“Wait, there are costumes?”
“No, dummy.Our vibe.”
Once again, my Victorian surroundings failed me.It was hard to come up with a compelling alternative to sluts.I guess I could suggest bustles.Were bustles a vibe?Or, uh, polo?Or a clock repairman?Don’t judge me—there’s only so much inspiration I can draw from enormous oil paintings of horses and expensive antique clocks.
“I’ll probably wear jeans,” I said.
“And a super slutty top,” West said with the tone of someone confirming something they already suspected.“Perfect.I’ll see you there!And don’t be late!”
“How did you get this number?”I asked.
But by then, the call had disconnected.
I looked at the very expensive clock.I did my math with the Roman numerals.If I waited until the absolute last possible moment, I had exactly XXX minutes before I had to leave.Which, considering the theme of the night, was kind of an ominous number.
XXIX minutes later, I pulled on jeans and a Halo T-shirt.A first-person shooter probably didn’t qualify as slutty, so I took it off and tried my Animal Farm tee.It had a rooster on it, so maybe that counted?I found a hoodie and, in keeping with West’s proclaimed vibe, I didn’t even zip it up.Look at that, world.A brazen hussy.
The whole way, as I biked into town, I asked myself what in the world I was doing.The night was cool and damp.Not much fog, just wisps of it hanging amidst the spruce.The air was briny and forest-sweet, with a hint of water and oil from the rain and the road.By the time I got to the Otter Slide, I still didn’t have an answer.
The Otter Slide is a bar.It’s not a gay bar, although it does have pride flags hanging outside.It’s a hip bar, I guess.Or as hip as things got in Hastings Rock.It was where the younger crowd went, and so it was more progressive—about as close to a gay bar as Hastings Rock would ever get.Inside, it has the usual stuff—a long bar with stools and taps, pendant lights with gold-and-green glass, a pool table, aStar Warspinball machine.It was pleasantly murky, and the drinks were reasonably priced, and everywhere—literally everywhere, including some of the bowls of bar mix—there were stuffed animals.I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no: not just otters.There was at least one very homosexual bear.
It was Friday night, and the Otter Slide was busy.Crowded, actually.And while the mix leaned toward locals, there were lots of unfamiliar faces.Okay, as far as I was concerned, even the locals were mostly unfamiliar faces, but it was still easy to pick out the tourists.The booths and tables were full.People thronged the bar, calling out orders for drinks.Seely, who owned and managed the place, was rushing back and forth, her face flushed and a few strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead.
After a quick circuit of the bar, I confirmed Deputy Bobby and West weren’t here.Which was fine.Even though—I checked my phone—I was on time.And even though West had said not to be late.I stood in line, got myself a whiskey highball, and answered Seely’s shouted question about how things were going with a wave and a smile.I fumbled around until I found a spot against the wall.I kept an eye on the door.
There were so many people.
So many bodies.
A man jostled my arm when I took a drink.
A woman backed into me and giggled.
The music was louder.Or felt louder—felt like it was right in my ear, actually.Semisonic’s “Closing Time.”
Hot.It was hot with so many bodies crammed together.
More people kept coming through the door.More people packing the bar tighter.More voices.More noise.
Finally, I just needed some air.I abandoned my drink in a bus bin and squeezed between a pair of women with identical blond curls and what appeared to be faux-leopard fur coats (it was June, ladies, even if itwasthe single chilliest June of my life).
I almost didn’t see them at first because they were at the corner, where the shadows were thicker.Deputy Bobby looked casually nice, in a button-up and chinos.West looked gorgeous: a crop-top that left his perfectly defined abs (and, heck, a fair bit of his perfectly defined chest) on display; jean shorts that were practically falling off lean hips; long, toned legs, and somehow, he made the ankle boots look cute.They were making out.Hard.Deputy Bobby’s fingers were biting into West’s pale skin.
I got on my bike and rode home.The wind shook the leftover rain from the trees, and as I blinked drops out of my eyes, I asked myself again what I’d been thinking.
3
If you’ve never moved to a new town, been a murder suspect, and inherited a haunted mansion before, let me tell you: it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.Most people probably don’t think about the fact that, if a lot of the town still partially suspects you might have killed someone, they’re not inclined to be chatty.And that’s on top of the usual small-town reserve, the inclination to treat anybody who didn’t grow up there, who doesn’t have three generations of ancestors buried in the local cemetery, like a permanent outsider.And even though I had friends—good friends, actually, who had helped me when I needed it—the reality was that I was alone in a new place.And I was lonely.
So, I got up at an ungodly hour (the devil invented nine AM—I’m not willing to hear opinions to the contrary).And I got dressed.The day was clear but windy, and I had a feeling that jeans and a jacket were the right choice.And because I was feeling virtuous after that tremendous display of willpower, I stopped at Chipper to get myself a banana cream latte and a lemon poppyseed muffin.And a blueberry muffin.And these little granola bites that look dangerously healthy but are actually delicious.Because I needed to keep my strength up.
By the time I got to the state park, a small group of people—maybe ten—was already gathered in the parking lot.I recognized a few faces from around town, but I didn’t know anyone by name.I considered turning around and going back to Hemlock House and spending my day in the company of my muffins.And then I told myself no.I needed to socialize.I needed to see other people, real people.I needed to talk to people.Apparently.Which was definitely a surprise because if you’d asked Hugo, he would have sworn that I could have had a very successful career as a hermit.
I parked.I drank some banana cream latte.I ate a muffin and then, in a burst of desperation, I ate the other.I knew I was stalling, but I still had time.According to the local hiking group’s announcement, the hike wasn’t supposed to start until 9:30, which meant I still had time to turn around and—
The knock at the window made me jump.
Deputy Bobby leaned down, his face set somewhere between brooding and perfect.I had a momentary flash of the last time I’d seen him.He’d been actively—enthusiastically, vigorously, one might even say, like a champion—kissing West.My face heated.
