Page 14 of Dead & Breakfast
The first time Arthur had met his husband, he’d thought Salvatore a complete fool. He’d barely been able to see through the smoky haze of the club, and Salvatore had loomed out from the darkness, fangs bared. It was that moment Arthur had begun to suspect he’d gotten the address wrong for the queer club he’d meant to attend.
“Do you want to be together for eternity?” Salvatore had asked him by way of introduction.
Arthur never would have guessed the answer would someday be yes.
Just as Salvatore had eventually charmed Arthur away from his life of corporate tedium and compulsory heteronormativity, he would find a way to charm Sheriff McMartin into…well…hopefully letting him go. McMartin was about as easy to charm as a doorstop, but if anyone could do it, Sal could.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Arthur asked nervously as Lore closed the van doors on George Roth’s body. “A coffee to go? Tea?”
“I’m fine, dude.” She held out her phone. “Give me your number, and I’ll text later about my findings. But if you turn out to be some kind of serial killer, I’ll be really mad.”
“I’m not a serial killer.”
The absence of acerealkiller joke from Salvatore loomed heavily as Arthur took the phone. It was the newfangled rectangle kind that was all glossy screen. “I miss when buttons were actually buttons,” he said with a sigh.
Lore snorted as she took her phone back. “Old man.”
Arthur’s heart sank as he watched her get in the driver’s seat and pull away, leaving behind only an empty feeling in his stomach. George Roth was on his way to an autopsy, and Arthur was stuck here with nothing to do but wait for Lore’s report.
“Ready?” Nora appeared at his side like a ghost, although he was reasonably sure she wasn’t one. He resisted the urge to touch her shoulder just to be certain she was still solidly among the living.
“Ready for what?”
Nora furrowed her brow. She was dressed a little differently now, with a smart blazer over her blouse, a purse on her shoulder that bulged with a huge three-ring binder. She twirled a set of car keys around one finger.
“I’m going to the police station.”
“But—don’t you have work?”
“My morning agenda was another meeting with the mayor. Kinda feel like that’s on indefinite hold now.” She gave him a lopsided smile that was half grimace. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“No, I couldn’t, I have to stay here and clean up, and—”
“What, do you need to get ready for more check-ins?” Nora said it so sincerely, Arthur almost wanted to thank her. She couldn’t know they had no more guests scheduled today. Or ever.
“I really shouldn’t—”
“You can step away. It’s an emergency. Your husband just got arrested. People will understand.”
“That’s no excuse to slack off work.” The response was automatic, but his shoulders slumped.
Her voice pitched lower and fell into something softer. “You’re a person, you know. Not just a business owner.”
“I can’t afford to be an imperfect version of either.” Arthur wished he could make her understand. “If I give people a reason tohate me, they will.” It had happened before, in his mortal life and beyond. Snide jokes about his Jewish heritage from his coworkers who disliked his job performance, outright hostility from homophobes who didn’t like who he simply was. But if he didn’t slip up, things went a lot more smoothly.
“Salvatore doesn’t seem to worry about that, and I like him just fine—assuming he’s not, you know, a murderer.”
Arthur stared down at her, trying to fight off the wave of discomfort that statement brought. “All right. I suppose I can step away for an hour or two.”
“Good, let’s go.” Nora started toward her car.
“No,” Arthur said, not moving to follow. “Absolutely not.”
“You just said you’d go—” Nora began.
“I’ve never trusted cars. If you’re in one of those things doing more than thirty-five miles per hour and crash, you’re dead.”
Nora blinked at him. “That’s not true. Maybe it was a long time ago, but cars these days have seat belts and airbags and crumple zones—”
