Page 9 of Little Deaths
More likely, she wanted to make sure I didn’t steal something.Her face felt stiff as Christophe looked her over, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. “Well,” she said. “You found me.”
“I sure did. You look good,” he said. “I mean, in spite of—well, everything.” There was a flash of brown as his eyes flicked back to hers, a portrait of mocking sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss, I mean. You must be really hurting.”
“Thanks,” she said, in a forced tone. “I’m managing.”
“If you ever want to talk, let me know.” He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing in a way that made his forearm rub against her torso. “I have such fond memories of you. Rafe and I—we used to close, remember? It felt like you were a second mom to me for a while.”
Ew, thought Donni. “That’s . . . sweet.”
“Yeah. But you know how it is. Sometimes two people . . . they drift apart. Except in Rafe’s case, it’s basically everyone. He was always such a fucking snake.” He looked at her meaningfully as his hand slid down an inch. He thumbed the curve of her breast casually, taking a step closer to box her in. “Is he coming to the funeral?”
“I don’t know.” She wrenched her shoulder free. “The funeral’s this week.” Pivoting a little, so as to deny him access to her front or back, she said over her shoulder, “You’re free to pay your respects. I’ve heard your mother’s already coming.”
“I’ll dig out my old suit from the attic.” He smiled thinly. “I bet you’ll be glad for all the support you can get.”
Asshole.She was pretty sure he was staring at her ass when she walked away. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She could still feel the sweaty imprint his damp hand had left on her chest.
If Rafe was a snake, Christophe was a worm.
Instead of rejoining the women in the living room, Donni slipped out into the hall and out the front door, past the stupid LED jack-o-lanterns Opal had already set out on her stupid wrap-around porch for Halloween. It was getting to be that time of year. The air already had a bite to it, making her wish she’d brought her jacket.
Something white was tucked underneath her windshield wipers.
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
She looked at the note for a moment before ripping it to pieces with shaking hands.
Fuck you, Irene, she thought, swinging herself behind the wheel.I knew I shouldn’t have come.
She turned up her music a little louder. In the back of her throat, she tasted blood.
As soon as she got home, she ranted to Angie about what had happened, omitting the part about how Irene had intimated that she was a predatory cougar.
Ugh, what witches. I bet if you poured wine over them, they’d melt just like in Wizard of Oz.
Donni looked over from changing into her pajamas and laughed.
Even if they weren’t witches, the wine might do it. It tasted like pure acid.
Fuck those bad bitches and their bad wine xox
Another text flew in immediately after and Donni clicked it immediately, her smile fading when she realized who it was.
I’m back in town.
That was all it said—I’m back in town—but it said a lot. Last minute plane tickets weren’t cheap and the funeral wasn’t for several more days. And she, stupid fool that she was, had looked at it with ‘read’ receipts on.
Stupid, stupid Donni.
Her phone buzzed again and she looked at it bleakly. It wasn’t from a number that she recognized, which made the message that much more ominous.
It said:Black’s the perfect color for a funeral.
Chapter Two
Bottled Up Poison
She had that dream again. It was the one where she was in the trailer—the worn-down one with the streaks of rust that always smelled of musk and bay rum. Everything in it was strangely skewed, as if she were viewing it through a fisheye lens.