Page 8 of Dead & Breakfast
“If you try to make this about garlic…” Arthur whispered. Salvatore loved the stuff, but he was allergic. The legends about vampires and garlic were poppycock, as most myths tended to be. Garlic wouldn’t kill a vampire. At worst—and in Salvatore’s case—it would simply give him a spot of tummy trouble. It was the vampire Carlotta who had started the rumors that garlic would fend off vampires in the first place. She was a bit of a gourmand, to hear Salvatore tell the tale, and she preferred her victims seasoned properly, though Arthur suspected it had more to do with the fact that garlic was a natural blood thinner. Somehow, rumor became legend, and in Salvatore, legend became something of a fact.
Salvatore straightened and said, “So, Nora, what brings you to Trident Falls?”
“I grew up here, actually,” Nora said, following his change of subject and his path toward the garden with ease.
Arthur had done a fair bit of landscaping when they’d first moved in. The lawn had been overgrown with weeds, and everything else had been near a crispy death. He’d managed to save the camellia bushes, their brilliant white flowers a lovely complementto the light purple shade they’d chosen to paint the inn, and over the last few weeks, Arthur had dedicated himself to creating a colorful garden space. Now, enormous purple sage bushes flanked the back door, and marigolds, begonias, and borage lined the path. It was an explosion of color, a celebration of impending summer, and something for local bees to enjoy, he hoped. He’d even set aside a small plot in the back for herbs and vegetables. Pride burst in his chest as he saw the colorful tops of radishes and curly red lettuce ready to harvest.
The sun winked at them from behind the trees, casting copious shadows across the garden. The cat stayed ahead of them, doing a strange dance of running forward, then looking back as if waiting for them to follow.
“So, you’re a local?” Arthur asked.
“I suppose, though some might not agree. I left for college as soon as I was able, but…living in a big city wasn’t what I thought it would be. I’ve always loved this town, even if it didn’t always love me back. Still, I have all these memories I can’t quite let go of. All those summers as a kid, hiking and fishing with my parents…”
“Just like Arthur!” Sal elbowed Arthur rather sharply, an eager smile on his face. “Look at that, something you have in common—an incomprehensible appreciation for the outdoors.”
Arthur covered a grimace with a cough, unwilling to reveal how badly Salvatore had mischaracterized his relationship to nature.
“It’s not so incomprehensible once you’ve seen Trident Falls in the summer—give it another month or so and you’ll understand.” Nora gazed out at the tree line, where tall evergreens reached for the lavender sky, lightening with every minute. “Any chance we might’ve crossed paths back then?”
Arthur sighed and shook his head. “Alas, I suspect our childhoods didn’t have much overlap.” He hated to remind her of hisunusual lifespan, but thus far Nora had shown no signs of sharing the mayor’s opinions on paranormals. Perhaps it was all right to be a bit more himself around her, but putting it into practice still wound the coil of anxiety in his chest tighter.
Nora nodded and said, “Of course. Well, the point is that I have a soft spot for Trident Falls, so when I saw the position of city manager was open, I jumped to apply. It felt like time to come back home.”
“Really?” Salvatore asked incredulously. Arthur glared at him until he continued. “I mean, it’s such a charming…quiet…little place.”
“It’s struggling,” Nora conceded. “But I think with some new management, it can really become a tourist attraction again. The falls used to be a huge draw. Hiking, camping, fishing. I also have a whole plan to promote paranormal tourism and residency—well, I won’t bore you with the details. At least not before coffee.” She chuckled and skipped ahead to run her fingers along the cat’s spine. The cat arched its back at the touch, then sprang forward again, skirting the garden beds as they rounded the corner toward the back of the house.
Arthur held back out of earshot. “This could be our chance!” he whispered.
“What, to make out in the begonias? Not very professional, and we’ll damage that umbrella I gave you for your last birthday, but if you insist…”
“No, to impress Nora.” Arthur swatted Salvatore’s shoulder, fighting a smile. “If she likes her stay here, she could really help the business.” Arthur glanced at her retreating back. She disappeared around a large rhododendron bush. “This could mean much more than getting into the chamber of commerce’s brochure. She has a plan. We can be part of it, if we don’t mess up.”
“You worry too much. She seems to be enjoying herself so far.” Salvatore looked up at Arthur, his hazel eyes sparkling in the early-morning sunlight. “We’ll feed her a magnificent breakfast, then she’ll be off to city hall or wherever, and we’ll be the talk of the town by Friday.”
“Today is Friday.” Arthur sighed, but Salvatore was right. Nora was about to experience the very best hospitality. A charming tour of the garden. Then the greatest breakfast anyone had ever eaten in the history of the world. She would see all the hard work Arthur had poured into this place and all the hard watching-him-work Salvatore had contributed. There was no point worrying.
He let the tension bleed out of his shoulders—not that he could bleed literally—and smiled down at his husband.
That’s when the screaming began.
Chapter 3
A truly terriblesound rent the air from up ahead. Arthur gripped Salvatore’s hand in his and surged forward. His mind tripped over itself imagining worst-case scenarios—the cat had bitten Nora, Nora had tripped and stabbed herself in the face with the wrong end of a trowel, or perhaps she’d been lying earlier and she hated waffles and someone had left a plate of them in the garden. Just as Arthur was beginning to imagine a long and sordid history between Nora and the family of waffles who’d murdered her fishing-loving father, they rounded the corner of the bed-and-breakfast to a sight altogether worse than anything Arthur could have concocted.
Nora was fine. She stood hunched over, eyes wide, with her hands over her mouth as though she might be sick. Next to her, the stray cat stared calmly at the flower bed.
There, crushing the flowers Arthur had painstakingly planted only a few weeks ago, lay Mayor George Roth. Normally, the mayor’s skin was a robust tan, with plenty of red in his cheeks. Now he was as white as a sheet, and his chest wasn’t moving. His eyes were open, already clouded, and he was very much deceased.
As the echo of Nora’s scream faded from the air, it was replaced by Salvatore’s.
“My begonias!” he wailed, loud enough to make the cat startle and shrink behind Nora’s legs.
“Yourbegonias?” Arthur turned an indignant gaze on Sal. “I’m the one who planted them!”
“No offense to your begonias,” Nora said in a strained, high-pitched voice, “but that’s the mayor, and he’s dead!”
“I mean, he could be napping,” Salvatore hedged, taking a step toward the body, but Arthur held a hand out to stop him.
