Page 33 of Story of My Life
There was something about that name that rang a bell. But before I could figure out what it was, the window behind us opened with a protesting screech.
Hazel poked her head out. She had cobwebs in her hair and a ridiculous, dreamy smile on her face.
Darius pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Hazel. Then he turned the camera on the two of us and took a selfie. I scowled.
“Just documenting the big day,” he said smoothly.
“If that ends up on that stupid Neighborly app, I’m going to have words with you, and my fists will be doing the talking,” I warned.
Darius clung to my shoulder and chuckled like we were on a golf course somewhere, sharing punch lines. “Ah, you kill me, Cam. You gotta watch out for this guy’s sense of humor,” he told Hazel.
“Oh, yeah. I can tell. He’s a laugh a minute,” she said dryly. “What can you tell me about the previous owner?”
“They died here, didn’t they?” Zoey called. “They were gruesomely murdered and the crime was never solved. That’s what I’m smelling, isn’t it?”
“How about I come in there and fill in some gaps about your new home?” Darius offered. “Cam’ll come too since he’s the one you’ll want to hire to do any little fixes this incredible piece of history might need.”
“Is that so?” Hazel asked.
Darius gave her an exaggerated wink. “Only if you want the best in town.”
I hated every single thing that was happening.
Zoey popped her head out of the window next to Hazel. “Did he just growl again?” she asked.
Hazel’s smile was smug. “Yep.”
“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered.
“That’s the spirit,” Darius said, leading the way around to the front of the house.
My phone vibrated against my ass, and I yanked it out of my pocket. Messages from the Bishop Buttholes were rolling in at an alarming rate. While Bish Bros was for us three brothers and mostly dealt with work and beer, the Bishop Buttholes included our sister. It had been named in honor of an infamous family get-together that nearly murdered all of us by spreading a stomach bug or food poisoning. The jury was still out on that one. For two days, every single text was sent from the vicinity of a toilet.
Laura:What are you doing at Heart House, Cammy? Spying eyes want to know.
She’d included a GIF of some creeper with binoculars.
Instinctively, I turned toward the fence and spotted the twitch of a curtain in the next-door neighbor’s downstairs window. Felicity Snyder was a borderline agoraphobic—her words, not mine—video game designer who spent most of her free time eating cereal that turned milk unnatural colors,knitting, and keeping tabs on everything that happened around her brick duplex.
“Seriously, Felicity?” I called.
She swept back the curtain and pressed her nose to the window screen. “Did Darius really sell Heart House? What’s the new owner like? Is she the brunette with glasses or the curly-haired one? Or are they a couple? Are you going to fix up the house for them?”
“I’d advise you to stop before I decide not to deliver cereal to your door anymore,” I warned as my phone vibrated again.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Felicity said with a mock salute. “But seriously, do you think they’re cool, or do I need to start planning my campaign to get them to move out?”
“Go away,” I said, opening the new message.
Gage:According to my sources (Dad), Cam was spotted driving two strange women around town square in his truck.
Levi:Strange as in circus escapees?
Gage:Speaking of strange women, I met someone at Wawa today. Strange as in hot and mysterious and flirty.
Laura:All happily ever afters start at Wawa.
Levi:Aren’t you taking a break from finding Ms. Perfect after the last disaster?
