The next morning, I climbed the hill to the B and B, my limbs heavy, like they were filled with rocks.
I’d slept poorly to say the least.
My phone call to Perri had consisted of her reassuring me I didn’t need to put my name in the article if I was afraid for my life. I’d replied that I was only informing her because she needed to know about the threat. That I was scared, but it didn’t mean I would back down.
“Halston Cole can go fuck himself,” I’d whispered hoarsely into my phone.
I’d heard the pride in Perri’s voice when she told me to take care of myself and to stay vigilant.
Still, I hadn’t slept. I was worried that whoever had jumped on a ferry to deliver a dead bird to me was still in Leth Sholas.
Ramsay was working on internal cupboards in the bedrooms so my guests would have places to hang their clothes. I didn’t want bulky furniture in the guest rooms but rather clever storage solutions that would give the rooms a sense of spaciousness and allow us to create larger adjoining bathrooms for each. Previously, guests had to share two bathrooms in the guesthouse and that wouldn’t work for modern hospitality.
I’d caught sight of Ramsay as I wandered through the house, but he’d seemed preoccupied.
An hour later, I felt superfluous to the activity. “What can I do to help?” I asked Quinn.
My contractor’s smile was kind. “Honestly … a lunch run. It would save the guys going down to Main Street.”
“Lunch.” I jumped on the idea. “I can do lunch. I’ll go get everyone’s orders.”
It took me twenty minutes to get around to everyone and I left Ramsay until last. Akiva wasn’t with him today and was probably with Annie at the voluntary Leth Sholas Lifeboat Service station which I now knew locals abbreviated to the LS.
I might have worried about Ramsay’s reliance on Annie, but I’d finally met her at the Fisherman’s Lantern and she was a seventy-two-year-old widow who volunteered full time with the LS as their station manager.
Finally, I approached Ramsay in one of the back downstairs bedrooms. “Hey!” I called out before I walked in to give him a heads-up.
The banging from inside halted. Ramsay stepped away from his work. He swiped a strong forearm over his forehead, wiping the sweat from it. His biceps flexed with the movement, and I experienced an answering tug deep in my belly.
Over the last few months, his beard and hair had grown again, but he’d trimmed both before they reached the yeti stage.
“Aye?” he asked, studying the sliding closet door he’d fitted.
He did not give me the courtesy of looking at me.
Apparently, my interrupting him was an annoyance.
“I’m on lunch duty. Do you want anything from the bakery?”
Ramsay kept looking at that damn door like it was fascinating. “Anything. Whatever’s left. Not fussy.”
“That’s extremely unhelpful.”
“A sandwich,” he bit out impatiently.
What the hell was his problem? I wanted to ask. To confront him and his suddenly shitty attitude toward me, but I was emotionally drained.
So damn tired.
Without another word, I walked out.
Quinn was outside conversing with one of the guys about the repair work happening on the roof. I nodded at him as I passed to get to my car. I’d taken to leaving it at the B and B since parking was tight behind my vacation apartment. Once per day, at least one of the workmen teased me about the bright paint job on my cute little Suzuki.
Mind on Ramsay’s weird behavior, I opened the driver’s door, and it took me a second to process what was happening.
Worms. A horror movie abundance of worms, poured out of the car.
They hit my feet before I could react.
