“Pete’s Steakhouse.”
“Oh. Lovely.” Ainsley hopped up into the truck, thankful that at least Garth was polite enough to open the door for her. Pete’s Steakhouse was considered fine dining only to men who dreamed of beef. The atmosphere was smoky and gritty. A large sign out front offered a free steak to anyone who could eat the seventy-two-ounce steak without throwing it back up. The fine print also mentioned that you had to eat your side items and at least one bread roll. She was thankful, at least, that Pete had refused to rename the restaurant to fit the town’s horror theme.
Garth hopped in and started up the truck with a roar. While still in park, he revved the engine and filled the air with exhaust. Then the truck sputtered a little and lurched forward. Ainsley quickly put on her seat-belt. “This little puppy can do zero to sixty in forty-five seconds.” Garth winked.
“Ah. Good to know,” Ainsley replied.
He patted her on the knee. “This is going to be a night you’ll never forget.”
Pete’s Steakhouse was not crowded, but a two-foot-thick blanket of smoke hung from the ceiling. Garth had asked for a quiet table in the corner. They ended up at the last table before the kitchen, where the shouting cook gave distracting orders.
“You know, people come from miles around just to eat here,” Garth boasted.
Ainsley tried to smile. What he really meant was that it was a nice place off the highway where truckers going from west to east liked to stop for a good meal. Their waiter, a college-aged kid, approached to take drink orders.
“What’s your best wine?” Garth asked, his eyebrows arched with pretend maturity.
The kid thought for a second. “Well, we got red.”
“That’s terrific. Bring us out a bottle.” Garth flashed a smile at the kid, then turned his attention to Ainsley. “This is the best beef around, darling. Now, I like mine bloody and mooing, but most little ladies can’t handle it that rare. I’d suggest getting yours well done, almost crusty.”
Ainsley looked down at her menu and said, “Actually, I think I’ll have the pasta with blackened chicken.”
“Chicken?”
“Yes.”
Garth glanced down at his own menu. “I didn’t even know they had chicken.” Then he laughed. “Oh, of course they have chicken. Duh. Chicken fried steak. One of my favorites.”
“That’s actually beef.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
He crossed his arms. “Then why do they call it chicken fried steak?”
Ainsley pressed her lips together. “Because it’s fried like chicken.”
This took several seconds of massive brainpower for Garth to process. He shrugged and then said, “You like chicken over beef?”
Ainsley nodded, though what she really wanted to say was that she was not about to have Garth Twyne tell her what to eat and how to eat it. The waiter returned with a bottle of wine chilled in a plastic bucket. He pulled out his pad from the back pocket of his jeans. “All right. What can I get for you?”
“The little lady here’s gonna have that pasta dish of yours with the black chicken. Does that mean the dark meat? At Thanksgiving, I don’t want none of that dry white meat where you have to pour the whole bucket of gravy over it just to make it edible.”
“Sir,” the waiter said, “it’s blackened chicken.” The kid glanced at Ainsley and then said to Garth, “And what will you have?”
“The seventy-two-ouncer, rare, with Tommy Telly’s steak sauce on the side. Now listen to me, kid. I want to see red, not pink, in the middle, okay? I want it mooing.”
The kid smiled. “Gotcha.”
“Just make sure my chicken’s not clucking,” Ainsley added with a short smile.
The kid was just about to ask about sides when Pete Manundra, the restaurant owner, sauntered over like the most important person in the world.
“Garth! Glad to see you! What are you doing sitting all the way over here in the corner?”
The waiter said, “That’s what they wanted, sir.”
Pete patted the kid on the back. “Is Jimmy here taking good care of you?”
“Yep,” Garth said.
Pete glanced at the order on the kid’s pad. “Oh no. Now Garth, don’t tell me you’re going to try to eat our seventy-two-ounce steak again.”
“You betcha.”
Pete’s face turned worried. “Don’t you remember what happened last time? You spewed like a geyser. It took two hours to clean up.”
Garth glanced at Ainsley, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Garth pointed to Ainsley with a jab of his thumb. “Hey now, I got a little lady to impress here. By the way, this is Ainsley Parker, my date.”
Pete glanced at Ainsley and smiled warmly. “Hi there. Welcome to Pete’s. Ever been here before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, glad to have you. Hope you like the food.” He cocked his head to the side. “You’re Sheriff Parker’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Ainsley replied.
“Nice to know you. Irwin’s a great customer.” He looked back at Garth. “Now listen. I’m serious. You start feeling queasy and you stop eating. I don’t think Miss Parker here’s going to be too impressed with your guts all over the floor. Got it?” He winked at Ainsley, who could only stare blankly, trying to remember if this was reality or a nightmare.
“He exaggerates everything,” Garth said to Ainsley after Pete left. “I mean, one time I ate two and a half of those steaks with no problem. I had the stomach flu that day, that’s all.”
Ainsley nodded and tried her best to smile, but she thought if her facial muscles moved at all she might just burst into tears. And it came to her that if she felt as if she was going to burst into tears, this probably wasn’t what God had in mind for her. Garth was explaining how he’d neutered a dog that day, but all Ainsley could think about was the clock on the wall and how very slowly the seconds were ticking by. After dinner, she would insist he take her home, and then she would explain she’d made a mistake and that they weren’t supposed to be anything more than friends. If that.
Their food arrived unexpectedly fast, and Ainsley wondered how they could blacken chicken in five minutes. Garth’s steak hung over the sides of his plate, and there was barely room for the baked potato and green beans that came with it. Garth grinned and rubbed his hands together.
“Let’s thank the Lord for our food,” Ainsley reminded him quietly.
“Thank you Lord for this food!” Garth squealed and started sawing away, bright pink juices filling the platter in seconds.
Ainsley quietly checked her chicken to make sure it was not pink inside, then began to eat. The pasta dish wasn’t bad, but she’d lost what little appetite she’d had to begin with. She watched Garth tackle his sirloin. They’d only been at Pete’s Steakhouse for thirty minutes, but she felt as though half her life had wasted away.
As she cut her chicken into proper, bite-size pieces, she wondered if there was any way to get out of the rest of dinner. No sooner had the question crossed her mind than she saw her father making his way around the tables and toward them.
“Daddy!” she said with way too much delight. On any normal occasion, she’d wonder why he’d followed her to Pete’s. But she stood, almost leaping over the table to greet him. “What are you doing here?”
Her father embraced her and then looked at Garth. “Garth.”
“Hello, Sheriff Parker.”
Ainsley looked at her father. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Well, where else would he take you?”
Of course. She noticed her father’s solemn face and realized that he wasn’t there to save her from this horrid date. His shoulders slumped with a heaviness she recognized from long ago. “Daddy?”
With his arm still around her shoulder, Sheriff Parker said, “Honey, I’m so sorry to have to ruin your evening like this, but I knew you’d want to know. Aunt Gert passed away. The hospi
tal just called.”
Ainsley buried her face in her father’s chest. Garth stood with a mouth full of food and said, “Sowwy, Ainsley.”
“Come on, sweetheart. Let me take you home.”
Ainsley nodded and let her father guide her out of the restaurant. She managed a short wave to Garth, who stood at the table helplessly. She cried all the way home. She had thought the night couldn’t get worse. But she had been so wrong.
CHAPTER 9
THEY BURIED AUNT Gert three days later, on Monday. She’d made all her funeral arrangements ahead of time, so there was nothing to do but say good-bye. Ainsley’s father had tried to console her, but nothing could fill the void Aunt Gert’s death left behind. In a way, Ainsley experienced the death of her mother all over again.
Aunt Gert had left a note for her, bringing a little comfort. She’d expressed all her love for Ainsley but tried to assure her she was in a better place. Ainsley had no doubt of that. She was mostly just feeling sorry for herself, because she was indeed not in a better place.
Garth had stopped by. Ainsley didn’t want to see anyone, so her father handled him. He was kind enough to bring some flowers and a doggy bag full of the dinner Ainsley had left behind. It was a good attempt on his behalf, and even though she chucked the food, she put the flowers in a nice vase.
By Monday evening, Ainsley found the house suffocating. She didn’t feel like cooking, and her father decided he’d go out to Pete’s. She thought about taking a walk, but this fall felt more like winter, and the iciness in the air was the last thing she needed. The world was already a cold place.
She paced the halls for a while, thinking of her mother, praying, smiling at a few warm thoughts of Aunt Gert that managed to rise above the grief. And then it occurred to her: She had someone to thank. She grabbed her coat and scarf out of the closet, turned off all the lights in the house, and warmed up her car. As it idled in her driveway, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the strange eagerness in her heart to go make this visit. Maybe she should have listened to her heart in the first place.
“Ms. Peeple?”
“Miss Peeple.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No. You said Ms. I’m Miss.”
The poor guy stood awkwardly on the porch of her home, shivering in his expensive coat.
“I’ve never been married, and Ms. is reserved for someone who has and is widowed, or who hasn’t but doesn’t want people to know. Or the divorced. I’m quite proud to be none of the above, but to make it easier, you can call me Missy.”
“I’m sorry, I’m—”
“For crying out loud, do I have to spell it out for you, Alfred?”
His eyes widened as he looked at her. “How did you know my name?”
“I know everything that goes on in this town, lad. For example, I know you went to see Wolfe three days ago. And I know you spent the night at the bed-and-breakfast here in Skary. And,” she said with an eager grin, “I know why you’ve come to see me tonight.” She sized him up and said, “They don’t have winter in New York? You’re acting as if you’ve never been exposed to the elements before, sir. Come inside before you catch pneumonia.”
He slowly stepped inside, looking around apprehensively. Missy caned her way over to her rocking chair and offered Alfred a seat on her vinyl couch, recently covered in new plastic. He kept his hands in the pockets of his coat. With his slicked-back hair and his expensive shoes, Missy thought the man must think he was something awfully important, which made a sense of pride surge through her weary veins. He needed her help.
“It’s quite unfair, don’t you think?”
“What?” he asked, finally sitting down.
“Well, a man will always be a Mister, no matter what happens to him. How am I to know your marital status? Are you single, married, divorced, widowed, fornicating, what?”
Missy imagined that Mr. Tennison for the most part was a man with a lot of confidence, but she knew by the way his eyes shifted and startled at her words that, no matter who he was in New York, he was nothing more than putty in her hands here.
“I’m sorry your talk with Wolfe didn’t go well.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how you know that.”
“Knowing the business of this town is my business. How do you think I knew to call you?”
Alfred stared at his shoes for a moment and then said, “I’m at a loss as to what to do. He’s made up his mind. He’s not changing.”
“Oh you of little faith.” She met his eyes. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Tennison. I’ve only known you for a couple of minutes, but I can tell that you are a man who appreciates a good deal.” She glanced at his shoes and Rolex watch. “And you are a man who appreciates money. So I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not accustomed to people telling me what to do.”
“From what I can tell, you’re not accustomed to Timex or Hush Puppies either, sir.”
“I’m listening.”
The house looked old and creepy at night. It always had. It loomed over the little town and even had two windows that, when lit, resembled two large eyes.
An old gravel road led up to a small grassy knoll and a few cement steps, which led to a short path and the wooden porch steps. The porch light was dim, and Ainsley had trouble finding her way through the darkness.
The porch steps creaked, causing Ainsley to stop in her tracks and second-guess her decision to come and visit Wolfe Boone. Why was she here? She could’ve just as easily written a kind note and stuck it in the mail. Staring up at the old house, she felt her heart beat wildly. Was it the creepiness of this old house, or the anticipation of something else? How she wished she could read the signs of her own heart.
She made her way up two more steps and then to the front door. A heavy brass knocker reflected the porch light and her own small and timid looking self. She stood up straighter, took in a breath of courage, and knocked.
She heard footfalls on what sounded like a hardwood floor, and then the door opened. Wolfe Boone stood, backlit from the inside lights, staring down at her in astonishment. All she could do was stare back.
“Hi,” he managed with a smile.
“How are you?”
“Fine,” he replied. “Can I, uh, help you?”
She tried to peek around him, to get a glimpse of what this haunted mansion might look like on the inside. She figured a few axes would be hanging from the ceiling, but his big frame wouldn’t allow even a tiny look.
“I’m here to … to … to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“Yes. For the book. That was so incredibly kind of you.” Ainsley tried to suppress her emotions. “My aunt died Friday. I had a chance to read it to her before she died, and it meant the world to her. And to me.”
Even backlit, Ainsley could see Wolfe’s features soften. “You’re very welcome. I’m so sorry she died.”
“It was expected,” Ainsley said. “But not easy.”
Wolfe shuffled his feet and then said, “Would you like to come in?”
Ainsley hesitated. Would she like to come in? Would she? It wouldn’t have been a difficult question coming from anyone but Wolfe Boone. “Umm …”
“It’s kind of cold out there.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, you want to come in?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t want to come in?”
“No, I mean, yeah, it’s cold out here.” She tried to smile. “I’m sorry. That was a simple question.” She held her breath for a moment. “Sure. I’ll come in. But just for a minute.”
“Great,” he said. “Do you mind taking your shoes off?”
“My shoes?” Her mind reeled with thoughts of why she should take her shoes off. Maybe he practiced some strange demonic ritual. Or maybe he thought the ground she stood on was sacred in some way. Was the house built on top of a cemetery? Why in the world would she need to t
ake her shoes off? She felt her neck dampen.
“I’ve got two dogs. At night it’s hard to see where they take their bathroom breaks in the yard. Plus all those crazy cats don’t help.”
“Oh.” Ainsley slipped off each shoe. “Sure.”
“Come on in.” He opened the door wider. A few feet away, two noble-looking German shepherds sat near the living room, wagging their tails. “This is Goose and Bunny.”
She smiled at the dogs and they seemed to smile back, as if they recognized her. She looked at Wolfe and pointed to the dogs. “I’m surprised they’re not barking.”
Wolfe was taking her coat. “Well, they’re very smart dogs. They only bark when they sense evil. That’s something unique about shepherds. Some of them can sense evil.”
“Oh.” Ainsley watched as Wolfe took her coat and scarf and hung them up in the coat closet. She’d never once seen a man do that. She looked around the house. It was decorated with warm, strong colors, but it wasn’t in-your-face masculine. The furniture looked expensive, as did the tile and the rugs. She was amazed. On the inside it looked like a house out of Architectural Digest. She sauntered into the living room, grazing her hand against a vase with flowers. Fresh flowers!
His artwork was hung carefully, and he had just enough knick-knacks to make the room comfortable but not junky. A bookshelf cram-packed with hundreds of books lined one wall. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and the whole house smelled of pine.
Ainsley was speechless. Even in her wildest imagination, she had never thought this house would look … normal.
“Please, sit down,” he said, and she sat on the couch while he sat in an overstuffed leather chair with an ottoman, one that looked to be his favorite by the way it was slightly worn.
“Your house is nice,” she said simply, hoping not to sound shocked.
“Thanks,” he shrugged. “I spend a lot of time here.”
“You could use a few fall flowers out front.” She shrugged and grinned. “Or maybe a couple of potted plants.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that,” he said lightheartedly. The kind of silence that fills the room when there’s so much to say and not enough guts to say it rang in Ainsley’s ears like chimes in the wind. She had just decided to compliment the fact that he liked to use his coat closet and had fresh flowers when a loud siren shattered the peace.