Page 97 of Dead & Breakfast
“Are you sure you don’t want our help house hunting?” Salvatore asked Nora as they both bustled around the living room. Salvatore had found a frilly apron somewhere—probably part of a French maid costume—and wore it over his suit as he dusted. Arthur was delighted by it. The duster more than the apron, as Salvatore so rarely agreed to clean, but Arthur wasn’t about to deter him by making mention of it. Instead, he watched Salvatore out of the corner of his eye while they worked, drinking in the sight.
“I found a good real estate agent,” Nora answered as she rearranged books on the living room shelf to be in color order rather than alphabetical—something she insisted the youths loved and that would invite social media posts. “But if you want to tag along to house showings, you can. Maybe you can tell me if any of them are haunted.”
“Oh yes, great idea!” Salvatore bounced on the balls of his feet, waving his feather duster like a magic wand. “We’ll be invited intoso many more homes. That will make investigating much easier next time.”
“Next time?” Nora asked, a hint of alarm in her voice. “I hope there isn’t a next time. This town’s had enough murder mysteries to last us another fifty years, I should think.”
“One can only hope.” Arthur fiddled with his tie, though he knew it was perfectly straight. A full Windsor for the occasion.
Today was the launch of the Dead & Breakfast, the new branding for their bed-and-breakfast. Though the Iris Inn had its charm, Arthur and Salvatore agreed it wasn’t right for them, not anymore. They were done pretending to be normal.
The entire town knew already, and they’d even gotten some good press after all the events of Trip Young’s short-lived spree of violence were exposed. Fortunately, the FPI hadn’t shown up, canceling their visit after Trip’s arrest, but national media had picked up local papers’ stories about the heroic vampire duo in Trident Falls, resulting in a deluge of interview requests. Salvatore had wanted to accept them all, but Arthur put his foot down. He didn’t know, nor did he want to find out, what a Zoom meeting was. Besides, they needed to focus on the reopening of the Dead & Breakfast.
“What about Quinn?” Salvatore asked.
“What about her?” Nora’s head snapped up, eyes skirting the edges of the room for the blond woman who was her former enemy…or perhaps former best friend…or would that be former-former best friend? It was hard to keep track of which part of their relationship was most important. They’d been so many things to each other, and it had only been ten days.
“She could help you look at houses.” Arthur exchanged a glance with Sal.
He’d filled his husband in about the rich history between thetwo women a few days after the events at the hospital. Sal had chastised Arthur thoroughly for failing to tell him sooner. Vital information for his grand matchmaking plan, Sal had called it. Arthur had promised to assist as recompense.
“Yes! What a grand idea!” Sal dropped the duster as he clapped his hands together. “I’m sure she has vast knowledge of the area and would be a great help. Perhaps you could move into her neighborhood, even!”
“Really?” Nora wrinkled her face. “Quinn’s the one who got me set up with that scam listing the first time around…”
“The porta-potty, right?” Arthur asked.
Nora nodded.
“I suppose that was a bit mean-spirited.”
Salvatore cleared his throat. “Not topoo-pooyour assessment, but don’t you think we might reframe it all with the benefit ofhindsight? You two made up, right? Let’s let bygones be bygones.Flushthe old perception of things, if you will.”
“If you put as much energy into dusting as you do your puns, we’d be done with this by now,” Arthur grumbled, but he glanced out the front door to where Quinn was helping Theo schlep compost into the garden beds. He caught her eye and gave a wave, which she returned, dropping her corner of the compost bin and leaving Theo to scramble. Arthur cracked a grin at that. He might have turned his opinion around about werewolves—or rather about the one inhabiting Trident Falls—but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying a little light slapstick, especially if it inconvenienced his rival in business.
“Phew! All done!” Lore appeared at the top of the stairs, covered in a thin layer of wood shavings and purple paint. In addition to supplying the inn with her signature soap, she’d also given the upstairs a bit of an aesthetic upgrade. The Iris Inn was a thing of thepast, but she’d offered to create an homage to the previous era by painting irises on the doorframes.
“Oh, you’ve got a little—” Arthur pantomimed wiping the paint off himself in all the places she had it smeared across her skin, but really it was hopeless. There was so much of it.
Lore just shrugged. “Hazards of the job.”
“Right…you’ll be wanting your payment.” Arthur dipped around the back of the front desk for the cashbox and withdrew a stack of bills.
“Really, Arthur. You still have the cashbox?” Salvatore gave him an appraising look. “Visitors always pay by credit card, you know.”
Arthur just shrugged. “I like having this just in case.”
“Old habits die hard.” Lore nodded in understanding as she descended the stairs.
“Yes, indeed! Just because I’ve come around on some things doesn’t mean I’m ready to completely change.”
“Suppose I wouldn’t want you to.” Salvatore rolled his eyes but gave Arthur a rather inappropriate squeeze all the same. “Don’t throw the vampire out with the floodwater, or whatever.”
Before Arthur could intervene in his husband’s terrible butchering of the idiom, Lore pushed past Sal and took hold of Arthur’s hand. She wrapped his fingers around the cash and shoved him gently back toward the desk. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want your money, okay?”
“But you performed a service for us and—”
“That’s what friends do for each other, you dolt!” Lore turned her warm pink gaze on him. “Besides, you did me a huge favor with the murder case.”
