Page 14 of The Dead Come to Stay
Green gave him a slow blink. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in either of their plans.”
“It’s not safe. You’ve seen how small she is.”
“Oh my God. James.” Green put her back to the wall beside him as if she needed a breather. “What’s safe? We’ve got break-ins, theft, vandalism. Hell, stalkers. And what about Tula? She rents ten rooms at a time to perfect strangers. Anything could happen. It usually doesn’t.”
“Yes. But Tula hasBen,” MacAdams protested. And with that, he’d stepped in something he couldn’t back out of. Green stood straight and bucked her razor chin in his direction.
“Oh.Isee.”
“Not what I meant,” he protested. Green shook her head.
“Itiswhat you meant. She’s a woman. That’s it, isn’t it? After everything, you still think that woman can’t take care of herself?”
Of course women could take care of themselves. They also took care of everything and everyone else. And he’d had that, once.
There were times when MacAdams wondered if he should have just stayed married to Annie, taken a lateral move to desk work and moved to York like she wanted. They might have had a family. She could have been the one with ideas, and MacAdams could have become the sort of man who complains aboutkids these daysbut otherwise avoids having strong opinions.
Instead, he was a single DCI with a DS who knew where to kick him and somewhat complicated feelings for a woman who kept embroiling herself in local murders. Green’s nostrils had flared and her pupils dilated; he had truly offended her, and now he was the one in need of a breather.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“Okay? How aboutI’m sorry for being a patriarchal son of a bitch?” Green asked. This was tipping into insubordination territory, but MacAdams assumed he deserved it.
“I’m sorry. Iam,” he admitted. “She just—troubles me.”
Green looked far from appeased, but she’d stopped looking daggers at him.
“That’s why you like her, in’it?”
***
Gwilym had bought Jo’s whiskey, or tried to, except Tula made everything she ordered “on the house.” If she didn’t watch very carefully, she’d end up too far gone to drive home.
“Was brilliant, I’m saying, you wowed everyone,” he was saying. Again.
“Aye, even Roberta was impressed, and that’s no mean feat!” Tula gave Jo’s shoulder a good shake. She’d removed her apron and declared herself off the clock. Patrons were welcome to the (few) remaining sausage rolls, and Ben could pour the drinks if necessary. It wasn’t very busy for a Saturday night, the beer tent having been well-patronized during the fete. Most people had left the day’s events happy, well-fed and a bit sunburned. Gwilym certainly was.
“I honestly think the day’s event outperformed the... local gossip,” Ben said.
“Localmurder,” Jo corrected. “At my cottage.” Jo raised her glass, just not her spirits. Dead bodies had a way of dampening things. Including the cottage’s future prospects as a restful retreat.
“Now, wasn’t actually killed there this time, remember?” Tula soothed.
“Plus,I’dstay in a murder cottage,” Gwilym offered.
“Course you would,” Tula smirked. She turned and disappeared through the kitchen door for a moment before returning with a tartan flask and shot glasses. “Celebrating, aren’t we? A toast to Jekyll Gardens, tourist season and Jo Jones.”
“I’m having a guess this is moonshine?” Gwilym asked, twirling the Guy Fawkes mustache he sported these days. Tula gave him a solemn look.
“Gwilym Morgan of Wales,” she said sternly, “I would never countenance illegal trade in this fine establishment.
“Nor thwart the liquor tax,” Ben added with a wink.
Nor have a still in the woodshed behind the Red Lion, Jo thought.
“Forgive mine ignorance,” Gwilym said with a bow.
Tula unscrewed the cap and poured out colorless liquid.
