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SET MY HEART BONFIRE
BLUEBALL BAND OF BROTHERS #4

MARIKA RAY
 SET MY HEART BONFIRE

Copyright © 2024 by Marika Ray

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate
text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

This is a work of fiction, created without use of AI technology. Any names, characters, places or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fiction.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Edition: March 7, 2024

Cover Model: Aaron W.
Photographer: Katie Cadwallader Photography
Cover Artist: Jennifer Olson

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-950141-72-2

Original Paperback: 978-1-950141-74-6
Special Edition Paperback ISBN:
 DEDICATION

Thanks to Joanne Cote-Felaccio and her father for the scene inspiration. ; )
 CONTENTS

Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Also by Marika Ray
Free Stuff
About the Author
 DESCRIPTION

He's a dashing millionaire who thinks everything in life is one big joke, probably because he bathes in piles of money each
morning. He’s also my new neighbor, and after a humiliating experience in the cemetery that is my backyard, he becomes my
shadow, showing up everywhere just to annoy me.
I’m not a fan of happy people. They bother me with their constant grins and rainbows coming out of their ears, and Vander
Booth is the king of smiles. Despite my efforts to scare him away with both my profession as an undertaker and my general
need for frowning through most of my workday, he sticks around like a bad case of poison ivy.
He is gorgeous though. I’ll give him that. And when I see the way he coordinates outfits with his grandma just to make her
happy, I'll admit my biological clock starts ticking. Add in his fear of real human connections and suddenly I find myself
cheering for the guy instead of plotting his death.
Though opposites can attract—and boy is my black lipstick attracted to his glow-in-the-dark smile—they don’t stay together
long-term. And they certainly can’t co-exist when they’re fighting constantly in a knock-down, drag-out competition for the
same piece of land for their business venture. Or can they? Cue ominous organ music…
 CHAPTER ONE

V ander

I SLID right off the damn couch and nearly cracked my head on the solid wood coffee table. Linen shorts and plastic couch
covers were not a good combination.
“Jesus, G-Mil,” I groused, climbing back onto my feet and gingerly perching my ass on my grandmother’s ancient couch.
“Don’t I send you enough money to afford a couch without plastic?”
She waddled into the room, tinier every single year, which only made anxiety climb in my throat. Grandma Milly was my
best friend. The only human on earth who understood me and loved me as the flawed human I was. Hence the move to the tiny
town of Blueball. Believe me, this town wasn’t my first choice for early retirement, but if G-Mil was here, that’s where I
planned to be too. I’d floated the idea of moving her out to Scottsdale with me and she’d sent me articles about haboobs,
scorpions, and off-the-charts heat indexes until I’d gotten the message. Grandma Milly was never leaving Blueball.
“If you saw how much tea Gertie spills every Thursday, you’d understand why I need the plastic.” Grandma Milly placed a
tray of cookies on the coffee table. They were the dark cookies shaped like a windmill that tested the strength of your teeth
instead of the homemade kind she’d presented me with most of my life. The fact that she was resorting to store-bought made me
feel like I’d shown up in just the nick of time. “Did you enjoy your nap, Vandy?”
Only G-Mil could get away with calling me Vandy. I nodded, snatching up a cookie and watching her get settled in her old
recliner like a hawk. She moved slower now too. More careful, like she was testing the limits of her bones and soft tissue with
each move she made. She hadn’t mentioned any of that in our weekly calls the last few years, and I chastised myself mentally
for not coming out to check on her in person like I had been until work got crazy.
“Like the dead,” I replied, making a list of all the doctor appointments I wanted to take her to now that I was in town for
good. I wondered if Blueball had a physical therapist I could hire to come to the house. Maybe I could get a nurse in here full-
time to keep her moving. Or a chef so she ate all organic.
Grandma Milly frowned, the lines on her face stacking up. “Oh, at my advanced age we don’t joke about death, dear.”
My mouth dropped open, another layer of guilt slamming into me. “I’m sor⁠—”
Grandma’s face broke out into the smile that everyone said looked just like mine. “Gotcha, sucker!”
She cackled and hooted, looking downright gleeful while I gave her a disapproving look. But like always, her joy spread
and I couldn’t contain the smile on my own face. It was good to see her happy.
I reached over and held her gnarled hand in mine. “I’ve missed that laugh, G-Mil.”
She patted my hand, quieting down. “And I’ve missed you, Vandy. You send me so much money I just end up giving it away
because that’s not what I want. I want my boy.”
Damn, the woman was probably more than halfway to senile, but she could always grab me by the heart. “Well, your boy is
here to stay. I sold the company and my house. All my stuff is on a moving truck headed to Blueball. I appreciate you letting me
stay here for a few nights.”
Grandma’s shoulders did a little shimmy. “I do love a good sleepover! We’ll do face masks and I bought popcorn. You pick
the movie and I’ll choose the takeout.”
I grinned, the fatigue of driving out here this morning fading away fast. “Sounds good to me. I just need to meet up with my
realtor and get a tour of the place before escrow closes.”
“You go do that, dear, and I’ll catch up on my shows.”
I shook my head. “Still watching that dating show?”
 “Damn right I am. Never too old to watch a good love story unfold.”
Standing, I let go of Grandma’s hand and reached for the gift bag I’d stashed in my truck. “I got you a little something.”
“Is it a puppy?”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s not a puppy.”
Grandma’s face fell. “Well, shit.”
I lifted the cashmere out of the bag and wrapped it around her neck. The iconic check pattern in camel, black, and red
looked silly over her floral blouse and slacks, but nothing was too good for my grandma. If she’d let me, I’d deck her in nothing
but designer ballgowns and dripping jewels.
“Soft as a puppy,” I assured her.
She rolled her eyes. “More expensive than a damn puppy, I’m guessing too.” Her hands stroked the cashmere repeatedly, in
opposition to her words. “This is highly unnecessary. In fact, it’s frivolous. You really need to stop throwing around your
money, Vandy. Save it! Invest it!”
“I do, I swear!” I did the sign of the Boy Scouts, though I’d never been one. “But I like to spoil you, G-Mil. You’re my
girl.”
“I’m eighty! Hardly a girl.” Her eyes flashed but the corners of her mouth gave her away, tipping up slightly. “You need a
girl your own age. Speaking of, I know⁠—”
“Oh, look at the time. I’m about to be late. I can’t keep Audrey waiting. It would be incredibly rude to show up in town and
be late to my first meeting with a citizen of Blueball,” I announced, tapping the watch on my wrist that cost as much as most
people’s cars.
Grandma Milly frequently went on tangents about my dating life. Maybe the dating shows she watched gave her ideas about
what could happen if I found the right woman. I’d tried a dozen times to disabuse her of the idea of happily ever after, but she
stubbornly refused to listen to reason.
Being thirty-two, most of my acquaintances had already gotten married and started having kids. Not one of the women I’d
dated over the years seemed like someone I wanted to spend forever with. In fact, that sounded terrible. Just like ice cream
flavors, I needed variety. One couldn’t just eat vanilla every night for the rest of their life. Even peanut butter moose tracks
with sprinkles and a cherry on top got old after the fourth or fifth time in a row.
Grandma Milly pulled the scarf from her neck and whipped me with it. Thankfully, cashmere makes a bad whip. She
pushed to the edge of the recliner and then doubled in half, pushing herself to standing in slow motion. I reached out a hand to
help her, but she growled at me. When she finally got to her feet and stood straight up—well, as straight as her back could get
—she looked up at me, complete clarity in her eyes.
“Promise me, Vandy. Promise you won’t throw your money around here in Blueball.”
I opened my mouth to protest such a ridiculous promise, but she wasn’t done. Her finger pointed right in my face.
“If I have to be on a fixed income, so do you.”
“But—but you don’t have to be on a fixed income, G-Mil! I literally send you money every month so you don’t have to
worry about anything.” Add going over her finances to the list of things to do now that I was in town.
Grandma tutted. “Having so much money isn’t good for someone so young. Plus, you flash the cash and we’ll be robbed!”
She dramatically grabbed the pearls around her neck and I tilted my head, realizing I was being hustled by someone who barely
cracked five feet tall.
“We’re not going to be robbed. Blueball is a safe town. I looked into it, believe me.” Grandma looked like she was gearing
up for another stab at a ridiculous reason for not spending my money, so I put her out of her misery. I held her by the elbows
and leaned down into her face. “I promise I won’t flash my cash.”
She smiled and then kissed my cheek, smelling like cookies and icy hot. “You’re a good boy, Vandy. Now hold on just one
more second. I made you a sweater!”
I really was going to be late if I didn’t get going, but nothing and no one could pull me away from Grandma Milly when she
had something to give me. She’d been sending me things in the mail every few months, like she was slowly gifting me all the
family heirlooms before she died. Not that I had any plans for her to kick the bucket for at least another decade. I’d get every
longevity doctor and biohacker in here to extend her life past one hundred. Cost was not an issue.
I followed Grandma into the kitchen where she pulled a pea-green sweater off the back of a barstool and presented it to me.
Her eyes were sparkling and wide, her smile lighting her up and making her seem ten years younger.
“Ta-da!” She thrust the hideous sweater in my direction. It was a crocheted cardigan, buttons sewn down the front and a
few patches sewn into the chest. Mr. Rogers would have worn this thing like a boss and you better believe I had every intention
of doing the same.
I took it gently from her hands and admired the handiwork. She must have spent months crocheting this labor of love.
Warmth spread through my chest, and I almost teared up. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me a gift from
the heart.
“It’s the best sweater I’ve ever seen, G-Mil.” I swept her up into a careful hug, pulling her off her feet and spinning her
until she swatted at me to put her down.
She clasped her hands beneath her chin while I put it on, oohing and aahing once I got my arms through. The sleeves were
just right, skimming my wrists, and the width was perfect for my broad chest. I wasn’t sure if the green went with my shorts, but
I didn’t think Blueball was the height of the fashion world anyway.
“So handsome, my boy,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.
“I got the good-lookin’ gene from you,” I whispered back, throwing my arm around her shoulder and steering her back to
her recliner. “Now don’t get into trouble until I get back and can join you.”
Grandma sat down and lifted her nose in the air. “I can’t make any promises. Oh, and while you’re out, find yourself a
girlfriend, would you?”
I shook my head. She’d been telling me to find a girlfriend ever since I graduated high school, like somehow that would
bring me success in life. I left her place, happier than I’d been in a long while. Scottsdale had gotten stale lately. All the same
restaurants, colleagues, and women. New beginnings stirred my blood in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

The Skinner house came into view after I punched in the gate code and climbed the long winding driveway. Tall trees lined
the driveway, making a grand entrance. The pitch-black roof offset the stacked stone facade and creamy white keystones above
each window. The place looked like a modern-day castle with a turret on one side and a sweeping front entry of no less than
ten stairs leading to a wooden door that belonged on the front of an architectural magazine. I fucking loved it.
Audrey Hellman, the realtor I’d hired over the phone based off Grandma Milly’s suggestion, stood by the stairs, patiently
waiting for me. She had on a navy suit jacket, paired with gray slacks and the kind of heels that couldn’t possibly be
comfortable but made every man’s thoughts plummet to the gutter. Seeing that I was five minutes late, I slid out of my truck and
hustled over. I felt guilty when I was late to anything, a side effect of having parents who doled out punishment for being tardy.
Sadly, I was late a lot growing up and I had yet to grow out of the guilt.
“Mr. Booth? So nice to finally meet you.” Audrey shook my hand. I had to give it to her, she didn’t look put off by my
sweater in the slightest. She looked happy to see me. I imagined she was, given that the commission on this real estate
transaction would be close to six figures. I wasn’t naive enough to believe her enthusiasm at my appearance was for any other
reason.
“Vander, please. And yes, it’s lovely to finally be here in Blueball.”
“Did you just get in today?” she asked, climbing the stairs while somehow still looking over her shoulder to keep eye
contact. The woman was a goddamn professional.
“I did. Swung by Grandma Milly’s place first. Thanks for meeting me for a walk-through.”
She jostled the front door lock and the oversized door swung open. “Of course. You just bought the most stunning house in
all of Blueball.”
My first glimpse of the house left me speechless. From the rough-hewn stone floors to the aged zinc wagon wheel
chandeliers to the floor-to-ceiling velvet draperies, nothing was basic in this house. I stepped inside and had the strangest
feeling come over me. It wasn’t a feeling of being haunted by the previous owners like one would think from the architecture
style, but more like a sense of coming home. To have arrived in a place that was as mine as the scar on my left elbow from
falling off my bike when I was eight. I’d never seen the place before, but it was home. All six thousand square feet of it.
“If you’re looking for one of a kind, I can imagine that this view would do it for you,” Audrey was saying, having walked
over to the expansive front room that Grandma Milly would surely call a parlor. She gestured out the window with a quirk to
her mouth.
I joined her to take in the view of the entire valley, seeing the edge of downtown Blueball on the far-left side. Treetops
blocked most of the view, but what I could see made me feel like I was the resident king on the hill, surveying the peasants. My
gaze dropped lower.
Make that the deceased.
“Is that…?” I trailed off.
Audrey lost the fight with her smile. “Yep. That’s Blueball’s cemetery. The building directly below is Blueball Endless
Eternity, the funeral home that oversees the land.”
I vaguely recalled Audrey telling me these same details before I sent over the offer on the house, but I hadn’t registered the
meaning until I was staring at a hundred tombstones glowing in the late afternoon sunlight.
“Thankfully I don’t spook easy,” I replied, turning from the window, eager to check out the rest of the house.
Audrey spent the better part of an hour with me crawling all over the three levels in the house before we closed the place
back up. Once the funds officially transferred tomorrow, this place would be mine.
“Off to go celebrate?” Audrey asked after we shook hands.
I shrugged, giving off the easy smile I had down to a science. I could be sitting naked on a red ant hill and still give off that
smile. “Got a hot movie date followed by face masks and ice cream.”
Audrey chuckled. “Sounds heavenly. I’ll have to see if my fiancé is up for the same.”
“Pretty sure snuggling in front of a movie is fiancé mandatory behavior.” Not that I’d know. Sounded about right though if
Grandma’s shows were anything to go by.
Audrey’s face went soft and I could tell she was madly in love with whomever this fiancé was. “He’s a very good snuggler.
Though he doesn’t have a super soft sweater like you. I might have to suggest it.”
I smoothed my hands down the front of my yarn catastrophe. “Nothing says young and single like a cardigan.”
Audrey laughed like I hoped she would. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here, Vander.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I nodded anyway and headed for my truck. Fitting in had never been my style. I mostly blew
through towns, events, and social gatherings like a stand-up comedian, dazzling everyone with my wit, but never connecting
with anyone. Blueball, however, did not have enough places for me to move on to greener pastures socially, so I’d have to find
a way to make actual friends.
Or I could just hang out with Grandma Milly until we were both six feet under one of those headstones.
 CHAPTER TWO

M arlo

“MARLO ! YOU NEED TO EAT !”

Dad’s shout carried through the first floor where I was currently on my hands and knees collecting wrappers from under the
wooden pews in the reception room. Someone at today’s funeral had had a mighty hankering for peppermint candies.
And a lack of decorum regarding littering.
“Coming!”
Right on cue, my stomach growled so loudly it might have woken up Ralph Waldo (uncle to Auburn Hill’s old chief of
police, James Waldo) had he not been deaf as a doornail. And if he were alive. Currently, he was lying in the casket at the front
of the room, his hands peacefully folded over his chest after receiving the entire town of Auburn Hill and part of Blueball
earlier today. I’d done a particularly skilled job with his makeup, if I did say so myself. It was quite the artform to make the
dead look living without also making them look like a Vegas showgirl.
“See you in a few, Ralph. I’m hoping Mom made meatloaf. If I recall correctly, that was also your favorite too, huh?”
Ralph did not answer.
Tucking the wrappers into the can at the back of the room and making a mental note to take the trash out to the curb later
tonight after I buttoned up things with Ralph, I shut the lights off, washed my hands, and headed for the stairs that led to our
family’s private quarters.
Dad was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, looking like a million bucks in his polo and slacks. It felt like a personal
triumph that Mom and I had talked him out of his suits a few months after his heart attack. I can’t remember a single day of my
youth where Dad wore something other than a three-piece suit. Pre-heart attack, that is. But he remained steadfast with his hair
gel, coifing that thick black hair into the kind of style that would have made James Dean light up a cigarette in solidarity.
“You’re working too hard, girlie,” he rumbled, pulling me under his arm the second I cleared the top step and enveloping
me in a cloud of his cologne. It was safe to say I was a daddy’s girl, probably because I had the best one west of the
Mississippi.
“No harder than you ever did.” I lifted an eyebrow, daring him to deny that he’d given his whole life to the family business.
He made a noise in his throat, but kissed me on the top of my head. “You should be dating men and making babies, not
running yourself to death handling the business.”
I shrugged. “Death kind of is our business, Daddy.”
He lifted his arm off my shoulders and gently pushed me toward the table where Mom had laid out a healthy dinner like she
always did since Dad’s heart attack. Nothing like seeing literal clogged arteries on a daily basis and then suffering a heart
attack to make you cut out the saturated fat.
“You’ve always had a good sense of humor, Marlo,” Dad said, having a seat at the head of the table and kissing my mother.
“If you’d just unleash it around the young men, they’d be lining up to put a ring on your finger.”
I sat on the long side of the table and put a napkin in my lap. “Yes, I can see it now. A procession of young eligible
bachelors lining up into the funeral home, eager to date the undertaker’s daughter.” I held up my hands dramatically, lips
quirking when Mom began to laugh. “I’d have to beat them away with a casket. Although you know, that might make for a great
setting for the next Bachelor! Halloween edition, or something.”
“Bah!” Dad dug into his meal—not meatloaf, sadly—and shook his head at my antics. “You joke now, but by your age, I
was married to your mother already.”
 I chewed on a forkful of green beans, swallowing before answering. “If grandkids were your endgame, you should have
had more kids to up your odds of procreation. Speaking of over-populating the earth, have you taken a look at that projection I
put together?”
Redirecting my father was the only way to escape the dating issue. This issue was far more important than the number of
good eggs I had left in this body of mine. If we didn’t buy some more land, we were going to run out of space. And unless we
started charging recurring rental fees on the already departed in our cemetery—I could see the headache already, trying to get
the deceased to sign off on membership fees—we wouldn’t be making money in the future unless we had more plots to sell.
Mom darted a glance in my direction that held a heavy dose of warning. I knew that look. I’d seen it on her face every
single day since Dad’s heart attack. Don’t bring up work stuff with your dad. He can’t handle the stress.
But Blueball Endless Eternity was his business. Sure, he’d handed the baton over to me after his heart attack, but for major
business decisions like expanding, I wanted his input. It would take a major loan from the bank to buy the plot of land next door
to the existing cemetery, not a move I’d make without the full financial and emotional backing of my parents.
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin before sitting back in his chair. “Never thought I’d see the day. I used to think we
bought too much land. I’d never fill it, but here we are.”
Anxiety about this decision, on top of all the other daily stress of running a bustling business all by myself, made me lose
my appetite. “Can’t we just make everyone get cremated from now on? It would take up far less room.”
“Marlo,” Mom muttered, shaking her head.
“What? Everyone’s pushing electric vehicles for the environment. I say we start a movement for mandatory cremation.
Stack up the urns and use far less land. It’s the ultimate way to keep the earth green. Return to ashes and forget the caskets. Oh
hell, that’s a good tagline!”
“Marlo.” Dad simply said my name, a finality in his tone that made me sputter to a stop. He never raised his voice, but
when he used that tone, everyone knew he’d reached his limit.
I sighed. “I know. I was just kidding anyway.”
Mom darted into the charged silence and steered the conversation toward the latest gossip in town. Mom and Dad had been
married for close to thirty years and seemed to be just as in love as the day they said I do. Sometimes I felt left out as an only
child. Like they were best friends and I was the third wheel.
I let their chatter fade into the background as I ran through my mental to-do list for the evening. Ten-hour days were the
norm around these parts, and even longer days when receiving a body. I’d been working so hard I’d been neglecting my friends.
Perhaps I could lob a text out to them tonight and schedule a time to get together.
After helping Mom with the dishes, I headed back to the main level of the old Victorian to move Ralph to the reposing
room. The family would be back tomorrow morning for the actual graveside service.
As I held the lid of the casket, I smiled down one last time at Ralph. “I hope you had a great life and I hope the next one is
even better. Be well, Ralph Waldo.”
And with that final sendoff I gave everyone who came through our funeral home, I closed the lid one last time. The
deceased didn’t scare me in the slightest. Truly, it was an honor to take care of them in this time of transition, a privilege I did
not take lightly despite my earlier teasing about cremation.
I had all the lights off on the main floor and was heading for the stairs to turn in for the night when I noticed a faint orange
glow out the south window. I darted to the glass and squinted into the distance.
“You kinky little motherfuckers,” I whispered to myself, fogging up the window and blocking my view of two conspirators
who’d invaded our cemetery after hours.
Unless my eyes deceived me, there was a couple currently mid-snog up against ol’ Mr. Landers’s headstone.
I bolted away from the window and out the back door, my legs eating up the lawn. The long skirt I’d chosen today didn’t
help much though. I felt like I was Laura Ingalls Wilder, running down the hill in the opening credits in a neck-to-ankle dress
and falling face-first into the dead grass. I pressed on because Mr. Landers had been a crotchety old man who wouldn’t have
appreciated teens rounding third base on his final resting place.
The orange glow I’d seen through the window turned out to be a candle flame dancing in a glass jar. I had to hand it to the
teens, they’d decked out their make-out spot like true champs. A fleece blanket kept the bugs away while they were rolling
around the tombstones and the candle cast an almost romantic vibe. But for me, it was the bubbles.
As I skid to a halt next to the oblivious couple—who were well on to second base, I might add—I lifted a finger in the air
to pop a bubble coming from the battery-operated bubble maker they’d propped up against Mr. Landers’s headstone. I almost
hated to break them up. They were getting more action than I’d seen since the undertaker conference in Arizona three years ago
where I’d managed to ditch my dad long enough to make out with the guy who sold the caskets with Bluetooth speakers
embedded into the lining. The man had unusually long fingers. Sadly, we’d been interrupted before I’d managed to take full
advantage of said fingers.
But that was beside the point and the cemetery was closed. Additionally, it was straight negligent to have an open flame out
here. Slow your roll, Universe. I’d been kidding when I said all of our customers should be cremated.
 “Time to take that boob grab back to your car, folks,” I drawled, delighting when they jolted apart and the girl let out a
shriek. What did they expect? A ghost?
The guy stood up, eyes wide and hair all a mess. He reached for the girl and yanked her to her feet, both of them making a
run for it like I was the grim reaper and they were my next victims. They looked no older than middle of high school if I had to
guess.
“Hey! You forgot your stuff!”
Neither one bothered to slow down, look back, or show a single flicker of regret leaving their blanket, candle, and bubble
machine. I briefly wondered if I could successfully incorporate bubbles into a memorial service, but dismissed the idea just as
quickly.
What the hell was wrong with teens these days? Back in my day, you just looked for a dark corner and mashed bodies
together. These kids had to deck out their make-out spot like a dorm room before getting it on. I shook my head at their
commitment to the mood. Then I tilted my head and observed the bubbles in the candlelight.
“Huh,” I said into the silent night. It was kind of pretty. Fanciful, even.
I poked a bubble and watched it splatter on my skin. Then I poked another one and another one. Pretty soon my arms were
flying and I was playing a weird game of whack-a-mole, which ol’ Mr. Landers would have hated simply because it had the
unmistakable whiff of fun.
My foot kicked something mid bubble poke and the orange glow got brighter in a nano-second.
“Ah shit.”
The fleece blanket immediately went up in flames and Mr. Landers suddenly had a front-row seat to a bonfire. Thinking
quickly, I shoved my skirt down my legs and stepped out, using the voluminous material to blanket the flames. Thankfully, it
worked because I didn’t enjoy the idea of having to run back to the house to grab the fire extinguisher in just my black flats,
gray blouse, and underwear. I’d worn granny panties today that shouldn’t see the light of day or even the mooncast of night.
They did not do good things for my ass.
A deep voice came from behind me. “Are you all right?”
Chills raced up my back and I froze in my panties. I wasn’t scared, goddammit, I was pissed. I would have bet my life that
the old motherly advice would never actually be applicable. It was like being told to wait thirty minutes to swim after you ate.
Or that swallowing gum means it’ll stay in your stomach for seven years. Everyone knew those were simply myths designed to
curb a kid’s behavior, right?
Well, the joke was on me.
I wasn’t in a car accident, but I was about to be murdered in my worst pair of underwear.
 CHAPTER THREE

V ander

“HELLOOOOO .” My voice echoed off the stone floors and empty walls of this new house of mine. The best acoustics were in the
entryway where the vaulted ceilings and stone walls made me sound like Andrea Bocelli belting one out in the Tuscan
countryside.
Boxes stacked up dauntingly in each room from where the movers had placed them earlier today. I should probably start
unpacking but I was having too much fun making my voice bounce off the walls. Plus I was tired. Grandma Milly’s spare
bedroom contained a twin bed that had surely been manufactured before the first world war. Pretty sure I had a case of tetanus
from that one metal spring that dug into my back all night long.
Grabbing the laundry basket that held the clothes G-Mil had so kindly laundered for me this morning while I was busy
directing movers, I snatched up my gray sweatpants and a soft T-shirt. Until I found the box that held my sheets, I’d be crashing
on my mattress without covers. And I had yet to find the thermostat in this place, so I hoped I didn’t freeze tonight. I made quick
work of peeling off my sweat-soaked jeans and shirt. Sure, I’d hired movers, but I couldn’t just stand around letting them do all
the work while I watched. I pulled on the clean T-shirt and nearly asphyxiated myself.
“What the hell?” I yanked harder and barely got the thing on. It hugged my chest, strangled my biceps, and ended just above
my belly button. “No, no, no.”
I grabbed my favorite pair of gray sweatpants and tugged them on too, realizing with horror that they ended at my shins and
hugged my ass like a woman in yoga pants. The kind that wiggled right up your crack and got cozy.
“Fuck!” The word bounced off the walls and repeated back to me. G-Mil had put everything in the dryer when I’d
specifically asked her to hang-dry them. I wouldn’t say I was obsessed with fashion by any means, but what I did have was
top-notch quality. My dry-cleaning bill was usually more than my grocery bill. I’d spent a pretty penny on these designer
sweatpants that stroked my skin like silk and now they wouldn’t fit a small child.
A shriek from somewhere outside had my head whipping up in alarm. I ran to the front window in the parlor and saw two
people running hand in hand through the cemetery below, laughing hysterically. Another shout had my gaze dropping further. A
woman flailed about like bees had taken to attacking her head. Then she kicked a candle that seemed to come out of nowhere
and suddenly the entire ground around her was in flames. I didn’t bother waiting to see more. I was out the front door and
racing down the mountain. My old trainer in Scottsdale would be impressed. All those sprints where I cursed his name and
paid him thousands of dollars for the torture had finally paid off.
I reached the fire just in time to see the woman bend over, rip off her skirt, and blanket the flames like she was a
professional firefighter with nerves of steel. She scrambled to her feet in black dress shoes attached to long pale legs that were
now bare. Not even the faint moonlight could hide the sinewy curves this woman sported. Not even the moonlight could pull
my gaze away from the panties oddly reminiscent of Grandma Milly’s that covered an ass I would have preferred to see bare,
just like her legs. Her dark hair swung as she pushed it over her shoulders and assessed the situation.
“Are you all right?” I asked, always one to lead with good manners. You could get a lot more accomplished with kindness,
I’d found.
A little machine down by a headstone kept pumping out bubbles, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. The bubbles were
so thick in numbers I could barely see the back of the woman’s head. It dawned on me she’d been down here popping bubbles,
not fending off bees. A beat of silence had my worry increasing. When she didn’t immediately turn around, I paused to look
around me. We were in the middle of the cemetery, not one light illuminating the situation now that the fire was out.
 “Odd place for a bonfire,” I drawled, stepping back and to the side to lean on the headstone. I kept my hands where she
could see them. I meant no ill will.
The woman remained frozen, but I saw her eyes shift to the right to study me. A bubble floated by my face and I poked it.
Damn. That was fun. I could see why she’d been flailing around earlier. I poked another one.
“Good call on putting out the fire. The bubbles are way more fun.” I kept poking them until the woman unfroze, an
exasperated groan wrenched from her mouth.
“Ugh! My whole cemetery could have burned down!” She bent at the waist and slapped the bubble machine. Instantly the
bubbles stopped churning out.
I pouted. Why did everyone always stop the fun? This lady, despite not having pants on which was usually a sign of a good
time, seemed like she was far too serious about things considering the fire was out and there was no danger. Her dark
eyebrows were drawn over pretty eyes. Her outfit, minus the granny panties, was dark and somber, much like her mood.
“They’re already dead, Bubbles.”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. I’d never seen a woman grow two inches on an inhale of fury. It was
fascinating, especially when the woman was half naked and quite beautiful in an avenging-dark-angel kind of way.
She opened her mouth and I was on the edge of my proverbial chair, waiting to see what zinger of an insult she threw at me.
“Nice belly button.”
I blinked. That…was not what I was expecting. I glanced down at myself, finally remembering that I was in toddler
clothing, and that my belly button was indeed on display. Without any warning at all, I discovered I really, really liked dark
angels. If the situation in the front of my pants was anything to go by. Although that could simply be due to blood flow issues in
these tight pants.
The woman bent again and snatched something off the ground. As she straightened, I took that moment to step forward and
tuck her hair behind her ear so I could swipe my thumb through a soot mark on her cheek. She inhaled sharply, eyes sparkling
up at me. She was tall, her gaze level with my chin. I didn’t know this woman at all, but she seemed equally angry and turned
on, a combination I could definitely work with. The moment my thumb touched her cheek, she flinched, bobbling the flashlight
she’d picked up. I snatched it before it hit the ground, whipping it up to aim it up under my chin like I used to as a boy when my
parents shipped me off to an all-boys summer camp and we spent the evenings around the campfire trying to scare the shit out
of each other.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” I began, pitching my voice low and menacing.
“For fuck’s sake,” she hissed, grabbing the flashlight out of my hands and clipping me on the chin.
She let out a mewl and grabbed her arm, the complaint about her abuse dying on my lips. The woman practically glowed,
she was so pale, so I easily saw in the moonlight what caused her pain. A red streak marred her porcelain skin.
I took the flashlight back yet again and shined it on her arm. “Damn, Bubbles. You burned yourself.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” she spat back.
I grinned, finding her feistiness highly amusing. I’d found that most women took decades before they ripened their feistiness
factor, which was probably why Grandma Milly was my best friend. She’d had plenty of decades to perfect her level of
ballsiness. However, this woman was proving my theory wrong. She probably came out of the womb with a scowl and a
middle finger pointed in the air. I didn’t care for pushovers and this filly was steady as a headstone set in concrete.
“Let’s get you up to the house so we can clean that up.”
Putting my hand on her elbow, I took a step toward my house, but she didn’t follow.
The woman wrenched her arm out of my grasp with a scowl. “Get lost, buddy, or I’ll find an open ditch around here and
push you in it.”
I put my hands on my hips, barely holding back laughter. Her gaze dropped to where my pants were tightest. I returned the
favor, though those droopy panties weren’t tight anywhere.
“I can’t in good conscience leave you burned and alone in the cemetery, Bubbles.”
“Stop calling me that.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know your name and bubbles seems fitting. Like your personality.”
She only scowled harder. “Oh good. Then I’ll call you annoying.”
“My name’s actually Vander. Vander Booth, but you can call me annoying if you’d like. I love a good nickname.”
Her eyes narrowed while she seemed to be making some kind of decision in her head. “How’d you get in here? The
cemetery’s closed.”
I pointed over my left shoulder. “I live up there.”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped with complete confidence despite being caught in public in her undies.
God, she was delightful. “I do. Just bought the place. Closed escrow yesterday. You can call my realtor, Audrey Hellman, if
you don’t believe me.”
She continued to glare at me, but didn’t mount another argument or continue to tell me I was a liar. This was what I’d call
progress in our relationship.
 “Marlo Balmero. Undertaker.” She lifted one sculpted eyebrow, and if I’d had a tail, it would be wagging uncontrollably
right now. “I know at least ten ways to murder a man without it showing up as foul play on an autopsy, so I suggest you don’t try
to murder me tonight.”
I hadn’t had this much fun since Grandma Milly agreed to go on that cruise with me three years ago and we’d recreated the
famous Titanic scene at the bow of the boat for my yearly holiday cards.
I looked at my wrist where I did not currently wear a watch. “So, is a murder good for you tomorrow night, then?”
She didn’t crack a smile, but she did tilt her head a fraction of an inch. “As long as I have better underwear on, you’re
welcome to try it tomorrow.”
My lips lost the fight and stretched from ear to ear. “Duly noted. I’ll be sure to check underwear status first. Now can we
please clean that burn and get some ointment on it?”
“Only if I get a tour of the ol’ Skinner house.” She was negotiating with me. Like she was doing me a favor to let me doctor
her burn. This woman, man. This small town. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what I’d gotten myself into, but I was damn happy
to find out.
“Done.”
I waved, indicating she should walk next to me up the hill between our two properties. She complied silently, neither
acknowledging nor thanking me for directing the flashlight at her feet so she didn’t stumble into any divots in the grass. Her
head began to swivel left and right when we climbed the stairs to my front door. I didn’t know what reputation the Skinners had
here in Blueball, but I got the sense that my new friend Marlo had never been inside this house despite living right next door.
In the entryway, I gave her a once-over, finally able to see her in full light. The panties were even more spectacularly
horrible under daylight-glow bulbs, but her face was exquisite. High cheekbones, full lashes, and eyes that held an intelligence
that made this computer programmer feel dumb by comparison. I could see a blush rise to her cheeks as she took in the house,
like she was excited to finally be inside of it, but when her gaze settled on me, she’d schooled her features into dismissive
boredom.
When the silence had gone on long enough to make me uncomfortable—which was saying something because these pants
were in crevices I did not give them permission to be in—I pointed to the hallway leading off the parlor. “Pretty sure I have
Band-Aids in the hall bathroom boxes.”
Her lips pulled into a sneer. “Is that where you keep the Oompa-Loompas?” Her gaze ran up and down my length, clearly
finding my outfit lacking. Funny, coming from the woman with no pants.
I pointed at my chest. “These clothes? They’re not mine. I mean, they are mine, but my grandma shrank them accidentally.”
That explanation did not seem to improve her impression of me. Nor should it. What grown man needed their grandma
doing their laundry? “How about you keep your hands where I can see them and we go get that Band-Aid, huh?”
Goddamn, she was cute. I nodded, regrouping to find another way to make her smile. My normal charm wasn’t working
here. I wanted to keep cracking jokes until I found just the right one to make her smile. Could she smile? I wasn’t sure she
possessed the proper muscles to get the job done. She probably Botoxed her smile muscles instead of her frown muscles.
“Yes, ma’am.”
 CHAPTER FOUR

M arlo

THE POWDER ROOM— AS I called it in my head because it was far fancier than a mere bathroom—was as impressive as the
entryway. The Skinners had been our neighbors my entire life, but they rarely came out of the house. Which, of course, only fed
my overactive imagination. I’d come up with all kinds of stories in my head as to what they got up to all alone in this huge
castle of a house, each more gruesome than the next. I was oddly disappointed not to see any bloodstains in the travertine tile.
Vander Booth smoothed a Band-Aid over my forearm, his careful touch sending shock waves throughout my body.
Considering I wasn’t wearing pants, I didn’t appreciate it. A girl could only handle shock waves from the touch of a handsome
man when she had pants on. It was a rule in the interpersonal etiquette handbook. There were actually a lot of things you
shouldn’t do while a girl was pantless. Like, call her nicknames and tease her with a smile that was so handsome she was in
danger of her panties going up in flames. I’d had enough flames for one night, thank you very much.
“There you go. You’re good as new.” Vander flashed me that smile again, and in the close quarters of the powder room, it
was even more powerful than in the moonlight. He had a dimple on one side of his mouth, which should have made him look
feminine, but he had the audacity to sport a granite jawline and thick eyebrows over sparkling chocolate eyes. His hair was just
a touch long, swept off his forehead in the kind of messy waves a girl wanted to get her hands on. He was movie-star handsome
with the swagger to go along with the ego.
And it pissed me off.
“If you’re intending to skin me and wear me as a bodysuit, you’ll have to wait a few days for this to heal. I don’t suggest
you try it though. It’s a lot harder to skin a person than you’d think.”
He blinked, but the smile didn’t waver. “I’m not going to ask how you know that.”
I snatched my arm back out of his grasp. No more touching. My panties couldn’t handle it. “What are you going to ask,
then?”
His grin intensified and I felt burned all over again. “You seem to have a preoccupation with me murdering you, so
hypothetically, how would you suggest I successfully go about that?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Why would I give you all the answers? You’d use them against me.”
Vander held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “My grandma would be incredibly disappointed in me if I murdered
someone, so believe me when I say I have no intention of murdering you.”
“That’s exactly what a murderer would say. They’d lure you in with cute grandma talk when they already murdered sweet
grandma and fed her to the plants out front. You’re probably wearing the clothes of a small person you murdered just this
morning.”
Vander smoothed his hands down his tight shirt. I chose to look away from the mounds of muscle that were straining to be
free of the ridiculous material. I would not be the stupid girl in the after-school documentary who fell in love with her
murderer. But that tight round ass on display wasn’t exactly playing fair.
“I assure you that’s not the case. Here. I’ll show you.” He stepped around me and exited the powder room. I had no choice
but to follow, lest he get too far ahead of me and have the opportunity to grab a murder weapon when I wasn’t looking. Mostly
though, I was just looking at his ass. Annoyingly, he kept his hands in the air, as if he knew I still didn’t trust him.
When we reached the kitchen—holy crap on a cracker, he had one of those fridges that was the size of a small SUV and two
sinks…who the fuck needed two sinks?—he pointed down at a laundry basket.
“I’m going to grab my phone.”
 “Mhm.”
I kept up a good front, but I wasn’t actually worried he’d murder me. He’d used Audrey’s name out in the cemetery and it
came flooding back to me that she’d had some baller of a client she was working with. It was all she’d been talking about the
last month. Some big spender wanted to buy a house here in Blueball. Naturally, this place made sense. It was the largest and
priciest home in the county. Everyone knew millionaires didn’t usually jeopardize their cushy lifestyle to kill a stranger.
Vander pulled a cell phone out of the basket and threw a ball of yarn at me. “Here’s a sweater.”
I frowned at the questionable garment but put it on. Vander looked up from his phone, mouth twitching as he took in the huge
green monstrosity that now enveloped me.
His finger drew a figure eight in the air. “I meant for you to put it around your waist, but whatever.”
I looked down at my bare legs, thankful I’d at least remembered to shave yesterday. The hem of the sweater reached the
bottom of my granny panties, thereby covering me sufficiently. There were a few patches sewn into the sweater and I tilted my
head to give them a read.
“If found dead, delete my browser history.”
Vander chuckled. “Yeah, G-Mil knows me well.”
I looked up at the handsome man, annoyed that he was slightly funny. In my experience most handsome men were as boring
as prom, all glitter and no bang. Or maybe that had just been my experience. “Mine would say, if found dead, delete my Kindle
library.”
Vander sidled up next to me, a subtle whiff of cologne distracting me. He smelled like pine trees and bergamot, a
combination he could have had for free just rolling about outside, but probably spent a chunk of money to spray onto his neck.
“Look. As you can see, Grandma Milly is alive and well.”
My jaw dropped open as I leaned into his side. There he was, standing next to Milly in the picture on his phone. He held
keys in the air and he was sporting the same hideous sweater I now wore.
“Milly is your grandma?” I jerked away from muscles and cologne and temptation.
Vander went to put his phone in his pocket, but thought better of it when the material wouldn’t accommodate even the tiniest
bit of further stretch. “That’s right. MadLib Milly. She used to do those MadLib things with me when I was a kid. God, she was
vulgar!” Vander shook his head, a soft smile making him far too handsome for his own good. “Those were good times.”
I nodded, brain trying to catch up. “Sure, sure. Nothing like learning about sex from your grandma to really cement
foundational memories.”
Milly had sewn all the costumes in the school plays, Christmas productions, and even a wedding dress or two. She’d
always been super sweet, but a little off-kilter with her longwinded storytelling and her constant laughter. I’d only had to hush
someone’s laughter twice in my history of facilitating funerals and both times had been Milly Booth. Meeting her grandson, it
all made sense. They both talked too much and laughed like it was their job.
I clapped my hands together, startling Vander. “Okay, well, thanks for the mini-tour. The powder room exceeded
expectations, but you should probably start with the kitchen from now on. Real stunner. I gotta go.”
My footsteps echoed through the hallway as I made my way back to the front entry. Vander’s weren’t far behind.
“What’s the hurry? I can show you the turret.”
I froze with my hand on the doorknob. Fuck. When would I ever get another chance to tour a turret? Then I remembered the
time, my lack of clothing, and my original plans for the evening, which did not involve an annoying neighbor with far too many
nauseating smiles.
The door swung open without a single squeak, which was fascinating, given its size and age and lack of use from the house
sitting empty for several years. I’d have to ask Audrey if the Skinners left any information on where they got their door. Not that
I was in the market for a new door that would set me back five figures, but I’d like to discuss their joint grease. Caskets that
squeaked eerily when you opened or closed them were frowned upon in my business. I was always on the prowl for a good
joint grease.
“Marlo?”
“Huh?” I spun around to see Vander looking at me quizzically. His hand covered mine on the doorknob.
“I asked if I should walk you back. Being new here, I wasn’t sure if the cemetery was safe at night.”
“Oh!” I removed my hand and stepped outside. “No. It’s safe. Just an occasional fire to put out. I’m good.” I hooked a
thumb over my shoulder awkwardly. “Got a date.”
Vander’s smile disappeared and his eyebrows tried to frown. Even his frown looked festive. “Oh. Sure. Okay, well, good
luck.”
I started down the stone steps. “I’ll need it,” I mumbled.
That was the truth. I’d attempted a bazillion first dates. Every time the guy found out I was an undertaker, they suddenly
ghosted me or found a reason to leave the date early. Even worse were the guys who didn’t even bother to get to know me,
instead quizzing me on all things death. It was like men were either obsessed with undertakers or repulsed by them. I wanted a
guy who’d take my profession in stride, not freaked out nor unhealthily intrigued either.
 When I got to Mr. Landers’s headstone, I swooped down to pick up the bubble maker. That puppy was coming home with
me.
“I’ll sweep up the mess tomorrow, okay?” I asked Mr. Landers to dead silence.
I dared a peek up at the Skinner house, jolting when I saw Vander standing in the turret I hadn’t investigated, his fantastic
physique outlined in the window with a soft light glowing behind him. He raised a hand and waved. I didn’t bother waving
back. Seemed far too friendly.
Instead, I hustled home to take a quick shower. I laid Vander’s sweater on my bed and made sure to change underwear
before my date. I waited outside my house, purposely giving the funeral home address to prospective dates when we connected
online. I’d rather weed out the scaredy-cats right away. It was ten minutes past the time when tonight’s date was supposed to
pick me up when I got his apologetic text about some emergency preventing him from keeping our date.
With a sigh, I turned right around and went inside. Another one bit the dust.
I grabbed a bag of chips out of the arrangement room where we offered snacks to the family members of the deceased and
headed for my bedroom. If I pushed the curtains out of the way, I had a direct view of the Skinner house. I used to stare up at
that house as a child and come up with stories in my head about princesses and castles and dragons that killed the princesses. It
wasn’t exactly fairy-tale material, but it had been my favorite thing to do as a child. Now I sat on my bed and stared up at the
house, envisioning a tall, muscular prince with ill-fitting clothes and a dimple of distraction.
Picking up my phone, I texted my friends, studiously ignoring the house on the hill and its new owner.
Me: I need a girls’ night.

Paisley: Hell yes!! I’ll schedule the babysitter.

Keva: She’s alive, y’all.

Me: Was I ever feared dead?

Audrey: I think we always wonder. You go deathly silent sometimes, babe.

Me: I’m just busy.

Paisley: Um, Keva and I have newborns. We understand busy. You just go into your cave.

Me: I like my cave.

Audrey: We know you do, Dracula, but it’s healthy to get outside. Have you even seen the sunshine the last
few days?

Me: Yes. I had to walk an old lady around to find the perfect plot for her deceased husband yesterday and
she insisted on the middle of the afternoon. I did wear a hat though. And long sleeves. And sunglasses.

Paisley: Sigh. Let’s meet at my place. No dead people here.

Me: Hey, don’t knock my life. The dead people are actually nicer than the three dates that have bailed on me
in the last week.

Keva: Ouch. I’ll bring the margaritas.

 CHAPTER FIVE

V ander

I’ D UNPACKED EXACTLY one box in the last twenty-four hours that I’d been living in my new house. Considering my only
clothing options were either my dirty moving clothes or a few outfits that were now currently only fit for a kindergartener, I had
to unpack a box of clothing. I should be unpacking the kitchen too, but I had more important things to do. Grandma Milly was
expecting me to pick her up and take her to the grocery store today. She insisted she had enough food, but I snooped when I
stayed the night with her and she had bare cabinets and a wilty head of lettuce in the fridge. That simply would not do. If she
was going to live past one hundred, I needed to get more nutrients into her.
Turned out, the GPS on my truck was overkill. There was only one turn and one stoplight between me and G-Mil. If I got
lost in Blueball, I had no business driving in the first place. I was accelerating through the stoplight intersection when I saw an
odd sight on the shoulder of the road. I slammed on my brakes and pulled over in front of a hideous purple car. It was an oddly
shaped car, like a cardboard box on wheels, but it was the legs sticking out from under the car that held my attention.
I’d recognize those pale legs anywhere.
The grin was already stretching across my face when I slid out of my truck and approached with caution. I’d spent most of
last night thinking about my new neighbor and being highly amused. Then I’d remember her date and I’d be left annoyed with
myself for caring. I was in Blueball to help Grandma Milly, not flirt with the oddly beautiful woman next door.
I would have worried Marlo had actually been murdered—not by me like she thought—if it weren’t for the string of
creative curses coming from under the car.
“It’s the wicked witch of the west!” I exclaimed, leaning against the hood of her car and folding my arms across my chest. I
watched her legs jolt and then get deathly still. “Wait. Or is it the wicked witch of the east? I can never remember.”
With an admirable grunt, Marlo crawled out from under her car, looking adorable in a black band T-shirt that had seen
better days and cutoff jean shorts. The Band-Aid I’d given her last night was still on her forearm. Her nails were painted a dark
purple today and she wasn’t sporting any makeup. Her dark hair blew around her face in the gentle breeze. I saw a leaf or two
caught in the strands, probably from lying in the dirt while she cursed at her vehicle.
“Oh look, Annoying is back,” she deadpanned with a straight face.
I grinned. “Nice to see you again too, Bubbles.” I pointed to her car. “Having difficulties?”
She shook her head. “No, I like to stop and smell the undercarriage some days.”
A laugh bubbled up and I didn’t miss the way Marlo had to fight to keep her lips from tipping up at the corners. “May I
offer my assistance?”
“No.”
I held out my hand. “Give me the crowbar.”
She lifted the piece of metal and brandished it like a weapon. “No. You might murder me with it.”
I rolled my eyes and easily snatched it from her hands. “Are we doing this again? Pretty sure I wouldn’t choose daylight
hours in the middle of bustling downtown Blueball to commit murder.”
Marlo frowned so hard her dark eyebrows had crawled together. “A woman can never be too careful.” She tilted her head.
“And I have clean panties on today, so my head’s basically on the chopping block.”
My brain instantly zeroed in on the panties statement, envisioning those long legs in lacy black panties, because of course
Marlo would have a black pair on. No sparkly pink for this woman.
“Oh really,” I muttered suggestively, leaning in to watch the way color stained her cheeks. I was starting to see that Marlo
was good at maintaining that straight face, but there was a lot more going on under the surface. It might have been wishful
thinking, but I could have sworn Marlo swayed toward me before her spine snapped straight and her eyes narrowed.
“Do you know how many people die each year on the side of the road when their car breaks down?”
I stepped closer to the back tire that was clearly flat. “Can’t say I do. I prefer to look at the brighter side of things. Know
how many people meet their future love interest on the side of the road each year?”
Her cheeks went redder and her mouth snapped shut. I chuckled, crouched down, and loosened the lug nuts with the
crowbar. “Got a jack in your trunk?”
She huffed but got it for me, handing it over. “I thought the lug nuts were on the back side of the tire,” she muttered.
“Common mistake, Bubbles.” With the car up on one side, I took off the lug nuts and removed the tire. “Hand me the spare.”
She growled but handed me the spare a moment later. My new neighbor did not like a man telling her what to do, that was
clear. Made me want to bark all kinds of orders at her just to hear her hiss and spit.
Lug nuts in place, I lowered the jack and removed it. “Should be good to go, as long as you’re not going far. Blueball have
a repair shop?”
“They do.”
I put all the tools in the back of her car and rubbed my hands together to wipe off some of the black streaks. “Okay, well,
I’ll follow you to make sure you get there safe.”
“No, thank you.” Marlo moved to the driver’s side door, frown firmly in place.
“I wasn’t asking,” I drawled.
“I’m not waiting,” she drawled right back.
She slammed her door shut and cranked the engine. I realized her intention right as she gave the car some gas. I had to jump
out of the way to keep from being sideswiped as she rocketed back into traffic—though a single solitary car on the road was
hardly what I’d consider traffic.
I ran for my truck, hopping in and following her before she got too far away. Two blocks later, she turned and bounced over
the curb into a repair shop parking lot. I winced, hoping that dinky spare would hold. Pausing in the middle of the street, I gave
her a friendly wave, which she ignored by turning her head the other way and pretending I didn’t exist.
My laughter was loud and abundant alone in the cab of my truck as I pulled away and headed for Grandma Milly’s place.
Marlo had something against waving, along with a general grumpiness that fascinated me. It was a challenge to get a genuine
smile out of her. Two interactions and I hadn’t seen it yet.
Good thing Vander Booth never backed down from a challenge.

“Why are you smiling? The price of organic blueberries is enough to send an old woman into cardiac arrest!”
G-Mil looked ready to throw her heavy purse down and fight me over my insistence on organic fruits and vegetables. The
young guy stocking the pineapples tried to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping but he kept giving us obvious side-eye.
 I put my hands on her shoulders and made her look me in the eye. “Grandma, you need healthy food to live a long time. I
can’t let you buy muffins for breakfast.”
“They have blueberries in them!” She glared at me so hard I actually started to worry about that heart attack.
“Along with a lot of sugar and gluten.”
“What’s wrong with gluten? You young people, I swear. I’ve eaten gluten my whole life! I didn’t live to my eighties to be
told I can’t have a goddamn bite of gluten for breakfast. Bring back the gluten, I say!”
Oh boy, this was unraveling fast. “Okay, how about this? I’ll bake you some homemade blueberry muffins with organic
blueberries. Would you like that?”
G-Mil lifted her nose in the air. “I might accept that.”
“Great. Let’s move on to snacks.”
I pushed the cart out of the produce aisle, hoping we could make it through the snack aisle without another tantrum. This
was like shopping with a toddler. I’d seen the women wrangling multiple children while trying to fill a cart with decent food.
Seemed like maybe grocery delivery would be a better option in the future for both me and moms of toddlers.
“Why were you so late anyway?” G-Mil asked, suddenly happy and dumping every single bag of chips into the cart that she
could get her hands on. Thankfully she couldn’t reach the two top shelves or I’d have to get another cart.
I decided to pick my battles and kept my mouth shut about the chips. “Oh, I saw Marlo on the side of the road, so I stopped
to change her tire.”
G-Mil froze in her tracks, then spun around, forgetting all about the chips she’d had her claws on. “Marlo? From the funeral
home? I wasn’t aware you two knew each other.”
I nodded, not yet seeing the trap I was walking into. “Yeah, we met last night actually. She had a little incident at the
cemetery and I came out to check on her. Ended up bandaging her arm and giving her a quick tour of my new place.”
Grandma rubbed her gnarled hands together. “Oh, the Balmeros are such a lovely family. Shame no one has turned Marlo’s
head yet. I must say, young men are just built differently these days.”
As one of those young men, I was affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Grandma shrugged and pulled the cart down the aisle toward the shiny packages of cookies. “Just that young men these days
want a girl with a juicy booty and a huge social media following. They don’t realize that booties droop and social media
accounts get shut down in the blink of an eye. What you boys need is substance.”
I thought back to my last date. She’d had a shapely backside and a cult following on her style account. Well, shit. I hated
being predictable.
“And what is your definition of substance?”
Grandma put a packet of Oreos in the cart, which I took out and put back when she turned to grab a box of chocolate chip
cookies. “A solid work ethic, a focus on building a family, and a personality that lasts even when the physical crumbles.” She
shrugged and reached up high for gingersnaps. “You know, like Marlo.”
I realized my folly immediately. I never should have brought up a woman in front of G-Mil. She would forever be trying to
play matchmaker. She’d once seen a picture of me with a date at a charity event in an obscure gossip column right around the
time I sold my company and mailed the woman a care package of my favorite foods. I couldn’t remember the woman’s first
name and G-Mil had been ready to mail the wedding invitations.
Distraction. That’s what I needed.
“So I was thinking of opening a business here in Blueball since you won’t let me spend my fortune.”
Grandma spun back around, interest in those sharp eyes. Her food choices were that of a toddler, but her mind was sharp as
a tack. “Oh? What kind of business?”
I pushed the cart away from the snack aisle and toward checkout. “I’m not sure yet, but I want it to be something fun that
brings friends and family together. Something that enhances Blueball.”
G-Mil put her hand on mine and patted it. “Oh, I quite like that, Vandy. Having a purpose is good for a man. You can’t be
retired at thirty-two. You’d go mad!”
I gave her a squeeze and moved to put the groceries on the conveyer belt. “My purpose is to take care of you.”
“Ohh.” She waved her hand through the air, as if to bat away my suggestion. “I don’t need help. I get by just fine on my
own. What you need is a girlfriend.” She paused, staring at the groceries I was unloading. She was probably counting the
cookie boxes and coming up short. I hurried to put the rest of the groceries up and move her and the cart to the register.
She snagged my hand and squeezed until I looked down at her. Her pale blue eyes sparkled up at me.
“I do love having you here with me though.”
“Same, G-Mil. You’re my best friend.” I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the powdery scent of the
woman who’d always loved me unconditionally.
I didn’t get home until late that night. After putting away all the groceries, I’d spent the rest of the day baking and cooking,
making sure G-Mil had ready-made meals for the week. The homemade muffins may have been gluten-free, but I noticed she
ate two of them before I left her to watch her nightly show.
 “Night, Grandma.”
“Night, Vandy!” she called from her chair, cozied up in her nightgown and a blanket over her legs. Her gaze was already on
the reality show.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Think about that girlfriend idea!”
I waved her suggestion away and headed home to my boxes. There, on the front step of my house, was a package. I got out
of my truck and approached, realizing it was my sweater as I got closer. The one Marlo had been wearing when she left my
house. There was a note on top of the folded sweater, chicken scratch writing on Blueball Endless Eternity letterhead.
I’d make it look like an unfortunate accident, and I’d make sure I had a solid alibi for that timeframe.
I tossed my head back and roared with laughter.
The woman had told me how she’d get away with murder.
Weirdest. Town. Ever.
 CHAPTER SIX

M arlo

THE RETIREES of Blueball and surrounding areas were awfully quiet this week. And by quiet, I meant not dying. I had the
morning off. No funerals or embalmings or even appointments for buying plots. I was blessedly free to do whatever an almost
thirty-year-old single woman did. I would have lazed around in my bed with copious salty and sweet snacks, followed by a
Netflix binge, but the girls had designated today as our girls’ night. Girls’ morning just didn’t have the same ring to it, but that
was when we all could manage time off.
I stopped by Crazy Beans for a coffee, black as my soul, and a hit of sugar. I had a tray of brownies in the car to share, and
if I didn’t pick up a nail in one of my tires again, I’d be over to Paisley’s before ten. Normally, I kept my head down and did
my business around town to avoid annoying conversation, but I found my gaze sweeping the inside of the shop, looking for a
tall golden man with a fucking smile stamped across his face. On principle, I didn’t trust people who smiled so much, but I
could admit that I found myself intrigued with Vander. And knowing I was intrigued pissed me off and added to my bad mood.
My parents would be dismayed, claiming they raised me better, but my friends would understand my lack of manners upon
arrival. With the tray of brownies in one hand and my coffee in the other, I couldn’t knock on Paisley’s door. It only made sense
to kick it to let her know I was on her doorstop. And it felt good to kick it. Like I was getting out some frustration that had been
bubbling inside all week long. I really had nothing to be frustrated with, except for myself.
I’d been eyeing the Skinner house day and night since I’d been up there with Vander. He irritated me to no end with his
endless jokes and his disturbing smiles, and yet my eyes tried to search him out. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. And if this
shit with my eyeballs didn’t stop soon, I was going to take matters into my own hands and strap horse blinders to my face.
“You going to just scowl at your feet all morning, or actually come inside?”
Paisley’s drawl had my head whipping up. See? I was off-kilter, losing control of my thoughts to a person I didn’t even
like. She had the door wide open and an amused grin on her face.
“Did Audrey bring mimosas?”
Paisley waggled her eyebrows, which was all the confirmation I needed. “Then I’m coming in.”
I swooped past her and dumped my brownie tray on the kitchen counter before turning and hugging Paisley and then Audrey.
Keva wasn’t here yet. Boston, Audrey’s fiancé, waved and bent down to kiss my cheek before turning to sneak out the back.
“He’s got to get back to work but he saw my car pull up,” Audrey explained.
Boston worked here at Glamper’s Paradise with Gannon, Paisley’s husband, and Lincoln, Keva’s husband. My three best
friends had found men and true love this last year and a half. I was happy for them. Really. Just look at my face. Totally happy.
Keva burst through the front door, calling, “Sorry I’m late! I leaked onto my shirt and I had to go change.”
I grimaced. For someone who dealt with dead bodies all the time, I was oddly squeamish about alive ones. In the last few
months I’d heard more than I ever wanted to know about episiotomy stitches and leaky nipples. For fuck’s sake, let a girl find
love before you tell her about the dark side of things.
Audrey grabbed my hand and pulled me down on the couch with her. Paisley sat on my other side and Keva sat on the
coffee table directly in front of me.
“Did you want a chair?” I asked, quite politely, I thought.
Keva shook her head and leaned closer, elbows on her knees. Warning bells erupted in my head. Everyone was staring at
me. Well, fuck. I knew what this was. I’d been on the other end of this situation before.
“We’re having an intervention, honey,” Audrey said so nicely I wanted to smack her.
 My head was already shaking an insistent no. “I don’t need an intervention unless you’re talking about what to do with my
land problem.”
“You’ve been very distracted lately,” Keva threw out there.
“We were actually pretty shocked to get your text about a girls’ night.” Paisley patted my hand. I hated pats to the hand. Why
did people need to touch when they spoke?
I snatched my hand away to flail it about in the air. “I’ve been busy. Working. Taking over the business. You guys know
this.”
“We do know this, but this is more. You’ve made multiple remarks about men lately, and as your besties, it’s up to us to pry
the bullshit out of you.” Keva looked like she was ready to grab the crowbar.
I grimaced. “That sounds terrible.”
“What’s up with your recent dates?”
“Did they ghost you? Or were they just terrible humans?”
“Are these all from that one app I told you about?”
“You know, I think maybe we need to find someone local. Online is a cesspool.”
“Girls!” I had to raise my voice to be heard over their peppering of questions and comments about my love life. “Yes, I
have gone on some bummer dates and been ghosted by some others. But I’m fine. Just working and dating. It’s all good.”
Audrey leaned into my side. More goddamn touching. “You’re not crying yourself to sleep at night?”
I scoffed. “Do I look like a crier?” I pointed to my chronically dry eyes, the ones that didn’t cry even at the most emotional
funerals. You didn’t grow up literally in a funeral home without developing some thick skin and empty tear ducts. Crying just
wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
Paisley tutted. Keva sighed. Audrey tried and failed to suppress a giggle.
“What I really need is a solution to my business problem.”
“What’s that? A non-toxic embalming solution?”
Paisley was such a smart-ass. “No. When embalming you want all the toxins possible. I mean my land problem. We’re
running out of plots.”
“Oh shit,” Keva whispered, eyes wide. “Could you expand with another funeral home in Hell?”
I couldn’t help it, I chuckled a bit. Wouldn’t that be something? To own a funeral home in a town affectionately called Hell?
That might be the pinnacle of undertaker success actually.
“No, I don’t want to duplicate the funeral home in another town. I don’t have anyone to run another location. I just need
more land.”
“I can help you,” Audrey said quickly. “I can run a search for properties with over five acres in Blueball and see if anyone
wants to sell. Girl, I got you. This is what I do!”
I was nodding along, mentally kicking myself for not going to Audrey right away. She was a realtor and could steer me in
the right direction, and she’d do it with the best friend discount. Maybe my friends were correct in their assessment of my
personality fault: I really did need to reach out and ask for help, even when it pained me to do so. There was undeveloped land
right behind the cemetery already. Maybe the owner wanted to sell, but I wouldn’t know that until I got my realtor bestie to help
me.
“I actually have a parcel in mind. It’s perfect, actually.” I sat up straighter, getting into it now that my friends had forced me
to open up. “You know that⁠—”
A loud knock on the door had all of us turning in that direction. Audrey jumped up.
“Oh! That’s probably my client. I invited him over to meet the boys. He’s new in town and needs friends.” She rushed off to
the door while my brain came to a screeching halt. I stared at the scuffed toes of my Doc Martens and wished for the floor to
open up and swallow me whole.
It couldn’t be, could it?
“Ladies, this is Vander Booth. Vander, these are my friends, Paisley, Keva, and Marlo.”
I looked up to see Audrey with her hand on Vander’s elbow as she pointed to each of us. He stood there looking
disturbingly handsome in dark jeans that came to his ankles, a loose-fitting T-shirt that probably cost more than my car, and his
grandma’s handmade green sweater. He’d added a patch since I’d worn it—In my defense, I was left unsupervised—which
was also funny, damn him. Vander tossed that flirtatious smile to each of my friends before his gaze landed on me. If anything,
the smile grew, as if it knew how much I disliked it and it simply fed off my negativity.
“Well, well, well. Are you wearing nice panties today, Bubbles?” Vander asked immediately, creating a wide variety of
reactions from my friends. Audrey looked shocked, Keva appeared pissed, and Paisley seemed disappointed that yet another
handsome single man turned out to be a douchebag. Join the club, sister.
“It appears you found clothes that fit today, Annoying,” I snapped right back.
“I murdered a normal-sized man today.”
“What? You couldn’t find more Oompa-Loompas?”
 “Blueball is fresh out, though I hear you can often find women out late at night in just their underwear.”
My face burned hot and I snapped my mouth shut before I could tell him to go to Hell. It was literally right next door. Not
that hard to find. Heads were swiveling back and forth and I knew my friends had a thousand questions they now wanted to ask
me.
“Okay…” Audrey said tentatively into the charged silence before pasting on a bright smile. She did remove her hand from
Vander’s arm, however, a move that brought me relief. And pissed me off. “Looks like you two know each other, huh?”
Vander, who possessed better peopling skills than me—didn’t take much—smoothed things over. “Yes, in fact, we met a
few nights ago at the cemetery. Our Marlo here is quite the funny woman.”
“Oh, is she?” Keva asked, leaning closer to Vander like he was the source of all the town gossip. “Do tell.”
I stood up from the couch. “I’m sure you have somewhere better to be. Maybe up in your castle, lording over us little
folks?”
Vander’s dimple winked at me. “Oh, I only lord over Oompa-Loompas.”
“I’m still wondering about the panties comment,” Paisley interrupted. “Do I need to kick your ass to defend Marlo’s honor?
Because the baby’s going to be up from her nap in like ten minutes. My time for ass-kicking is limited.”
Vander had the audacity to light up like a cremation furnace. “Baby? I love babies! If you need a babysitter, I’m your guy.”
Both Keva and Paisley were already nodding, won over by a total stranger for simply offering to babysit.
“He’s a stranger, y’all. And possibly a murderer. You can’t let him babysit Aster and Cora.”
Audrey frowned at me. “He’s not a murderer, Marlo.”
“Yeah, Bubbles.”
I shot Vander a scathing look. I did not appreciate him ganging up with my friends. “He has money, Audrey, but you don’t
know that he came by it legally.”
Audrey opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. Ha! Got her there. She was so blinded by the dollar signs that came
with the house sale, she’d forgotten that she didn’t actually know Vander Booth. None of us did.
Vander put his hands up. “I’m not here to murder anyone, and thank you for the offer, Ais, but I’d prefer an ass-kicking on
another day. I actually came to meet the guys, but also to talk to Rey about another real estate deal.”
“Ais? Rey?” Paisley muttered, looking confused.
Audrey, on the other hand, pounced, putting her hand back on Vander’s elbow. “Sure! Whatever you need, I can help you
with. Want another house? Maybe one up in the mountains? Like a vacation-type place?”
What the hell was happening here? How had Vander been here all of three seconds and made friends with my besties? It
had taken me kindergarten through fifth grade to make Paisley and Audrey like me. Keva only put up with me when she first
moved here because I stuck around like an annoying barnacle of loserdom.
“I’d like to buy a plot of land for my new business,” Vander announced as I glared at the side of his head.
“Great! Let’s go take a look and we can put in an offer this afternoon.” Audrey was seriously pissing me off with the hand
squeezes. Why did everyone have to touch so goddamn much?
“Sweet. It’s the plot of land behind the Skinner house and the cemetery.”
Fury climbed up my spine and out my mouth like some kind of alien explosion in the form of a garbled gasp. Vander wanted
the same plot of land I’d already scoped out to be mine. And he had the deep pockets to outbid me, several times over.
“You flirty little weasel in doll clothes!”
 CHAPTER SEVEN

V ander

“MARLO !” Audrey gasped, probably shocked at Marlo’s inability to form an adult-level insult. Doll clothes? Damn, that shit
was funny.
Marlo, though, didn’t seem to find anything funny right now. Or maybe ever. Her cheeks were the color of G-Mil’s lipstick
and her hands were clenched into fists at her side. But mostly it was the eyes that gave her away. She looked like she was
summoning fire-breathing beasts from the depths of hell to come earthside and wipe me from existence. Her eyes were fucking
terrifying.
She opened her mouth and I expected bats to fly straight at my head. “No, I’m buying that land.” Thankfully, the bats didn’t
materialize, but her meaning was clear.
If she could influence the sale of that plot by sheer force of will, that land was already Marlo’s.
But that just wouldn’t do. I couldn’t live out my life up in the ol’ Skinner house, retired at thirty-two and eventually dying of
boredom only to be buried in Marlo’s cemetery and have her desecrate my grave on a daily basis just for funsies. I wanted to
have the funsies. I wanted to build a new business in Blueball all about funsies. And I needed that land to do it.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look just as scary and probably failing. “I think you must have hit your head
trying to change your tire. I’m buying that land.”
Marlo somehow stood in front of me without her legs actually doing any walking. She probably threatened the space-time
continuum until it caved and let her move freely about the space unlike us mere mortals.
She glared at me, extending her spine like her five foot eight was somehow intimidating. She should stick to the eye glower.
“You just moved here. You’re an outsider.”
I leaned into her space. “You make such an excellent welcoming committee, Bubbles.”
She moved lightning fast, a single finger now drilling into my chest as she practically vibrated with anger. “The town needs
that land. You can’t swoop in here on day one and steal land that we need. I promise you you’ll be run out of here with your tail
between your legs.”
The outrage I demonstrated was all pretend. “How do you know I have a tail?”
“Believe me, I saw everything in those toddler clothes you like to wear!”
I grinned, watching her anger flame even higher at my amusement. Sounded like Marlo liked checking me out in that tight
outfit. “You were checking me out, Bubbles? Very interesting. G-Mil will be so happy you’re interested in her grandson.”
Her eyes lit up and she sputtered. “Speaking of Milly. You want to be the asshole who steals land from the town? You think
that’ll paint her in a good light?”
Humor vanished in an instant. Poke fun of me all you want, but nobody talked about Grandma Milly in threatening tones like
that. Veiled or not, the threat was there. And I wouldn’t stand for it.
I smacked her finger off my chest, absolutely done with the teasing. I was pretty sure Marlo knew it too because she
suddenly didn’t look like she was about to spit fire. She shrunk back. “Don’t you dare speak about G-Mil.”
I opened my mouth to unload, but Audrey interrupted, wedging herself between us. “Guys?” She swiveled her head
between us, but Marlo and I were too busy glaring at each other and breathing hard. “No one is buying that land today. We
don’t even know who owns it and if they’re willing to sell. How about we all just settle down before we say something we’ll
regret?”
“I regret nothing,” Marlo snapped.
 “Not even the granny panties?” I snapped back.
Marlo inhaled sharply through her nose and then spun, walking away to sit in the chair in the far corner of the room. I
stepped back also, giving Audrey some room. I hadn’t come here to start a fight. I’d come to make friends. The irony was not
lost on me. Making friends was not exactly my strong suit and here I was getting in a fight and fucking things up already.
“I’m sorry, ladies. I’ll start over. I’m Vander Booth, newest resident of Blueball and grandson of Milly Booth. I just bought
the Skinner house, thanks to Rey here.”
I shook hands with Paisley and Keva, both of whom did not look at all put off by my verbal sparring match with Marlo. If
anything, they were giving each other sly looks. That weird thing women did when they had a whole conversation with their
eyes without saying a single word. Marlo continued to glare at me from the corner while the ladies asked me questions about
where I was from and why I’d moved to town.
“I came to take care of Grandma Milly. She’s my best friend.”
All three ladies got puppy dog eyes and filled the room with soft sighs. Pretty sure Marlo hissed at me.
“I’m retired from my first career, but G-Mil and I have been talking. I’m too young to sit at home bored. I want to start a
business here in Blueball. Hence the search for land.”
“For what? A place to bury your murder victims? Storage for your Oompa-Loompas?” Marlo’s voice could have cut glass
with all its sharpness.
God, I loved her insults. I hated to say it, but they kept me amused. “Nah, I can use your cemetery for that. The land’s for a
paintball field.”
“Oh! I love paintball!” Paisley gave me an encouraging smile.
“Can’t say I’ve tried it, but I’d be up to give it a go.” Keva shrugged.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” This was from Marlo, of course.
“I don’t kid around,” I drawled, which was clearly a lie. That’s mostly all I did.
Marlo shot out of her chair. “What this town needs is an expanded cemetery. That takes precedence over some silly
paintball field.”
“I don’t know. Have you asked Blueball? Maybe they don’t want an expanded cemetery. Maybe they want some fun!”
Marlo scoffed, looking at her friends for support and not finding much. “All you care about is fun.”
I winked at her, watching her blood pressure climb to unhealthy levels again. “Some of us know how to have fun, Bubbles.”
Marlo got scary quiet, eyes like laser beams as she glared at me. I wasn’t sure what someone putting a hex on another
person looked like, but it was probably a lot like how Marlo looked right now.
A door somewhere in the back of the house slammed and boots traipsing across hardwood floors filled in the awkward
silence.
“Hey, what’s with all the shouting?” A guy with a baseball cap on and enough muscle to make me rethink my gym schedule,
or lack thereof, entered the room from the hallway. His gaze skimmed over the ladies before zeroing in on me. The blue tone of
his eyes went frosty. “And who are you?”
I held out my hand. “I’m Vander Booth. Newest resident of Blueball. Audrey invited me over to meet everyone.”
If that guy wasn’t scary enough, an even taller and beefier guy came into the living room and immediately went to Audrey’s
side. “Is he a good one?” he rumbled loud enough we could all hear.
Audrey smiled. “Yes! He’s the one who just bought the Skinner house. He’s new in town and I thought y’all would like to
meet him. Play nice, boys.”
A third man entered the room, shorter than the first two, but more ripped and tatted out. He pulled Keva out of her seat on
the couch and sat in her spot, pulling her back down on his lap. The meaning was clear: this is my woman, don’t look or touch.
The first man grunted. “Can you play a musical instrument?”
Clearly, there was a right answer here, but instead of overthinking it, I spoke the truth. “Nah, but I can sing. Been known to
rock karaoke a time or two.”
The tension in the room broke and the first guy broke out into a smile. “Hot damn! Okay, cool. You free next Friday?”
“He’s busy,” Marlo deadpanned.
Thankfully, my new friends talked right over her. “I will gladly pass the microphone to you, buddy. I’m Boston.” The
biggest guy in the room leaned around Audrey to shake my hand.
“And I’m Lincoln, the drummer in our little band.” The guy on the couch smiled, suddenly not intimidating at all.
I nodded, feeling excited about the possibility of real friends. Also a little nervous if I was being honest, but I’d fake my
way through it, even if it killed me. “Do we have a name for our band?”
“I’m Gannon, by the way. Original owner of Glamper’s Paradise.” The man in the hat shook my hand. “We’re bouncing the
idea around for Blueball Band of Brothers.”
“The BBB.” I nodded. “I like it.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I heard Marlo mutter.
A baby started crying from somewhere in the house and Paisley jumped up. “Well, I guess it’s settled. We’ll see you next
Friday at the fire pit, Vander. Try not to kill our friend before then.”
My gaze shot to Marlo as Paisley exited the room. My nemesis looked so darkly pretty sitting there. Her hair always looked
like she’d forgotten to brush it but it somehow worked for her. It looked alive with energy, contrary to the black she always
wore.
“We’re not very good yet, but we’re working on it.” Lincoln interrupted my thoughts.
Keva backhanded his arm. “Yes, you are! You always draw a crowd.”
“Mostly because you’re all hot,” Audrey drawled, earning herself a kiss on the top of her head from Boston.
“Why, thank you,” I preened.
“Not you, jackass,” Marlo muttered.
I had to roll my lips in to keep from laughing. I figured I’d pushed her buttons enough. “I’m off to G-Mil’s.”
“Is she making you another sweater?” Marlo snarked from her throne of disdain.
I gave her my best smile. “I certainly hope so. She only makes sweaters for people she loves. People who deserve her
sunshine in the form of yarn. Probably why you don’t have one.”
Marlo’s tongue shot out so unexpectedly and childish, I barked out a laugh. My new buddy, Lincoln, looked to Keva with
confusion written all over his face.
“What’s gotten into Marlo?”
“Marlo’s finally found a sparring partner,” Keva responded.
Audrey left Boston’s side to walk me to the front door, but not before I heard Lincoln’s voice, full of laughter.
“Was that actually sparring or flirting? With Marlo you just never know.”
Marlo’s bark of disgust had me laughing all the way to G-Mil’s place. The warm glow filling my chest the rest of the day
had everything to do with Grandma finding a new patch to sew on to my sweater. It had nothing at all to do with thinking my
disgruntled next-door neighbor was flirting with me.
Not. At. All.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

M arlo

I WAS NOT ashamed to say I’d seen my fair share of bad moods. Sometimes I woke up and chose violence. Or at least in my
head. I’d killed off most of the people of Blueball in my imagination at some point in time. Did that make me a psychopath? Or
maybe I was the only self-evolved adult out here, using my imagination to take the edge off my frustrations instead of actually
doing something about it.
In reality—and don’t tell another soul about this or I will have to take those imagined killings to the very real streets of
Blueball, and frankly, I don’t have time for that—I was a softie inside, wanting to be of help to those I loved. I didn’t love very
many people, but those I did, I loved hard.
And currently, I was failing them all. Including myself.
Dad, in his perfectly creased slacks and polo shirt, sat at the breakfast table eating dry toast while Mom bustled around
him, all fake chipperness as she talked about today’s latest doctor appointment. This time would be with a specialist in the big
city. Hope was a flimsy bubble, just begging to be popped. I watched the way they snuck in a hand squeeze as she brought him
another cup of decaf coffee. Or the way he patted her butt whenever she walked close enough for him to reach. They were
adorable. So damn cute I wanted to puke.
Instead, I took out the trash, going through the kitchen, down the back stairs, across the garage, and out the side door to heft
the overfilled bag into the trash can. I got it in there right as I caught movement up the hill. My gaze lifted and who did I see but
Vander Booth, half naked, out on his terrace, surveying his land. Okay, he wasn’t naked, but he didn’t have a shirt to go along
with that dark pair of pajama pants. His chest was broad and muscular, far more attractive naked than in a shirt ten sizes too
small. Muscles were well defined but not overstated. He held a cup of coffee in his hand while his other hand was in his pants
pocket. He appeared carefree. At peace. Like a man who had no idea the old ladies of Blueball would be staring through
binoculars trying to get a good look at him.
The trash lid slipped out of my hand and crashed down on the can, creating a racket that might have even woken up my
sleeping friends in the cemetery. Vander’s head whipped over in my direction. I did the same, but whipped my head in the
direction of my house like the siding had somehow become incredibly interesting.
“Miwtoossbub?” Vander called down to me.
I squeezed my eyes shut. He’d already seen me looking, so to run away now would just be childish. Not that our entire
exchange yesterday at Paisley’s house hadn’t been childish. It’s just that I’d wanted to turn a corner today, moving firmly into
the realm of just wishing Vander death in my head. Not actual death-wish words coming out of my mouth. Still, there was
nothing for it now. I was a rabbit, caught in a snare and forced to look her predator in the face. So I made myself turn and put a
hand to my ear.
“Huh?” I called back, clearly still entrenched in the idea of acting like a child.
“Like what you see, Bubbles?” he shouted. Clearly. Loudly. Annoyingly.
I was raging inside, but I made sure my shrug was long and slow. “Not much to see from here,” I shouted back.
Instead of slinging another insult at me, the man began to dance right there on his stone terrace without a single note of
music playing, coffee mug held high in the air. And boy, could he dance. My gaze immediately dropped to the hip swivel,
wondering how he knew that TikTok dance Audrey had tried to get all their men to learn. She claimed they’d go viral if all
three of them did it, and now I knew why she thought that. Vander did a slick twist and ended up with his back to me, shaking
his ass like he was being paid for it. I couldn’t stand here and watch any more of this.
 It was too early in the morning to be nauseous.
Or turned on.
“Okay. Well, thanks for that,” I hollered back. Softly. Soberly. Lamely.
I was in a full sprint heading back up the stairs into the house. I needed less thinks-everything-is-funny Vander and more
business-Barbie Marlo. I had a cemetery land crisis to figure out. And I had to do it before Mr. Dance-a-lot swooped in with
his deep pockets and smooth moves.
“Hey, Dad?”
He was grabbing his keys off the hook in the kitchen. “Yes, dear daughter of mine?” As far back as I could remember, Dad
always made time for me, and this morning was no different.
“Can I talk to you later today about my plans for expanding the cemetery?” I could hear Mom in their bedroom trying to find
her shoes. She wouldn’t appreciate me even mentioning work to Daddy, but I had to talk to someone. Who better than the man
who’d run it successfully for decades? I had no plans to stress his heart. I just needed to run things by him and get his opinion.
“Sure, girlie. We’ll be back a little after lunchtime, but my afternoon is yours.” Dad pulled me into a hug that made me
forget about work troubles, feeling like the third wheel with all my friends, and annoying neighbors.
“Found them!” Mom exclaimed, coming into the kitchen in a pair of ballet flats she liked to wear when she was dressing up
but didn’t want her feet to hurt from wearing heels. She screeched to a halt when she saw us hugging. “Did someone die?”
Mom started cackling and we both joined in. It was a long-standing family joke that wasn’t really all that funny, I suppose.
But when you were surrounded by death every day, you had to find ways to diffuse the sadness.
Dad let me go and plucked Mom’s faded brown leather purse off the counter, handing it to her. “My chariot awaits, my
princess.”
Mom faked a frown. “Hey, I thought I was your queen.”
I rolled my eyes and hightailed it to my room before I heard or saw Dad’s answer. I didn’t need to stay and watch those two
flirt. Talk about gross. I flopped down on my bed and refused to look outside my window to see if Vander was still outside. I
was stronger than that, goddammit. I tilted my head back and thought about what I needed to get done today. The whole
downstairs needed vacuuming and dusting. No one liked to pick out a casket for their dearly departed loved one lined with
dust.
Before I was ready to face the day, I rolled off my bed and forced myself to put on some decent clothes and take care of
basic hygiene. Audrey was coming over soon to walk the parcel south of us with me. I’d texted her last night and she promised
to do some research to find out who owned it. Just as I was replaying that show Vander gave me this morning for the tenth time,
the doorbell rang outside the downstairs office.
“I’m coming!” I called out, racing down the stairs and to the front door.
“Hey, Bubbles,” Audrey trilled, standing on my doorstep in the cutest sundress and matching light sweater you’ve ever
seen. If you liked pink and ruffles and shit like that.
I screeched to a halt, refusing to hug her now that she’d called me that. “No. Absolutely not.”
She burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. Too soon?”
“Always too soon,” I grumbled.
Audrey threw her arms around me and hugged me far tighter than necessary. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave the cutesy nicknames to
Vander.” She pulled back and shot me a wink, like we were two friends sharing a secret about a boy.
I was already shaking my head. “No. It’s not like that. I don’t like the man.”
Audrey looped her arm through mine and tugged me out the door. “Doesn’t matter if you like him or not. The man is hot.”
I snorted, climbing into her new car, the one she’d bought just last week, partly because of the commission she’d made off
of selling Vander the Skinner house. The new-car smell pervaded my senses and I let myself enjoy it the whole way to the far
side of the empty parcel of land. I’d probably never afford a new car myself, so I’d have to live vicariously through Audrey.
She pulled to the side of the road by a little gate with a Private Property Keep Out sign. Clapping her hands, she smiled
from ear to ear.
“Okay, this is it. You ready?” she asked with her usual excitement when talking about land or square footage or setbacks. I
understood. I got excited about new body coolers, adjustable embalming tables, and the newest lightweight urns that were
practically indestructible but still looked fancy.
I pushed the passenger side door open and stepped out into the brisk morning air. “Ready to see my future.”
Audrey squealed and came by my side. It wasn’t often I talked with such passion about my prospects in life. I just had a
feeling about this place. Green shrubs looked like they wanted to take over the little gate, but someone had cut them back at
some point in the last year. Audrey still had to pull a few vines out of the slats of wood to get the gate open enough for us to
walk through. A butterfly flitted right by my face, a gesture I tried not to take as a good omen. I didn’t want to get my hopes up
quite yet.
Green fields with wild flowers growing in bunches almost as far as the eye could see greeted us. Audrey sighed and I knew
what she meant. This place was gorgeous.
 “Come on. Let’s walk the whole thing and make sure it’ll work for you.” Arm in arm, Audrey and I walked the perimeter,
stopping to check out trees and even a little stream that cut through the far corner of the lot. I could just see the corner of my
house past the cement block wall that circled the existing cemetery. We’d have to knock down one section of the wall, but this
place would be a natural extension of the existing cemetery. This parcel would be an even more tranquil place to bury loved
ones. Visitors could come and commune with nature while they were assured they buried dear old grandpa in the best spot in
all the county.
When we circled back to the front gate, I felt the yearning in my gut. Something about this land had settled into my body and
grown, pushing to take up space and be noticed. I wanted this place. I wanted it bad.
“Audrey?” I said as I looked out at it one more time.
“Yeah, babe?” She, too, was mesmerized by the peaceful field, gazing at it like she didn’t want to leave just yet.
“I want it,” I said softly, afraid to put my wish out there in full volume lest it be taken away from me. I wasn’t familiar with
making stretch goals. Having fallen into my father’s career footsteps, I mostly just took every day as it came. Having a big
audacious goal was fucking terrifying.
“I know, babe.” Audrey turned to me, tugging on my arm. “There’s just one thing you need to know.”
My gut twisted immediately. All that peace I’d felt walking around? Gone.
“Tell it to me straight.”
Audrey winced, sympathy in her eyes, which only made my stomach hurt worse. I had to give her credit though. She plowed
ahead, ripping off the Band-Aid like a true friend.
“Milly Booth owns this land.”
 CHAPTER NINE

V ander

“IT ’ S GOING to turn out better than any of our Christmas cards before!”
G-Mil grinned in the dim light of the few-and-far-between streetlights as we headed back to my place, looking entirely
unlike herself, except for the glint of mischief in her eyes. I’d had the very best idea this morning and had ignored my unpacked
boxes yet again to run all over multiple towns to collect the supplies I needed to make this idea come to fruition. Thankfully, G-
Mil had not only gone along with it, she’d embraced my crazy with open arms. Takes a crazy one to appreciate an even crazier
one.
“It’s a little early in the year to be doing a Christmas card,” she reasoned, holding on to her bouquet of fake black roses.
I waved away her concern. “I get that, but we want to be the first cards that hit mailboxes this year. And I firmly believe
good ideas need to be pounced on or they evaporate. Which is why I want to tell you about my idea for a business here in
Blueball.”
“Please tell me it’s not another smarty app.”
I sighed, but I wasn’t mad. I’d explained to my grandma about a hundred times what an app on a smartphone was and
specifically what I’d created, but it had gone right over her head. Or maybe she was purposely being obtuse. One never knew
with G-Mil.
“It’s not an app.” I pulled into my driveway, but stopped the truck just a few feet in. The stone wall around the cemetery
ended at the tree line that separated our properties. As I’d learned the night I tried to save Marlo from the fire, one could slip
right between the trees and find themselves in the cemetery after hours.
I hopped out of the truck and shut the door silently, coming around to help G-Mil down. I’d had an automatic running board
installed on the passenger side of my truck that created a step-stool type situation just for Grandma Milly. While I’d gotten all
of my personality from her, I’d clearly gotten my height genes from somewhere else in the family tree. Once she was finally on
her feet and steady, I gently shut her door and took her by the hand, holding our equipment in the other.
“Are we allowed⁠—”
“Shh!”
For barely being five feet tall, the woman had a voice that carried. She glared up at me, footsteps hesitating.
“Is this a stealth mission?” she asked, mostly in a whisper.
I couldn’t lie to G-Mil. “Yes.”
Her face broke out into a grin. “Hot dog!”
“Shh!”
She growled at my reprimand but there was an extra spring in her step as we picked our way across the uneven ground to
the cemetery. Swiveling my head left and right, I made sure the coast was clear. Last thing I needed was a security guard
chasing my eighty-three-year-old grandma. Though based on the way Marlo had to break up the teenagers not long ago, I was
betting on Blueball Endless Eternity not having security.
When I found a tombstone that was tall enough for what I had in mind (Otis P. Whitman, deceased in 1913), along with
another one nearby that would be the right height for propping up my phone (Bertie Katherine Smith, deceased in 1967), I got
G-Mil in place before setting everything up. I had no idea who these two people were but I appreciated their assistance with
this photoshoot and I’d be sure to send them one of our finished Christmas cards as a thank-you.
“Okay, here’s what we’re doing. No smiling. Just hands on the gravestone and look at the camera. I’ll have it on a timer, so
just hold the pose until the flash goes off.” I set up the portable step that would make her taller than me and helped her climb
up.
“Is my hair okay?” G-Mil was fussing with the wig I’d gotten her instead of holding on to the gravestone for balance. The
wig was pitch black, straight hair, coming down to her waist and covering the black velvet dress I’d picked up at a secondhand
shop.
“It’s perfect, but stop messing with it or it’ll be crooked.”
I came to her side quickly, standing next to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on the tombstone. “Okay, don’t smile!”
The flash went off and I stepped over the grassy mound to check the photo. “You smiled.”
“I did not!” G-Mil hissed.
“Then why do I see your teeth?” I showed her the picture on my phone.
“I was baring my teeth. Seemed more scary.”
I put the phone back on Bertie’s stone and reset the timer. “Your Morticia outfit is scary enough. Just be regal in your
darkness.”
“Regal,” she muttered, lifting her nose and posing as I got next to her and assumed my position as Gomez Addams. This
three-piece suit was itchy as hell, but I’d make the sacrifice for the best picture we’d ever taken together.
After several more iterations of poses, I had one more in mind we needed to take so we had things to choose from when a
scary voice interrupted us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?
G-Mil and I both spun around to find Marlo storming toward us, her hair piled on top of her head with strands escaping all
around her face. She, too, was dressed in all black, making her and G-Mil a matched set.
“Oh, Marlo!” G-Mil exclaimed, forgetting she was on a step and lurching forward in Marlo’s direction.
I reacted, reaching for her and catching her as she tumbled. I heard Marlo gasp, but all I cared about was setting G-Mil
back on her feet safely. Her wig was highly askew and her dark lipstick had left a six-inch smear across the vest of my suit.
“You good?” My heart was pounding inside my chest, but I tried to act calm.
“Whoopsie,” G-Mil mumbled, stepping on my feet before getting her own firmly planted on the ground. Next thing I knew
she was swatting at my chest. “Put me down, you mad Castillian.”
I let her go, shaking my head at how far into character she’d gotten. “You’re welcome, by the way. For saving your life.”
G-Mil winked at me before turning away to address Marlo. “Hello, dear.”
“Hello, Milly. Lovely to see you as always.”
My jaw dropped. I didn’t think Marlo capable of pleasantries. I snapped my mouth shut when Marlo swung her gaze to me,
immediately shifting into a disagreeable expression.
“May I ask why you’re trespassing again?”
“Again? May I remind you that you have a penchant for flammables? This is only my first trespassing offense. Rushing in to
save you like a real-life hero was not trespassing.”
Marlo folded her arms across her chest, looking like a cute toddler in the middle of a tantrum. She was wearing pajamas.
The kind that button down the front.
“First offense or second, why should I not call the cops and have you arrested?”
I faked outrage, my hand coming to my chest. “You’d have my grandma arrested? Sweet little Milly?”
Marlo’s lips wobbled and I thought perhaps the earth had shifted in its rotation. Was she about to smile? She looked over
my shoulder and that’s when I realized G-Mil was currently sneaking away to the truck without me.
“Did your sweet little grandma just ditch you at the scene of the crime?”
Now it made sense why Marlo was tempted, even for a moment, to smile. Her getting the best of me only made me giddier.
Nothing I loved more than a challenge. I’d get Marlo to smile before I died of old age. I was sure of it.
“I’m tired, Vandy. Can I nap up at your place?” G-Mil called out over her shoulder, sounding older and more frail than she
had all night.
Marlo and I both followed her, easily catching up, one on either side of her. If I’d taken a second to think about it, I’d want
to hug Marlo for caring about my grandma’s well-being. G-Mil’s wig was hanging so far down her right side, she was in
danger of tripping on it. I yanked it off her head and bent down to carefully lift G-Mil into my arms. She yelped at the elevation
change.
“Come on. Let’s get you up to the house.”
G-Mil flailed about for a second, trying to get a line of sight on Marlo. “Oh, Marlo, dear? Will you help my Vandy? I’m too
heavy for him to get me up there without help.”
“Of course, Milly.” Marlo fell into step with me, taking the wig from my hands and running back for the step stool and my
cell phone.
While I waited with G-Mil in my arms—who was light as a feather, by the way—I narrowed my eyes at her. The old bat
smiled back serenely. I knew that look all too well. She was up to no good.
 “Okay, got everything,” Marlo said breathlessly, walking next to me as we climbed the hill to the house.
We got to the house and Marlo opened the door for me. “Feel free to grab a drink in the kitchen.” At least I’d opened the
box that held my tumblers and expensive scotch.
By the time I got G-Mil settled on the couch in the parlor room with a throw blanket over her, Marlo had stacked everything
on my kitchen island and leaned against it, foot tapping on the stone floor. She was biting her thumb nail and staring at her
shoes. A splash of scotch sat untouched in a glass behind her.
“She okay?” she asked quickly, head popping up when I came into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to startle her. I saw you and
came storming over. I didn’t realize⁠—”
I held my hand up and she quit talking. “She’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Marlo didn’t look convinced.
“Milly will outlive all of us, don’t you worry.” I took off the itchy suit coat and laid it on the counter. Then I attacked the
long sleeve shirt, rolling each sleeve up my forearm. “I need to apologize for trespassing.”
Marlo swallowed hard, her gaze tracking my movements. “The cemetery closes at nine.”
I was suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the kitchen. Even speaking at full volume, in a house this large, Grandma
wouldn’t be able to hear us. Testing a theory that popped into my head and couldn’t possibly be true, I reached up to unbutton
the top button of my shirt. Marlo’s eyes shifted, zeroing in on my throat. I studied the way her cheeks held color that the rest of
her pale skin did not. The way her breathing had kicked up just standing there.
Holy hell, Marlo wants me.
The thought of Marlo, the queen of frowns and insults and general disagreeableness, wanting me, filled me with a joy I
couldn’t quite understand. I flicked another button open, watched her tongue dart out to lick her lip, and I nearly went rock hard
in an instant.
I took a step toward her, watching her like a hawk. Suddenly I wanted to feel the heat of her skin below those satin
pajamas. Flick open one of her buttons and see what she did. Would she swipe at me with her nails or beg me to kiss her? I had
a feeling whatever she chose would involve pain with the pleasure.
“Maybe I was hoping to run into you again,” I said softly, not wanting to break the spell that existed between us here in this
kitchen.
Marlo leaned forward, one hand clenching the edge of the aisle counter. “I live right next door. You didn’t need to resort to
trespassing to see me.”
I lifted my hand ever so slowly, finally touching her hair and tucking a wayward lock behind her ear. “Maybe I like seeing
you in the moonlight, rage behind those dark brown eyes.”
Her long lashes fluttered. I didn’t move my hand away from her face, instead tracing the line of her jaw with the side of my
thumb. She was soft. So opposite of her personality.
Marlo sucked in a breath and then her head tipped back. Her gaze locked on mine and the rage there turned into something
more. Something hotter. Something that would singe us both.
And I was up for a good singeing.
I leaned down, our lips now just a mere inch or two away from each other. I paused, giving her a chance to pull back. To
call off this ridiculous kiss between two people who didn’t even like each other.
Though that was a total lie. I’d liked Marlo from the beginning. However, the like was entirely one-sided, so if she didn’t
want my kiss, she needed to tell me now.
Her hand came up and her fingers became iron bars around my wrist. I didn’t know if she was pulling me to her or pushing
me away. Frankly, I celebrated even these short seconds of being near her.
“Are you going to buy that land?” she whispered, fingers tightening.
My mind began to race. Was this some sort of test? A threat? A way to blackmail me into doing what she wanted?
“Absolutely.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed for a brief second and then she was moving. Backwards. Away from me. Her back finally hit
the refrigerator and then she was spinning and marching out of the room like there was a ghost after her. I took a brief second to
mourn the kiss that never was before racing to follow her.
I caught up to her in the entry, snagging her wrist like she had mine just moments before and spinning her around. She
snatched her arm back, eyes now flashing with the rage that had always been there and I mistook for something more.
“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me!” she hissed, keeping her voice low for Grandma’s sake.
I frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you and Milly are tight. You don’t need to flaunt that for me to get the message. And you certainly don’t need to
pretend to want the weird undertaker woman to get what you want. Just flash the cash and everything you want is yours. I get it.
Message received.”
And with that confusing bag of words that made absolutely no sense, she ran out the door, down the stairs, and back to her
house. I stood on the porch and watched her, making sure she got there safely before coming back inside and trying to piece
together what the hell had just happened.
 CHAPTER TEN

M arlo

A BLACK CLOUD followed me for several days, fueling a pissy mood to the point even my father, who gave me this genetic
disposition and understood my cantankerous nature, was giving me a wide berth. Dad carried his grumpiness under a veneer of
somberness that suited a second-generation undertaker. I carried mine like a sword of anger and a shield of crankiness.
All I could do was replay every interaction with Vander Booth in a whole new light, looking for the exact moment he’d
one-upped me. Knowing that he’d known his own grandmother owned that land, and also knowing I wanted it, made every
prior conversation come alive through a red haze of anger. That motherfucker had been playing the long game while I’d been
busy hurling elementary-level insults his way.
The phone rang—yes, they still made landline phones—waking me from a particularly wonderful dream where I had a
Vander-shaped ditch dug in the cemetery all ready and waiting for him.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, trying to pry my eyes open enough to answer the damn phone.
No one called the cemetery this late—wait, no, this early…the sun was just barely brightening the sky outside my window
—unless there was a death in the family. Being woken from sleep was simply a reality of being an undertaker. Ever since
Dad’s heart attack, we’d moved the after-hours telephone into my room.
“Blueball Endless Eternity, may I help you?” My voice sounded hoarse, probably from yelling at Vander in my dreams all
night.
“Hey, this is Julie from Sunnyside. Sorry to call so early but we need to schedule a transport from the hospital to the funeral
home.”
I sat up and scrubbed a hand over my eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Julie.” Sunnyside was a small retirement home in
Blueball. That was the trouble with a small town, I knew everyone who came through my doors. “Who is it?”
“Old man James.” Julie sighed.
I frowned. I’d been called twice to collect his body from Sunnyside just in the last six months. James had gotten bored in
his golden years, probably because he didn’t have any family left and had to entertain himself somehow. He’d faked his own
death so many times the staff didn’t blink an eye when they walked in his room and found him lying on the floor in a heap. He’d
even thinned down ketchup one time to add to the drama.
“Did they check his pulse?”
Julie let out a noise like she laughed, but was trying to muzzle it. “Yes. I asked that too and they told me they even put the
electrodes on his chest to make sure he hadn’t just practiced how to lower his heart rate temporarily.”
I threw off the covers. Looked like I had a body to collect. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Marlo. I know I can always count on you.”
We hung up and I got ready, pulling on flowy black slacks, my trusty Doc Martens, and a fitted black T-shirt that only
showed my white stomach if I raised my hands overhead, which I wasn’t planning to do. I ran my fingers through my hair and
brushed my teeth, which was the extent of my hygiene. It was too early to fuss with a mascara wand that close to my eyeball.
The drive to the hospital on the other side of town gave me time to examine my bad mood. Mostly because the old transport
van didn’t go above forty miles an hour. Sure, I had stress on my shoulders about keeping this cemetery running. I was a third-
generation Balmero undertaker, tasked with keeping the family business going, but it was more than that. I was feeling left out
of the personal side of my life. My best friends were all paired up and starting families while I couldn’t get a single date to
show up. I tried not to let the comparison poke at old wounds, but it did.
 And then there was Vander. The next-door-neighbor pain in the ass. As annoying as he was, that ass was also very nice. For
one quick second there in his kitchen, when it looked like he was about to kiss me, I’d let myself dream. I’d let myself believe
that a guy like him could be interested in a girl like me. Of course, the truth of the situation came crashing down on me before
I’d gotten to experience a kiss from Vander Booth.
He’d been playing me.
I honestly hadn’t taken Vander for being one of the weirdos that gets turned on by my profession. Or to be so cruel that he’d
try to get me to fall for him just so he could throw it in my face that the land I wanted was one step away from being his
already.
I’d wanted to be wrong about him so badly, I’d almost fallen for his charm.
I pulled up outside the back entry to the hospital, putting the old van in gear and hopping down. Charles, the respiratory
therapist on staff, was outside having a smoke break, leaning against the building.
“Hey, Charles. Haven’t quit that shit yet?”
He did that head-nod thing men do as a way of saying hello. “Nah. Figure this habit is the only way to end up naked on your
table.”
I barked out a laugh. Charles was pushing retirement age and happily married, but was never afraid of a little workplace
flirting. He was harmless. “Well, I guess if they haven’t killed you yet, why stop now, huh?”
He pointed his finger at me, cigarette smoke billowing in the air. “Exactly!” Then he proceeded to hack and I grimaced,
walking past him into the hospital corridor.
I knew the hallways like the back of my hand, finding my way to the elevator that would take me to the basement where they
kept the morgue. Not a lot of staff were here yet, just the bare-bones night crew before their shift replacements came in at
seven. I hit the down button and waited. The elevator doors slid open and I almost walked inside when a man came flying
around the corner and skid to a halt, his head on a swivel. Well, fuck. I’d recognize that ass anywhere.
“Vander?”
His wide-eyed gaze landed on me and it only took him a second to start talking. “I’m lost. I need to find the ER. I think I
came through the administration offices and now I can’t find the ER or a way out. Do you think it’s down this way?” He pointed
down the hallway from where I’d come. “Or down this way?” He pointed from where he’d come. Then his hands went in his
hair and I thought he might cry.
I dealt with a lot of emotional people in my profession, and while I was quick to pass out tissues, I was not used to
consoling people wearing gray sweatpants that outlined all the things I’d wondered about my neighbor when I should have been
sleeping.
“Vander? Are you okay?” I stepped away from the elevator and put my hand on his arm, tugging his hand away from pulling
out his thick hair. “Why do you need the ER?”
I scanned his body again—the first time was like a leftover reflex, I swear—this time for injuries. He looked fine…like
really fine, if you know what I mean. I squeezed my eyes shut and berated myself for getting distracted by his body. He was a
manipulative asshole and it would do me well to remember that.
“G-Mil. The hospital called me. I raced over here, but I can’t find her.”
Putting aside my anger toward Vander was natural, given the circumstances. I’d seen people in panics before, and I’d bet
my trusty van this guy was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Okay, let’s go to the ER.” I increased my grip on his forearm and towed him behind me. Thankfully, he wasn’t so far gone
he couldn’t get his feet to cooperate. A few quick turns and a long march down a hallway, and we found ourselves in the
waiting room of the ER.
Vander turned the tables on me, and when I released him, he grabbed my forearm and dragged me to the nurses’ station.
“I’m here to see Milly Booth.”
“I’m here for James actually. Last responder,” I mumbled, introducing myself and not surprised at all when no one paid me
any attention.
“Oh good, she was calling for you earlier. Let’s get you back there. You’re Vander, I assume?” the nurse asked, standing up
and ushering us to one of the exam rooms.
I tried to pull away, but Vander wasn’t having it. I found myself by his side as we stepped around a curtain in exam room
three and finally saw Milly. She looked tiny in the hospital bed with a mound of blankets on her, oxygen in her nose, and an IV
attached to her arm.
Vander finally let me go and sank to his knees, sliding right up to her side. “Grandma! What happened?”
He pulled her hands in his and kissed the backs of them. The gesture was beyond sweet. If I hadn’t already known he was
an asshole, I would have fallen for him right then and there. Thankfully, I was smarter than that.
Milly pulled a hand away to pat his head, giving him a weak smile. Then she turned her gaze to me and positively beamed.
“Oh, hello again, Marlo. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I raised my eyebrows. Why was she glad I was here? I just wanted to pick up a body. Preferably not hers.
 “G-Mil, what happened?” Vander asked again. Milly kept stroking Vander’s head, and I tried to back out of the room. This
wasn’t my family. I shouldn’t be here.
“Oh, Marlo, dear. What do you call those things old people wear around their necks?” Milly was looking right at me.
I halted my retreat. “Um, a medical alert?”
Milly smiled again. “Yes, that’s right. Such a smart girl. Vandy here got me one and I got to use it today! Did you know that
the Blueball Fire Department has some hunks on staff?”
“Grandma,” Vander groaned. “Forget the firefighters. What happened?”
Milly shot me a wink and I wondered how much morphine they’d given her. She turned her attention to Vander, but I didn’t
risk leaving the room. I felt awkward staying but I didn’t want to sneak out and hurt Milly’s feelings either. I was in a bad
mood, but I wasn’t a monster.
“I was getting dressed this morning and my foot must not have been all the way through the leg hole of my underwear and I
tried again to get it in there, but then my toe got caught and I lost my balance. Next thing you know, I’m on the ground with my
undies around my ankles. Good news is I fell on my right hip, which they replaced two years ago with titanium or something,
so the damage isn’t so bad. I’m practically Iron Man.”
I walked back into the room fully, wanting to hear this. Morphine Milly was hilarious.
Vander groaned again, standing up but not letting go of her hand. “And the bad news?”
Milly scoffed. “I would think that’s obvious. The firemen showed up and I didn’t even have my underwear on! Talk about
embarrassing!”
Vander’s chin dropped to his chest. I was busy shaking with suppressed laughter. Milly was oblivious to it all.
“So, that’s it. It’s too dangerous,” Milly announced, louder than a freight train whistle in the dead of night. “I’m going
commando from now on!”
There it was. There was the bad news we were waiting for.
Vander leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Let that sink into your soul.”
My lips wobbled and my shoulders shook. I squeezed my eyes shut yet again and reminded myself why I hated Vander. I
would not be swayed by his sweetness toward his grandma. I would not let Grandma Milly charm me just like her grandson. I
had valid reasons to dislike the rumpled and frantic man beside me. I could sympathize and extend my well-wishes without
feelings becoming attached. With my resolve firmly in place, I opened my eyes again.
I leaned down to kiss Milly’s cheek and whispered my goodbyes and good lucks.
“I do hope you’ll come visit me, dear.” She smiled so sweetly I couldn’t say no.
“Will do, Milly. You just focus on healing.”
Then I turned to Vander, staring at his chin instead of his sparkling eyes or the dimple of distraction. “Gotta go, have a body
to get in the van.”
I swept past him, but he snagged my arm at the last minute, shifting away from Milly to say in a low tone, “Thank you,
Marlo. I was panicking back there and you helped me. I won’t forget that.”
My heart pitter-pattered at the use of my real name for the first time like he’d confessed something significant, but my head
knew better. I simply nodded and pulled my arm away from his grasp. No more touching Vander. No more visiting his house.
No more looking for him outside my bedroom window. Vander was officially dead to me now.
Thankfully, I was used to dealing with dead people.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

V ander

THE REST of the week had flown by, mostly because I’d spent my time driving back and forth from the hospital to check on G-
Mil and my own house where I’d hired a team to unpack my boxes and set up the guest room. At the rate I was going on my
own, I’d be fully moved into my house sometime next year, and that timeframe just wouldn’t do now that Grandma was injured.
We were lucky she’d evaded a hip fracture, but she was still sore and bruised. The doctors had firmly suggested ongoing
physical therapy, to which Grandma had asked if the therapist was cute. I’d narrowly escaped banging my head against the
wall.
This morning, I’d broached the subject of her moving in with me temporarily and she’d taken it well. Her existing house
was small, but cute, set in a great part of town. I knew she’d miss her neighbors, but this recent injury had highlighted that she
needed a caretaker. And nobody would take more care of my grandma than me.
As I smoothed my hands down my sweater and second-guessed my outfit for the tenth time, I reminded myself that tonight
was supposed to be fun and casual. Just a hangout with new friends. Nothing to be anxious about. Certainly no reason to
wonder if a pair of three-hundred-dollar jeans would be frowned upon here in Blueball. Should I have bought a pair of Levi’s
with the crease in it? I tried to remember what Gannon, Lincoln, and Boston had been wearing when I met them, but my mind
was blank.
“You’re likable, Booth,” I muttered to myself as I climbed in the truck and headed into town, trying to calm my nerves with
positive self-talk. “Just be yourself.”
As was common with my self-talks, I talked back to myself. I firmly believed that was a sign of intelligence, not mental
illness.
“That strategy is working so well with Marlo.” I huffed. “Although I don’t think she’s exactly typical. At least, not where
I’m from. Maybe Blueball does things differently.”
Now I was more nervous, wondering if I should have brushed up on some day of the dead jokes to fit in, or maybe they
wouldn’t understand my sweater’s importance and judge me for wearing homemade goods, or maybe even my haircut was all
wrong. I was good at being the life of the party when I didn’t care about the people at the party. When it came down to actually
making friends, I was horrifically awkward. I parked down the street from Paisley’s house and told my shaking legs to do their
thing. My rapid heart rate would just have to keep up.
“Face it, Booth. You suck at making friends,” I muttered. Hey, I never said I was good at these pep talks.
The sound of a door closing had me spinning around. A purple box on wheels had parked right behind me. Marlo. Our
gazes snagged and we both rolled our eyes.
“Talking to yourself again?” she drawled. I could barely see her. With black clothing and dark hair that blended into the
night behind her, all I saw was a floating white face coming toward me.
“Already cracking the jokes,” I replied, trying to sound casual and failing. At least to my own ears.
Marlo’s head tilted as she came right up to me. From that close I could see the eyeliner she’d added to her top lids, along
with the mascara that made her eyelashes impossibly long. Her dark brown eyes were pretty on any given day, but dressed up
like that, they were haunting.
“Are you…” Marlo trailed off, still staring at me intently. I wanted to turn and run, but I didn’t want to leave her in the
dark. “Are you nervous?”
She practically shouted the last word. I swiveled my head but didn’t see anyone else out and about, eavesdropping on our
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rose, Blanche, and
Violet, Volume 3 (of 3)
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Rose, Blanche, and Violet, Volume 3 (of 3)

Author: George Henry Lewes

Release date: January 11, 2024 [eBook #72682]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Smith, Elder and Co, 1848

Credits: Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSE,

BLANCHE, AND VIOLET, VOLUME 3 (OF 3) ***
 ROSE, BLANCHE,

AND

VIOLET.

BY

G. H. LEWES, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "RANTHORPE,"
"BIOGRAPHICAL HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY," ETC. ETC.

Il n'y a point de vertu proprement dite, sans victoire sur

nous-mêmes, et tout ce qui ne nous coûte rien, ne vaut rien.

DE MAISTRE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
 VOL. III.

LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
——
1848.

London:
Printed by STEWART and MURRAY,
Old Bailey.

CONTENTS.

——

BOOK VI.

CHAPTER

I.—The Idler's Day

II.—Another Literary Soirée
III.—The Tiger Tastes Blood
IV.—The Young Father
V.—Renunciation
VI.—Man purified by Experience
VII.—Poor Vyner
VIII.—Rehearsal of the Opera
IX.—Cecil Succumbs
X.—A Gentleman's Life
XI.—Deeper, and Deeper Still
XII.—Hester's Love

BOOK VII.

CHAPTER

I.—George Maxwell
II.—Rose again sees Julius
III.—Woman's Love
IV.—A Beam of Sunshine in the House
V.—Violet to Marmaduke
VI.—Brighter Scenes
VII.—Another Love Scene
VIII.—Violet writes again
IX.—Frank in reduced Circumstances
X.—Effects of Dining Well
XI.—The Honeymoon

BOOK VIII.

CHAPTER

I.—Amiable People
II.—Love not killed by Unkindness
III.—Captain Heath Returns
IV.—Humbled Pride
V.—"Black Wins"
VI.—Cecil's Weakness
VII.—All Hope Destroyed
VIII.—The Forgery
IX.—Ruin
X.—The Sinner that Repenteth
XI.—The Wife awaiting her Husband
XII.—The Gambler's End
XIII.—Explanation
XIV.—The Alternative
XV.—Those Left to Weep
XVI.—The Voice of Passion

Epilogue

ROSE, BLANCHE, AND VIOLET.

 BOOK VI.

CHAPTER I.

THE IDLER'S DAY.

"Nature hath given us legs to go to our objects, not wings to fly to them."—
EASTWARD HOE.

The spring of 1841 was very mild, and this enabled Cecil and Blanche
to endure the wretched, comfortless state of Mrs. Tring's boarding-house,
better than if the weather had been more rigorous. The cheapness, which
was now becoming more and more important to them, was therefore a
sufficient compensation for the want of comfort. They had renewed their
engagement, hoping that either the comic opera, or the historical picture,
would so improve their circumstances as to admit of their removal in the
summer.

They had long awakened from their holiday dream to find that, however
pleasant the change in their position, it was only pleasant as a change; the
novelty once worn off, the scene appeared in all its ugliness; or rather, let
me say, appeared so to Cecil. He was of a luxurious habit, and felt privation
keenly. Blanche felt it less, and her love for him made home happy. She had
never been so happy. Cecil was all she could desire.

As may be imagined, Cecil once relaxing in the energy with which he

had begun to work, never recovered his former happiness. The charms of
society were charms he could not withstand; the more so because he was
fitted for it, shone in it. Having dined occasionally at the club was sufficient
to give him an incurable disgust to the meagre fare Mrs. Tring spread before
him, and he consequently began to absent himself more and more.

Added to this, his painting proceeded slowly. "Inspiration," wait for it as

he would, seemed unwilling to descend upon him. Then there were so many
days lost: sometimes the weather was foggy, and that prevented him;
sometimes it was fine, and tempted him to exercise; sometimes he had visits
to pay; sometimes men "looked in" upon him at his rooms. One way or
another, the week slipped from him without leaving behind it any record of
labour.

Besides—and this perhaps was one great cause of his idleness, giving
strength to the other influences—he grew less satisfied with his picture the
nearer it approached its termination. Cecil was a man whose designs were
always finer than his productions, his sketches gave a promise which his
execution never realized. In this little trait we may see the whole man. It
might serve as a description of his character. With a certain freshness,
delicacy, and even grandeur in his conceptions, he wanted strength, energy,
and mastery, to endow them with vitality. Who can wonder that he raved
about "genius," and scorned the "mechanical labour" of mere technical
execution?

When he contemplated his productions, he grew impatient at their

inadequacy to represent his conceptions, and he threw the blame on
everything but on his own indolence and caprice. That broad line which
separates intention from execution—which makes the thought a thing—
which distinguishes the artist from other men, by creating in art what other
men only create in visions—that broad line Cecil wilfully overlooked. He
saw that he had failed, and did not choose to see wherein lay his failure. He
despised the "drudgery" which was indispensable to success. Disgusted
with his failure, he lost all courage, and scarcely ever handled a pencil.

"When will your picture be finished, Mr. Chamberlayne?" asked Mrs.

Merryweather, one morning at breakfast.

"Indeed, I cannot say," he replied; "works of that magnitude require

long consideration. I could have produced it long ago, had I been disposed;
but I'm in no hurry."
 "Do you know Mr. Bostock's paintings?"

Cecil replied that he did not.

"Oh, he's a beautiful painter, that he is! Does peaches and mackerel so
that you wouldn't know them from real. His pictures give one an appetite—
that they do. I remember once—it was very curious—Mrs. Henley, a
relation of mine who lives at Southampton—her husband was in the
customs—good situation, as I have heard—and a strange creature he was,
with the queerest nose you ever saw, and eyes just like a lobster's, one was
always alarmed lest they should tumble into his waistcoat pocket! Well, he
married my relation, Mrs. Henley, one of the best creatures! She often
comes up to town, and I should so like you to be acquainted with her, you'll
be quite pleased with her! So, as I was saying, she came up to town once, to
manage a little business, and enjoy herself at the same time. Well, one day
she called upon us. Merryweather—my poor Merryweather was then alive:
who wouldn't have thought him good for another thirty years at least! He
proposed to take us both to the Exhibition; so we went. It was a very hot
day, I remember; intensely hot. Poor Merryweather was in a bath all the
time. And as he stood in the octagon room, his hat in his hand, wiping the
perspiration from his face—which was a sight of itself to see!—
complaining of heat, I suddenly spied one of Mr. Bostock's pretty pictures
—oh, it was a love! you can't fancy what a bunch of grapes straddled across
a few peaches surrounded with egg plums! 'Lor,' says poor Merryweather,
'do look at that; isn't it refreshing.' And we all declared it was; and so it
was."

Cecil, as usual, made a precipitate retreat at the conclusion of this

biographical anecdote, and Blanche soon followed him.

"By George!" he said, puffing a huge column of smoke from his mouth,
"that woman is insupportable. I really must quit this hole; at least if that
toad squats in it."

"She amuses me," said Blanche.

"Lucky for you."

 Blanche took up her work, and sat beside her husband, who, stretched
upon the sofa, a cigar in his mouth, was at what he chose to consider his
morning meditations. He certainly did think; but thought of the club, of
society, of opera singers, and of his past life, far more than he thought of his
work. From time to time he spoke to Blanche, and the subjects upon which
he spoke were sufficiently trivial to have told any one more clear-sighted
than she was, how little art occupied his reveries.

His cigar finished, he put on a pair of white kid gloves, and occupied
himself for half an hour cleaning them with india-rubber, whistling,
humming, and chatting all the while with enviable insouciance.

That important business concluded, he rose, kissed his wife, yawned,

stretched his limbs, looked out of the window, and then took up his bottes
vernies, which he began to rub up, and brighten with a piece of wool dipped
in oil, whistling, humming, and chatting as before.

"What time is it, I wonder?" he said, drawing out his watch, "nearly
twelve! whew! how the morning flies. I must be off. Where's my coat, Pet?"

She gave him his coat, and in another half hour he had completed his
toilet, and was ready to start.

"God bless you, my Pet!" he said, embracing her.

"Shall you be home to dinner to-day, dearest?"

"No, I am to dine with Lufton; and this evening we go to Miss

Mason's."

"Enjoy yourself! God bless you, dearest!"

Another kiss, and our man of genius departed for his studio. Arrived
there, he began to consider whether it were not too late to do anything that
day. It was near one o'clock; at two, Frank was to call upon him. They were
going to a morning conceit.
 "It is decidedly useless beginning anything to-day. I'll just try over some
of those songs till Frank calls."

He sat down to the piano. Having sung for a quarter of an hour, he

opened a French novel, and was deep in that when his fidus Achates
appeared.

"Frank," said Cecil, as they strolled out together; "I am going to ask you
a question which generally disturbs friendship, but which won't alter ours,
because you'll answer it candidly."

"Cis, I know what that exordium means. Whenever a man begins in that
solemn circumlocutory manner he can have but one object—money."

Cecil laughed, as he replied,—

"You have hit it, by George!"

"Of course, I have. Do you think I have borrowed so much money

without learning every symptom?"

"Well, then, Frank, without disguise, I want to borrow a few pounds; old
Vyner has not relented, and his wife has not been lately with any little
contribution: but she can't be long, it has been due some weeks."

"What has been due, old fellow?"

"Why, what she intends to give us."

Thus securely did Cecil rely upon that source of aid.

"Meanwhile," he added, "I am deucedly hard up, and if you have a few
pounds——"

"Make it shillings, Cis, and it will be quite as impossible. Egad! it is

rather a queer sensation for one who has been so long a borrower, to be
looked upon in the light of a possible lender!"

"Say no more, Frank; you would do it if you could, I am sure."

 "Damn my whiskers! if you are sure of it, I'm not. I doubt whether I
could lend. I don't know the trick of it; I should feel as strange and
disreputable as if I were to pay a bill. Perhaps my friendship for you might
overcome that—— I don't know—perhaps it might. But it is all speculation,
so let us trouble ourselves no more with it. As a matter of practice, judge
how feasible it is when I reveal to you the present state of my capital: four
shillings and some halfpence in current coin, and eighteen pence invested."

"Invested, Frank! in what, pray?"

"In a bill-stamp: I take care to be provided with that."

Cecil shouted with laughter, exclaiming,—"That's so like you."

It was, indeed, a trait which painted the man. The value of the bill-
stamp consisted, of course, in the chance of meeting with some obliging
young gentleman who would consent, "merely as a matter of form," to put
his name to the bill, which Frank would forget to take up. But this value
was now the more precarious, as that mere matter of form had been so very
frequently gone through, that he found it excessively difficult to get it
repeated. As he used to say,—

"We degenerate—damn my whiskers! we degenerate fearfully: the

principles of true politeness are becoming effaced."

CHAPTER II.

ANOTHER LITERARY SOIRÉE.

The soirée at Hester Mason's, to which they went that evening, was very
much the same as the one formerly described; there were fewer guests, and
among them more women: a sure sign that she was getting on in the world,
and that the reputation of her parties was beginning to cover any suspicious
circumstances in her own position.

But the women were still of a questionable class: questionable, I mean,

not as regards propriety, but ton. There were no ladies who gave parties,
who were recognised as belonging to "society;" and, above all, there were
no girls there: the virgins were old, ugly, or wise.

In a word, the women were almost exclusively literary women;

described by Cecil as poor faded creatures, who toiled in the British
Museum, over antiquated rubbish which they extracted and incorporated
with worse rubbish of their own—women who wrote about the regeneration
of their sex—who drivelled in religious tales—compiled inaccurate
histories—wrote moral stories for the young, or unreadable verses for the
old—translated from French and German (with the assistance of a
dictionary, a dashing contempt for English idiom),—learned women,
strong-minded women, religious women, historical women, and poetical
women; there were types of each class, and by no means attractive types.

One remark Cecil made, which every one will confirm. "How curious it
is," said he, "to notice the intimate connexion between genius and hair. You
see it very often in men, but universally in women, that the distinguishing
mark of literary or artistic pretension is not in the costume, but in the mode
of arranging the hair. Women dress their hair in a variety of ways: each has
a reference to what is becoming; but when women set up for genius or
learning, all known fashions are despised, and some outrageous singularity
alone contents them. Just look round this room. There is Hester herself: she
is young and handsome; but instead of taking advantage of her black curls,
she trains them up like a modern Frenchman. If you only saw her head, you
would call it a boy's. Then, again, next to her sits Mrs. James Murch—she
reads Greek, and writes verses; you see it by the hair parted on one side,
instead of in the centre, and by the single curl plastered on her brow,
emulous of a butcher boy. There is Miss Stoking—she writes history and
talks about the 'Chronicles'—I see that in the row of flat curls on her
forehead, and in the adjustment of her back hair. Miss Fuller must be a
philosophical woman, by the way in which all the hair is dragged off her
forehead. That bony thing next to her must be a poetess, by the audacity of
her crop. In fact, depend upon it, as there is a science of phrenology, there is
a science of hair."

These women did not, as may be guessed, give any additional charm to
Hester's parties, unless, indeed, in the shape of some fun. Nevertheless,
their presence was inexpressibly delightful to her, for it was a sanction; and
with all her sneers at the "conventions" of society, Hester was most anxious
to preserve them.

Cecil, who liked Hester very much, and was interested even in her
opinions which he did not share, was pitiless in his satire upon her female
friends; which I will not repeat here, lest the reader should imagine that I
share the general dislike to clever women—a conclusion against which I
protest, and stoutly. True, I am not so blind an admirer of cleverness as to
think it atones for the absence of womanly grace, gentleness, lovingness,
and liveliness; but, on the other hand, some of the most charming women—
and womanly women too—I have ever known, have been distinguished in
literature and art. Will that avowal save me?

Hester forgave Cecil for his opinion, the more so as she shared it; and
although she combated his views on social matters as warmly as ever, was
falling over head and ears in love with him.

"You will come round to my way of thinking one day," she said; "so
elevated a mind as yours cannot long remain a slave to traditionary
sophisms; the Spirit of the Age will claim you."

"Pray," said Cecil, smiling, "can you explain to me what this spirit of
the age actually is? I hear a great deal about it, and comprehend nothing that
I hear. Is our age so very different from all those that have gone before it?"

"Assuredly: it is the age of progress."

"Progress? but that is the characteristic of all ages; society never stands
still."

"True, but sometimes it retrogrades, and now it advances. My dear Mr.

Chamberlayne, you will not deny that the peculiarity of our age is not only
progress, but consciousness of progress."

"That is to say, I suppose, while our forefathers contented themselves

with advancing, we prate about our advance. Now, of that kind of
consciousness I am as decided an enemy as Carlyle himself; and his
eloquent denunciations of it as the disease of our time find full acceptance
from me."

"Ah! my dear sir, Carlyle, with all his genius, does not understand the
historic development of humanity."

"Perhaps not; nor do I: though I have tried. But it still seems to me an

evil, not a benefit, that our modern reformers are so very conscious—"

"Stop! You will not deny that every man should have a Purpose?"

Cecil, who knew this was one of the magnificent aphorisms of the
"earnest" school, paused for a reply. Seeing him hesitate, Mr. Jukes, a sickly
red-haired republican, with a feeble falsetto voice, stammered forth—

"Is it p-p-p-possible, Mr. Ch-ch-chamberlayne, you can hesitate to p-p-

pronounce that e-e-every man should have a p-p-p-purpose?"

There was something so marvellously ludicrous in the feebleness of the

individual, contrasted with the apparent vigour of his doctrine, that Cecil
could with difficulty restrain his laughter, and hastened to say—

"By no means—by no means. I presume every one has a purpose; but,

then, the question is—what purpose?"

"If you admit," said Hester, "that a man must have a Purpose, it is surely
unreasonable to wish him not to be distinctly conscious of it: then, only, can
he best fulfil it; otherwise, he is a mere machine in the hands of fortune. I
say, therefore, that the consciousness of our age is the consciousness of
progress; each man of any real eminence has a Mission, and he knows it;
that Mission is to get the broad principles of Humanity in its entire
Developments fully recognised. That Mission," she continued, with rising
warmth, "is to sweep from the face of the earth the worn-out sophisms
which enslave it; to give Mind its high Prerogatives; to cut from the heart of
society the cancer of Conventionalism which corrupts it; to place Man in
majestic antagonism to Convention; to erect the Banner of Progress, and
give the democratic Mind of Europe its unfettered sphere of action."

"A grand scheme," replied Cecil, smiling; "but how is all this to be
accomplished?"

"By indomitable re-re-resolution; b-b-b-by f-f-f-ixity of p-p-purpose,"

suggested Jukes.

"By a recognition of the rights of women," sternly remarked the

philosophical Mrs. Fuller.

"The Greeks," began Mrs. James Murch, "whose literature——"

Here she was interrupted by Miss Stoking, who thought that if readers
were not so fond of "trash," and would only look into the "Chronicles,"
something considerable might result.

The epic poet—the celebrated author of "Mount Horeb, and other

Poems"—thought the age was not religious enough: there was not enough
divine aspiration in the souls of modern men to bring about any grand
revolution.

Mr. Blundell (the kind of "Boz," as his friends told him) thought that
there was a deficiency of wit, and referred to a "government tempered with
epigrams" as his ideal.

Hester would admit of nothing but the "broad Principles of Humanity:"

upon these she stood.

"My dear Miss Mason," said Mrs. Murch, "surely the Greeks, whose
literature——"

"And women?" interposed Mrs. Fuller. "Are women not destined to play
a great part in the reformation of society?"
 "Oh, yes!" replied Hester; "the greatest part—I am quite of your
opinion. Society must be reorganized, and in its new structure women must
fill their proper place; they must be consulted—their rights must be
recognised. You have no idea," she added, turning to Cecil, "what an
enormous difference there would be if society were reconstructed with a
view to the equal partition of power between man and woman."

"I beg your pardon," he said, laughing; "I have a very formidable idea of
it. In fact, I think there is already too great a preponderance of female
influence."

A chorus of indignant astonishment followed this from all the ladies,

except from Mrs. Murch, who, pertinaciously sticking to her yet
unexpressed idea, began—

"Now, my belief is that the Greeks, whose literature——"

"You protest," said Cecil, not noticing Mrs. Murch, "against my dictum?
But hear me. The gradual softening of manners, by constraining men to
relinquish their advantage in physical force, has destroyed the balance of
power, and unbeaten woman has the upper hand."

Hester laughed; the philosophical Mrs. Fuller frowned; and Mrs. Murch
fastened upon poor Blundell, to expatiate to him in confidence on the
literature of the Greeks; but even here she was not allowed to proceed far
before he interrupted her with the question—

"Had the Greeks a 'Boz?'"

She turned from him with a look of withering contempt.

All this while Frank Forrester was engaged at a corner card-table,

winning an ambitious young farce-writer's money at écarté; having emptied
his pockets of seven pounds and a few shillings, Frank rose from the table
and joined the talkers. But Cecil's jest had changed the conversation, and as
it was getting late he prepared to depart.

"What! going so early?" reproachfully asked Hester.

 Had Cecil been a vainer man, or one caring less for his wife, that look
and tone would have been plainly significant to him; but he noticed nothing,
and merely said—

"They are waiting up for me at home."

"And your wife will scold you," said she, pettishly.

"No; but worse than that—I shall reproach myself."

She gave him her hand coldly, and wished him good-night.

CHAPTER III.

THE TIGER TASTES BLOOD.

"Cis, my boy," said Frank, as they stepped into the street, "you have
made a conquest there; poor Chetsom!"

"Pshaw!" said Cecil, "don't be absurd, Frank; she knows I'm married."

Frank stopped—turned him round to look him full in the face—and then
whistled.

"Cis, your innocence—if it be not hypocrisy—is worthy of a primitive

age. Married! She knows you're married! Ha! ha! ha! By George! you
remind me of that vaudeville we saw last year at the Variétés in Paris, where
Lafont embraces Ozy, who repulses him with—Mais, Mosieu, j'aime mon
mari; to which Lafont, stupefied at such innocence, as I am at yours, replies
—Tiens! tu aimes ton mari? c'est bizarre, sans doute; mais enfin ce n'est
pas defendu!"