Page 87 of The Hangman's Rope

She smiled and looked up the aisle toward the brick house I lived quietly in with Hangman, cozy and safe.

“Well, I suppose it isn’t out of your way,” she said and I laughed.

We finished putting everything into the back of the small, old, pickup that Hangman and Haint had gotten running for us and drove back up to the groundskeeper’s shed nice and slow waving to the occasional tourist.

“Who is that?” my mother asked curiously when I waved rather enthusiastically to a woman with short greenish blue hair standing on the steps to the house, outside the still-coming-together visitor’s center doors of the first floor.

“That’s Enocha. She’s a member of the board for the Bonaventure Historical Society.”

“Oh, nice!” my mother said, turning the wheel of the pickup and pulling under the shed. We got out and put tools away on benches and in cabinets.

We were just finishing up when Hangman rolled into the shop in his much bigger work truck. He sat with it running, finishing some kind of a call, before shutting off the big diesel engine and opening the door.

“Hey,” I called softly, and he didn’t so much as make a face. I was used to that by now, though. He rarely made any kind of emote with his facial expression around my mother or even hisclub brothers. It seemed he saved all of his smiles and soft looks for me, behind closed doors, in our little apartment – our oasis of quiet among the sea of mausoleums and graves.

I liked it like that.

It made me feel special.

I went to him, and he wrapped his arms around me.

“Good day?” he asked levelly and I smiled up at him and nodded, tipping my lips up for a kiss. He flashed a quick smile and humored me, kissing me soundly but chastely, once, twice, and a third time while my mom looked on.

He gave her a respectful nod and asked, “Feel good about it?”

“Absolutely!” she answered warmly, and I couldn’t tell if she meant our work at the Fornier plot or if she meant seeing me with Hangman. I didn’t ask for clarification… some things are just more comfortable not knowing, you know?

We parted ways with my mom and traded hugs goodbye and were told to have a good time that night, and when all was said and done, we wandered slowly, hand in hand, to the cemetery gates to lock up.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to tell her,” he said to me as she turned down the lane to exit Bonaventure.

I smiled a little wryly and said, “Well, Grim and Reaper happened by and let the cat out of the bag on that one.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “How much did they say?” he asked.

“Thankfully not enough to let her know that I’m the subject of some of Min-Syn’s paintings,” I said, breaking into a broad grin. “Never would have gotten away with her not coming in that case and honestly, I’m just not comfortable with that… some things you just don’t want your mom to see, you know?”

He chuckled and nodded his head. “Not like they’re paintings of you nude and suspended in rope,” he said. “Bet some motherfuckers would pay top dollar for that shit.”

I leaned into him to knock him off balance a bit and shrieked my indignation on a laugh at the mereaudacityof his thinking such a thing into existence.

No, the paintings Madisyn had done of me were actually quite nice. Me dressed in regency era attire, tea set out, sipping while reading among the graves.

She sort of specialized in painting the cemeteries around Savannah, they made up quite the body of her work and people loved them, for whatever reason. Only recently had she begun to incorporate living models, and even then, she tended to work from photographs that Lainey took for her.

It was really a concerted and team effort, a special sort of collaboration. I dressed, Valory had dressed me, Lainey had photographed me and Madisyn had painted an image made from several into one moving image.

It was very special and I was thrilled to have been a part of it.

We showered together, kissing slowly under the spray and washing one another sensually. It was honestly becoming one of my favorite parts of the day. Even when we just took care of ourselves while chatting amicably – it was one of those couple’s rituals I looked forward to.

I took more time to get ready than he did when it came to doing my hair and makeup after our couple’s adventure in bathing. It was hard to focus when he got me so hot and bothered, but I was happy enough and managed to muddle through.

I had laid out my outfit on the bed earlier that day and just needed to go across and dress but my jaw hit the floor when I slipped into our bedroom to see him standing in front of the dresser, dressed in a very nice black tailored suit, struggling with a pair of cufflinks in one sleeve.

“Sweetpea, can you help me get this damn thing?” he asked distractedly from my reaction as he fiddled with metal and clothtrying to get his thick fingers to work the cufflink through the small eyelet in his cuff.

“Half of me wants to help you getoutof it, the other half just wants to stare at you a little longer,” I said, and then clapped my hands over my mouth.

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