Page 4 of Hollow Forest

I rolled my eyes. I was smart! At this point, I could bury the body and claim ignorance if someone suggested I had anything to do with the handyman’s disappearance.

I just didn’t want the attention right now. Not when I was this close to finishing my life’s work.

His guardian angel must have been looking after him, because he never came after me. Five minutes later, water gurgled to life. I lost no time taking the world’s coldest shower, just enough to revive my peroxide-died hair and wash the parts of my body that needed refreshing. Mentally adding dye to the list of essentials to spend my last forty-seven dollars on, because my dark roots were starting to show again, I went back downstairs.

Where I was mercifully alone.

***

The Salted Biscoff Café was on Via Luca, the southernmost street. What I appreciated most about this small town was that the nearest corporate store was thirty plus miles away. Every necessity was sold by local businesses. And other than tourist traffic, there was no fear of being discovered. If I was going to settle down, this place had everything I would want in a new home.

But a person without a soul didn’t have a reason to settle down. When I was done haunting the guilty, I would just…fade away. I hadn’t spent too much time thinking of the future in the last three years. Now that I had only one target left, I’d begun to wonder what life after vengeance would look like.

The future was bleak.

With a sad smile, I walked down the sidewalk, where crimson and golden mums were planted in permanent boxes at intervals. Shop windows were decorated with webs, pumpkins, and other cheerful Halloween decorations. Haybales and stalks of corn were nestled near doors, and there was a decided note of cinnamon coming from somewhere. It was strongest as I passed a display with a witch, and I paused to inhale. Her broom. It was made of spice-scented twigs.

Dezzy would have loved it here.

As it always did, my heart ached when I thought of my sister. How could my heart be carved from my chest, buried six feet under the hot Florida sunshine, and still hurt so badly?

“We’re almost done, Dezzy,” I breathed.

Head held high, I ventured into the café armed only with my smile. I hadn’t bothered to bring a resume, nor did I have any references.

It was just me against the world.

And I was going to make it.

Sweet baby Jesus, let them accept me.

The whirr and buzz of the espresso machine sang out to greet me. Baked goods were showcased in a polished glass case, tempting me. I quickly looked away, but there was no fighting the rich blend of coffee and warm scent of food.

Patrons occupied half of the tables, chatting and laughing like their stomachs didn’t pinch. I went to the counter where two ladies bustled making beverages in a synchronized dance that said they’d been doing it for years.

“Good morning,” the barista with stylishly short brown hair sang out from behind the counter. “What can I get started for you?”

Her rich chocolate eyes, framed with black liner and mascara, glittered. A tiny gold stud sparkled on the side of her nose. She wore a burnt orange tee under her green apron, and her energy vibrated with an autumn edge.

“Hi! I’m here about the job opening,” I said with a small wave and leaned against the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The barista grimaced. “We’ve already filled the position.”

Crap. The posting wasn’t old, but of course it was just my luck it was already taken. This was a job where I could blend in, overhear the small-town gossip, and watch for my mark. Plus, I already knew how to sling coffee, so there wouldn’t be a learning curve.

“Oh, okay.” I paused to clear the disappointment from my throat. “Um, I’ll take a plain black coffee then. A small.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “You can leave your name and number, and if something changes, we can give you a call.”

I wasn’t going to count on it. There were other businesses I would try. Bartending was my next choice for the same reasons, but I wasn’t a pro at mixed drinks.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel.

The moment the cup of piping-hot liquid was in my hand, I hurried to a far table. While the courtyard was teeming with sunlight and fresh pots of flowers, the idea of sitting with the living made me sick. They were so happy, wrapped in their blissful lives. I couldn’t stomach that lie. The urge to scream at them was too strong. Screaming was better than crying, and spilling blood was preferable to wallowing in depression. No…life had forged me into a monster, and I didn’t fit in with them any longer. Once maybe I was like that, delusional and wrapped in the promise of a brilliant future. But whether it was cancer, financial ruin, or just life running its course, agony was going to come for them all. It had already found me with that smoldering heap of burning metal and blazing tires, and I knew better than those people sipping their fancy lattes.

I folded onto a chair covered in crushed red velvet and cradled my drink. I just needed a minute to gather my thoughts before launching into a backup plan.

Blowing on the coffee, my gaze wandered over the interior. From the red brick walls were hung gilt frames. The portraits inside stared with all-seeing lifeless eyes. Greenery was artfully displayed on shelves, draping over in a way that could only be achieved naturally. Old copies of books were tucked next to inky black sculptures of birds. The cozy, Victorian vibe definitely had a gothic undertone.