Boo

  “Marlee … shush!” He waved his hands for her to sit down.

  “Did you not just sit here and tell me you were lost … and that you were in need of someone to fulfill your life … and that you were searching for meaning …” She gestured toward the crowd. “That you were lonely?”

  “Well, yes …” Oliver caught Melb’s interested eyes. “No …”

  “That you need a savior?!”

  He glanced back at Marlee. “Yes, but—”

  “What do I look like? Mad Cow Meatloaf?!”

  A low murmur swept through the restaurant. Oliver looked up at Marlee, whose eyes were wide, and whose arm was still flung out into the air. She waited, as if she actually expected a reply.

  Almost too afraid to answer, Oliver muttered, “No.”

  Her hands dropped, and she stared down at him with disgust. “I’ve got customers waiting.” She stomped off, and Oliver slid down in his booth. He breathed a sigh of relief, at least thankful the dramatics were over. He glanced one more time over at Melb, who was trying unsuccessfully not to stare. Oh! He’d just ruined everything! How was he supposed to ask Melb out now that she’d seen him apparently ask Marlee out?

  He pulled out the list from his breast pocket and a pen from his pants pocket, then drew a line through a name at the top. He knew one thing for sure. Marlee Hampton was not the culprit.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE MAYOR TREMBLED as he paced the slick wood floors of his mayor’s mansion, which wasn’t more than three thousand square feet but had a gaudy exterior to make it seem like something special. Missy studied him for a moment to determine his state of mind. She never minded gazing at the mayor. No one knew how long she’d loved this man. For years she had plotted and plodded her way closer to his heart. Now she had him right where she wanted him. Weak. Vulnerable. And needing a shoulder to cry on. Not to mention someone to save his bacon. Plus she was saving the town of Skary at the same time. Her brilliance was amazing.

  As was her timing. Missy knew Alfred Tennison hadn’t been gone from this house for more than thirty minutes when she dropped in for a chat. He’d spilled the beans to a woman he trusted, thanks to years of slightly questionable tactics.

  “Mayor, you’re distraught.”

  “Of course I’m distraught!” he said. “Who wouldn’t be!” He sat on his leather couch and buried his face in his hands. “Who would’ve told that man of this? Who? I didn’t think anyone knew!”

  Missy joined him on the couch. “Do you really think the town will take it as hard as you imagine they will?”

  He shook his head and stared at the carpet. “It will devastate them. And humiliate me. Not to mention put Martin in an awkward position. I’m ruined.”

  “Not so fast, deary. There is yet hope.”

  “Hope? What kind of hope? A man claiming to be Wolfe Boone’s editor is here writing a story about Skary and digging up all its dirt. All its buried skeletons. Of which mine is the dirtiest skeleton of all. How can I stop him? He already knows.”

  Missy’s voice was low and soothing. “Do you know why he’s writing this book?”

  “He said people would be interested in our little town.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Dear Mayor, he’s writing this book because he’s lost Wolfe Boone as a writer, and he needs the money.”

  “Lost Wolfe Boone?”

  “Surely you’ve heard.” Missy watched his eyes. It seemed to register, ever so slowly. “Yes, you see, Boo has found the faith and therefore, we presume, will stop writing horror novels.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t you see? If Wolfe were to return to writing horror novels, then Mr. Tennison wouldn’t have to write a tell-all book about Skary. Life would be back the way it was … the way it should be. For him. For Skary.”

  She saw by the mayor’s eyes that he was starting to catch on. “Why would he go back to writing horror novels?” he asked as he turned away, pretending to be interested in something on his bookshelf.

  “Oh, dear, I don’t know. There are many reasons people backslide.”

  “Backslide?”

  “Why sure. It means—”

  “I know what it means.”

  “Some enter into sin. Others grow bored. For some it’s just a passing phase.” She paused, letting these suggestions settle a bit before saying, “And for some, well, the burden becomes too difficult.”

  He turned back. “Burden.”

  “Why certainly. Thou shalt not covet. Cut off your hand if it makes you stumble. Forgive others a bazillion times. Things like that. You know, Mayor, the things you and I take seriously.”

  One of the mayor’s eyebrows rose with steely determination. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  She grinned at him while studying his picture-perfect features. “I thought you would.”

  CHAPTER 16

  A FEW DAYS had passed since their lunch, but not one of them without a phone conversation with Wolfe. She felt as if she were in high school again. They’d had long conversations, sometimes about nothing in particular. She’d lie on her bed, feet in the air, her eyes closed, thinking of what he might be doing while talking to her.

  They’d agreed by mid-week to go out again on Friday. They stopped for a quaint lunch at a small café just outside town that Ainsley adored. Wolfe said the rest of the date was a surprise. After lunch, she got into his car, and to her astonishment, they drove to a movie theater.

  “A movie?”

  “Yeah.” He cut the Jeep’s engine and quickly got out of the car, nearly hopping over the hood to open her door before she could. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” Ainsley said, looking up at the kiosk. She hadn’t been to a movie in ages. In fact, she never even knew anymore what movies were playing. She watched Wolfe close the car door, wondering if the movie would be a romance. Or maybe a historical drama. Her heart warmed at the idea of how much fun she was having. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this way. And she was glad she decided to wear the perfume again.

  “It’s turned out to be a beautiful day,” he said. “Maybe going inside a dark movie theater isn’t the best idea.”

  “It’s perfect. What movie are we going to see?”

  She noticed his Adam’s apple bulge slightly. “It’s called Bloody Thursday.”

  Ainsley’s bright eyes dimmed a little. “Um. It sounds kind of familiar. Is it a war movie?”

  “No,” he admitted. He was second and third and fourth guessing himself, though something inside told him to stay on course. It was going to be painful, but it had to be done.

  “Oh. Well, it sounds a little … bloody.”

  “Not so much. A little, perhaps.”

  “Wolfe, what’s going on?”

  He steered her toward the ticket booth. Only a few people mingled around. “It’s the first movie they’ve ever made out of one of my books. I haven’t seen it yet. I thought …” He glanced at her startled eyes. “I just want you to see what it is I do. You have an impression of me. I understand that. But aside from the horror and the ghosts and monsters, I love to tell a good story. My imagination is so much a part of who I am. And I want you to know every part of me. Even the darker sides.”

  Wolfe tried to read her, but it was hard. Her lips had frozen in a smile, and her eyes seemed to dance with indecision. He tried again.

  “I understand this wouldn’t be your first pick for a movie. But would you share it with me? This is a special time for me, and I didn’t want to go alone.”

  Her eyes finally seemed to focus on him, and though there wasn’t a trace of delight in them, they seemed to reflect trust. She nodded, and this time a genuine smile crossed her lips. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” She laughed a little. “As long as you’re buying.”

  Wolfe grinned and stepped up to the ticket booth. “You’d think they’d send me a free pass or something.” He paid for the tickets.

  “Didn’t you get to go to the premiere?”
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  “Oh, yeah, I was invited. But I’ve never much liked the Hollywood scene. Too many masks. You never really know who you’re talking to, and why they’re talking to you.”

  “So the mysterious writer becomes even more mysterious by not attending the premiere of his own movie.”

  Wolfe shrugged as he opened the theater door for her. “I guess that would be one spin.”

  They paused inside to adjust to the darkened room. Wolfe hoped he hadn’t crossed the line with Ainsley, but she had to know who he was to understand who he had become.

  It seemed that the closer she hovered next to him, the more relaxed she became. He tried to stand close to her. Looking up at him, she said, “Well, I can’t guarantee I’m going to like the movie, but I’d be more than happy to try some popcorn and candy.”

  This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her. Here she was with the man she had once despised, on a date that up to this point had been magical, sitting in a dark theater waiting for his movie Bloody Thursday to start. What was he trying to prove? Why did she need to see this to understand him? His books were known for being dark and suspenseful. Is that who he was? Had she gotten the wrong impression of him? Her muscles ached at the idea of all this, and she found even light chitchat now painfully strained.

  “Look,” he finally said, after they’d made their third attempt at talking about the weather, “I know this is awkward.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “And I’d hate to ruin our day. I’m not trying to ruin it. I’m just trying to show you every side of me. So you won’t have any surprises.”

  Ainsley stared at the movie screen in front of her. She had to admit, the guy had a lot of guts. He had to know how she felt about him, about what he wrote. Why would he put himself in such a vulnerable position now? She was about to try to reassure both him and herself with a polite nod when the lights went down and the music began. Dear Lord … she prayed. But there were no other words to fill in the rest of the prayer.

  An hour and a half into the movie, Ainsley’s hand reached the bottom of the popcorn sack. She tossed it aside and stared at the screen. Elaina, the main character, was about to walk into a deadly trap. Where was Thomas? Where was he? Didn’t he know how much danger she was in?

  Ainsley sat back, trying to focus both on the movie and the irrational thoughts that were playing through her mind. She didn’t realize there would be a love story in this … and such an intense one. She was captivated by Elaina, her passion, her vulnerability, her bravery. And Thomas was so complex, a hero in his own right, yet mysterious. His love for Elaina had spanned more than a decade, but until now she was unaware. If they could just get rid of that horrific ghost that haunted the mansion they both loved so much, their love could find each other! In the same thought, Ainsley marveled at how Wolfe’s mind had come up with all these twists and turns. Her head throbbed as she was tossed between the thrills of the movie and the realities of her own thoughts.

  “Don’t open the door!” Ainsley whispered. “Don’t do it!”

  She could feel the tension of everyone in the theater as the door creaked open and Elaina found herself stepping into unknown places. “No! No! Don’t you know what’s there?” Ainsley’s heart pounded with anticipation.

  A man with a knife leapt from behind the shadows. Ainsley screamed, along with the rest of the audience. But Elaina was quick on her feet and grabbed a letter opener on the desk next to the door. In a violent struggle, Elaina managed to stab the man in the shoulder. He stumbled backward, wincing in pain, blood dripping down his arm. He hollered at the top of his lungs, and Ainsley screamed again, this time grabbing Wolfe’s arm. But something felt weird. His muscles were completely relaxed. Ainsley could barely take her eye off the screen to glance over at Wolfe, but when she did, she gasped.

  Wolfe was unconscious.

  “Please, I’m fine,” Wolfe said as two hefty men in theater uniforms helped him to a nearby bench in the theater hallway.

  “I’ll get you some water,” one man said. The other had stepped away to find the manager. Wolfe had regained consciousness as soon as Ainsley returned with the men to help him, and at once he let them usher him out of the dark theater to try not to draw too much attention to himself. The movie, apparently, was much more interesting than Wolfe’s plight, because not too many people took notice.

  Wolfe leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Ainsley sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he said with a short smile. “I promise.”

  “You scared me to death!”

  “That was what the movie was supposed to do.”

  Ainsley couldn’t help but smile. “Well, it was doing a fine job of it too.”

  The man returned with a cup of water and lingered for a moment until Wolfe indicated with a nod that he would be okay. The man stepped aside and tended to the trash.

  “What happened?” Ainsley asked.

  Wolfe grinned, then laughed out loud and could barely look at her. He shook his head, managed to glance at her for a second, and then said, “I pass out at the sight of blood.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “It was really bad when I was young, and then I guess in the last few years I haven’t seen much blood, and I don’t really go to the movies that much. I thought I’d outgrown it. I guess not!”

  Ainsley started laughing so hard the manager and the man with him turned to see if everything was okay. She gave them a quick wave of assurance but couldn’t stop laughing. Wolfe joined in, and for a moment all they could do was laugh, look at each other, and laugh even more.

  Finally Ainsley managed to say between breaths, “You’re a horror novelist and you pass out at the sight of blood!”

  He nodded and laughed again, finally able to speak himself. “I can write about it all day long, but if I see it, I drop. I even use an electric shaver, when I use one at all.”

  They laughed a few moments longer until Ainsley’s sides hurt, and then they finally managed to gain their composure.

  “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Wolfe smiled and stared into his water cup. “Yeah, I guess it is pretty funny, isn’t it?” Silence replaced the laughter for a moment. Then Wolfe said, “Ainsley, I know these movies and books aren’t good. I’m not trying to say they are. I just wanted you to see. I’ll never write anything like it again. I see how dark it is. I see what’s wrong with it. But I’m not ashamed of it either. It’s as much a part of my life as—well, as this moment is. That’s all.”

  The doors to the movie theater swung open and the crowd dispersed, each one chatting as they went by. Suddenly Ainsley felt disappointed that she didn’t know how the movie ended. She looked at Wolfe.

  “What happens?”

  “What happens?”

  “At the end of the movie? Does Thomas save Elaina?”

  He smiled. “What do you think?”

  “I hope so.” She looked at him. “Do horror stories have good endings?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So what happens?”

  “The man at the graveyard—”

  “Finds the box!”

  “And puts it in the …”

  “House?”

  “No. The car. Because, remember—”

  “Thomas can’t drive a stick shift!”

  “But Elaina can.”

  “And she finds the—?”

  “Yes, and unlocks the secret to give to the—”

  “So Thomas can save her!” Ainsley stared at the ceiling in amusement. “What a great ending!”

  “Thank you.”

  She leaned against the wall next to him. “I have to say, I’m pretty astonished.”

  “Oh?”

  “The characters—they were interesting. I was fascinated by them both.”

  “What fascinated you?”

  “Elaina … so much has been expected of her all her life, yet underneath all those layers of ex
pectations is a vulnerable woman. She’s so together, but she doesn’t have all the answers, and she needs a hero.”

  Wolfe was silent as he studied her. Ainsley continued. “And Thomas. An unlikely hero, I have to say. He’s mysterious, he’s got a past. But it seems in the end, Thomas has more of the answers, more stability, than she does.” She shrugged. “I just thought horror novels were about seeing people’s insides ripped out.”

  “Some are.”

  “So nobody’s insides get ripped out at the end of the movie?”

  Wolfe laughed. “Well, unfortunately the butler gets it.”

  “Oh. Well, he wasn’t that fascinating of a character anyway.” Ainsley watched as Wolfe sipped his water. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “There was one thing that didn’t make sense to me in the movie.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s about Thomas. And his love for Elaina. How could anyone be in love with someone for fourteen years and never say anything?”

  Wolfe crunched his cup in his hand and tossed it in the wastebasket beside him. Then he looked at her and with a meager smile said, “Well, I guess that’s why they call it fiction.”

  On the way back to her house, Ainsley learned Wolfe wore his hair long because his ears were crooked, and that for the first six months of Goose and Bunny’s life he called them Dog and Girl because he couldn’t come up with anything more creative. He finally got better names for them by watching Saturday morning cartoons.

  Ainsley told Wolfe more about the death of her mother, the relationship she had with her father. She talked about how she’d gone to church her whole life and what it meant for her to be a Christian. Wolfe listened intently, and Ainsley wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone who seemed more interested in what she had to say. It thrilled her.

  The drive back to her house seemed short, and Ainsley felt the heaviness of disappointment in her chest when Wolfe pulled his Jeep up to the curb outside her house. It was after five, and she knew she had to go inside and begin preparing dinner for her father. But so much of her wanted all this to last into the night.