson and Dale Lockwood, the results had shocked the citizens of Cooper Springs again.

When Chief Dear and Lani Cooper had arrived at his home to question him, Fernsby had almost immediately confessed to the decades-old crime. Russel Fernsby had been arrested for the rape and subsequent murder of his cousin and hauled off to jail where he was currently awaiting trial. He’d also confessed to setting fire to Cooper Mansion in an attempt to get rid of anything that might have linked him with her death, ransacking Cabin Five to see what Nero may have figured out, and, in a last-ditch effort to stop Nero, cutting the brake lines of Forrest’s beloved truck.

The town had been shocked by the revelation that the mild-mannered librarian who’d lived in Cooper Springs all his life had been Kaylee’s killer. After that first confession, Fernsby had clammed up, so whether Kaylee Fernsby had been his only victim was still unknown.

Forrest looked around, taking in Purple Phaze in all its calming lavender glory. He was perfectly fine with trading workspaces with Nero. He’d already moved his office out to the bus itself. The big, glorious bus that he loved almost as much as he loved Nero Vik.

Weird.

Loving someone who was (thankfully) not Lani or Ernst was the weirdest thing he’d ever done, the biggest leap of faith he’d ever made. But it was a good weird. The best weird. Forrest was as happy and content as he’d ever been in his life. Even if Magnus and Rufus claimed to take the credit for getting them together.

Fine.

Let them crow about it all they wanted. Forrest was happy.

He still preferred to stay home most of the time, and Nero’s plan was to travel for whatever he needed to do. Grave Secrets was doing better and better, and Nero was always going to need to be at ground zero to get the flavor of a scene, interview those close to the case, and offer to transport evidence to Lindsay when needed. Forrest would go with him occasionally but when he didn’t, he’d be here when Nero got home.

Forrest had faith that Nero would always come home.

A bonus was that Forrest had a better view of the lavender fields from his bus office than from inside the house. As planned, the Greyhound was set up to double as a gift shop during the summer months, a place where visitors could sip an espresso or glass of lemonade and peruse through lavender-themed tchotchkes.

While Forrest wasn’t one for banking on the future—too many things could go wrong, thus making sure the future never happened—he was as close to sure as he could be that Nero was sticking around. Forever.

There were no plans for Nero to pack up his butt-ugly Explorer and leave town with his worldly goods. He’d moved his precious recording equipment into the office and that was that. Purple Phaze Farm was Nero Vik’s home base.

Forrest liked the sound of home coming from Nero’s lips.

And now that Dina and Dale Lockwood were gone, Forrest’s nightmares had largely ceased. He’d had only one since Lockwood had tried to kill Lani. Was that because the ghosts were dead or because Nero Vik slept next to him every night? Likely a little bit of both, but Forrest wasn’t complaining.

Forrest ran a hand along the arm of where he sat, enjoying the handmade outdoor furniture Liam had brought by earlier in the week, especially the long cedar bench with its wide seat. It felt a bit like a throne.

“These are just taking up space in my yard. They belong here,” Liam had claimed. Silas had helped unload them from Liam’s truck—silent as usual—and they’d driven off, refusing any payment.

Shutting his eyes, Forrest tilted his head back, better to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his skin. Seconds later, a flap of wings had him opening his eyes again.

A glossy black raven perched on the back of one of the intricately carved chairs.

“What are you doing here? You’re going to put claw prints on those,” he complained.

The bird didn’t answer, just gave Forrest a beady eyeball.

“Polly want a peanut?”

Was that a look of disgust? Forrest suspected it was.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, that was terrible. Polly does not suit you at all. What about Midnight? No?”

“Did I just hear you admit you were wrong and I missed it? Who are you talking to?” Nero claimed the spot next to Forrest, snaking a leg over Forrest’s longer one and dropping a kiss on his cheek.

Forrest pointed his chin toward the bird. “Talking to the bird.”

“My attention was on you, didn’t see the bird.”

“It’s not just any bird, and we’re discussing names. I suggested Polly and have been scorned.”

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