Chapter Four
Hell House Client Brief: The creatures in the well SAY they don't bite. They lie.
Kel turned the spoon over to squint at the hallmark on the back of it.
It could be silver. It could be Temu.
Either way, he stirred his fresh cup of coffee with it and then leaned down to casually stash it in his shoe. The stiff shank of it pressed uncomfortably against the side of his foot, but he could live with that.
He could find someone to tell him what it was, and what it was worth. Probably not that much, on its own. There was a whole drawer full of forks and knives and a whole roll of heavy-bladed knives with stained wooden handles.
It could be blood; it could be a maker’s mark from some up-themselves artisan knife-maker.
Either way, there was a market. Maybe three or four if you separated the collectors by interest: paranormal, true crime, likes to touch murder stuff.
There was crossover, of course, but it was the pitch that mattered.
In Kel’s experience, the value of something had nothing to do with anything as crass as how much it cost. It all came down to the story, and how much the buyer thought they were getting one over on you.
Whenever Kel saw a mark try and hide that ‘he’s got no idea what he has’ flash of glee from him, he knew they were hooked.
The back door creaked open, and the housesitter came back in. Kel drank his hot coffee and watched with appreciation as the guy scraped his feet on the mat and hung up the keys by the back door.
Partially because you could tell that he didn’t really think about it as he did it. The whole process from coming in the door until he looked at Kel was habit. Habits could be useful.
It was mostly just because Kel really wanted to kiss him. He’d been going to try his hand at seducing the guy anyhow, but the fact he wanted to sweetened the deal.
Although he wasn’t sure the feeling was reciprocated.
There wasn’t nearly enough self-loathing in the guy’s face when he’d given Kel the once-over earlier.
That was usually the giveaway. Flattering?
…no, but Kel was OK with it. He wasn’t a good idea.
Honestly, he’d worry about anyone who thought that he was.
Shepherd paused and looked down at himself. He gave the front of his T-shirt a quick brush as if he’d gotten something on it.
“What?” he said.
“Want to get coffee sometime?” Kel asked.
At least he assumed it was him. The words came out of his mouth. It was just a stupid question, and he usually tried to keep those for ChatGPT. He wasn’t the type of guy that ran a honeypot scam. He was sleazy hook-ups and hasty favors in return for not talking about this again. Ever.
Shepherd gave him a suspicious look.
“We’re having coffee already,” he said. Then reached out to pull his cup toward him over the counter, wrinkling his nose briefly at what was left. “At least, you are.
That wasn’t exactly a no, which left Kel stuck. He might want something considerably stickier and messier than most coffees, but it wasn’t like he could retract the offer without making things worse.
What was he going to do? Say ‘psych, you thought I meant it?’ That had been how his high school girlfriend and his boyfriend had broken up with him after the accident. It hadn’t led to a productive relationship with either.
Especially after they’d found out about each other. By that point it hadn’t been Kel’s problem, though. Unlike this. Maybe if he leaned into it, he could get Shepherd to do it for him?
“I mean something more official,” Kel said.
“Official coffee?” Shepherd said dubiously.
Kel tried not to sigh. He had never had to work this hard to get turned down in his life.
“Like a date,” he said. Then just in case that wasn’t clear enough. “With me.”
They looked at each other. It was only for a second, but it felt like longer. Then Shepherd smiled, slow and crooked.
“Oh,” he said. “You think you can seduce me into helping you con Madden’s estate?”
Kel choked. He set his mug down and wiped coffee from under his nose with his fingers.
“Not how I’d put it,” he said.
Shepherd leaned back against the counter. He crossed his legs at the ankles and his arms over his chest. It showed off everything involved nicely. The man had good calves.
“How would you put it?” he asked.
“Well, for a start I’d deny I’m conning anyone,” Kel said. “I’m not going to pretend I care that Dio’s kicked the bucket, but all I want out of this is what I’m rightfully owed.”
Somewhere above their head, a door slammed. Shepherd looked up at the ceiling and then back at Kel.
“Oh, I think you’ll get that,” he remarked.
Despite his mild voice, it still managed to be a bit ominous. It gave Kel a bad feeling, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that. It was a bit late for second thoughts.
“And the date is just a date,” Kel said. “Coffee and good company, no expectations.”
Shepherd pushed himself up off the counter.
“Coffee and company I can do,” he said as he took the mug from Kel and nodded at the door. “But I definitely expect sex.”
“That’s fine with—” Kel started the lie before his brain caught up with what Shepherd had actually said. He stopped halfway out of the chair. “Hold on? What?”
“You heard me,” Shepherd said pleasantly. “Tomorrow, at the Seal of Approval? For the coffee, anyhow.”
Kel was pretty sure he’d agreed. Not totally sure, though. By the time he’d pulled his scattered wits back together, he was on the path outside as the door closed behind him.
He stared at the creepy, dog-like door knocker. It waited.
“What was that?” Kel said aloud as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.
The knocker had no answer.
Kel sprawled in the front seat of Dio’s car, one arm slung out the window and one hand on the wheel.
After getting pulled out of the lake, it wasn’t quite as cherry as the last time Kel had coveted it, but if he squinted, he could still pretend.
Imagine the lie was legit, and he really wasn’t conning anyone. He was Kel Madden, and he’d been dragged up with money and opportunities and a car that could get more ass than a pair of Lululemon leggings.
Who he’d have been.
Kel tipped his head back against the wet headrest and snorted. The problem with that was, he couldn’t shake the suspicion he’d still be him. Just with better clothes.
Maybe better knees.
It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate the difference money could make, but same gran, same dad, and it wasn’t like the Maddens were rich enough to make it worth whatever woman got roped into being his mom sticking around.
You couldn’t buy ‘asshole’ out of a bloodline.
“Goddamn,” a rough voice said. “Now that is a blast from the past.”
People used to say she had a ‘smoky’ voice, but these days they just went with ‘smokers’. Kel straightened up in the driver’s seat and twisted around to look at his gran.
“Want a ride?” he asked.
Ruby Laker put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips as she looked the car over.
There were a few decades of hard living between her and the girl in the picture they’d dug out, but her hair was still as red—if anything redder since she’d had to change her dye—and her expression still as calculating.
“Does it still run?” she asked.
Kel pressed the clutch down with one foot and tried the ignition. The engine coughed, spluttered like gran on a cold morning, and then grudgingly caught.
“More or less,” Kel said, over the labouring engine. It gave a particularly aggressive rattle and died again. He gave the wheel a sympathetic pat. “It tries, at least. But I can hook it to the tow truck and drag you through town if you want?”
Ruby threw her head back as she laughed. “That sounds about right,” she chuckled. “Two old wrecks.”
“I don’t see Bubba complaining,” Kel said.
Ruby gave him an exasperated look. “He’s not called Bubba.”
“You sure?” Kel asked as he got out of the car. “Earl?”
Ruby tched. “I can still give you a clip around the ear, boy,” she warned him. “All I need is something to stand on.”
There was a long, scraped dent in the door. It was about the width of an electricity pole, but it was curved. Kel ran his hand over it, the cracked paintwork sharp against his fingers, as he tried to work out what could have done it.
He supposed it didn’t matter; he could still pop it out and sand it down.
Ruby gave his hand a slap. “Don’t get attached,” she said. “Just ‘cause you want something don’t mean you’re going to get it.”
For some reason that made Kel think of Shepherd, with the scruffy hair and camp counsellor outfits that didn’t hide how ridiculously pretty he was. He decided that didn’t mean anything and forced the Mustang’s door shut, the impact-warped hinges scraping.
“A man can dream,” he said.
“Yeah? Like that pro-football career you dreamed about?” Ruby asked.
She jabbed her thumb against her chest. “Or me getting out of here and becoming a movie star? Dreams are for children and dumbasses, Kel, and you’ve been too damn tall to get a kid’s discount since you were twelve.
Even when I tried to get you to slouch.”
It was Kel’s turn to roll his eyes. “If you don’t think it’s going to work,” he said. “Why’d you call in that favor to get Laurie to print out a new birth certificate?”
Ruby just snorted at him. “I didn’t say it wasn’t going to work,” she said. “Or that it will. Just that dreams ain’t a line of credit, so don’t go spending anything yet.”
He let it go. It was pointless to argue with Ruby. She had an answer for everything, and if she didn’t, she’d start a fight about something else to distract you. He unbuttoned his mechanic's overalls and shrugged out of the sleeves, letting them dangle down to his knees.
“You sound like Doncaster,” he said.
“Well, fuck you too,” Ruby shot back at him. She brushed her hand over the back of his T-shirt fastidiously. “Did he buy it?”
“Course not,” Kel said. “It didn’t seem like he could prove otherwise, though. It sounded like they’ve not had much luck finding Dio’s next of kin.”
Ruby sucked her teeth as she had to reluctantly accept that was a positive step.
She tapped her fingers absently against her leg as she ran the scenario through in her head.
“It took, what, a decade to track Dio down after his Aunt Vanna died? Never had anyone come visit him here, never talked about going to see family or not going to see them. That bloodline was always fighting for its life the way Maddens loved a bad decision.”
“Sure I’m not related to them?” Kel asked.
“I didn’t say our family made good ones,” Ruby said. “Just that ours involve more pregnancy scares and fewer death notices.”
“At least Dad’s do,” Kel remarked as he stripped his overalls down his legs.
He tried to balance on one leg to pull them off over his boots.
The dull scrape of pain that twisted through his knee reminded him that was a bad idea.
He leaned back against the car instead as he yanked them off.
“Luckily, not something I have to worry about, since I do have a date tonight.”
Ruby groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Kel, is this the time?” she asked. “You aren’t smart enough to juggle fucking two things up at once.”
Kel tossed his overalls at a worktable. “You’re my grandmother,” he said. “You’re supposed to think I’m a catch.”
That made her laugh. “Sure,” she said. “You, me, and carp. We’re the catch of the day.”
“I could make some man very happy,” Kel protested. He tried to keep a straight face, but his smirk got away from him. “At least, for a night.”
“I’ve dated a lot of men,” Ruby told him. “They all think that, but at best it’s fairly happy.”
“Yeah, that’s good enough. And it’s not just for fun. It’s with the housesitter, who currently holds the keys to the kingdom,” Kel told her. He stuck one hand in the pocket of his jeans and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well? Do I look like a viable heir to the Madden fortune or just fuckable?”
Ruby tched at him. “If you can’t pull off both,” she said. “I’ve failed you as a grandmother.”
He laughed and headed out.
“Your ass is wet,” she yelled after him.
It was. Kel supposed that was an object lesson in dreaming about what-ifs in a wrecked car that had been pulled out of the lake. He wasn’t going to admit that to Ruby, though, so he just tossed a wave over his shoulder as he ducked under the half-open garage doors.
“It’ll dry.”
“Caramel mochaccino ,” Emily said with a sickly-sweet smile as she slammed the mug down in front of Kel. “Choke on it.”
Shepherd didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched with amusement at the delivery. Emily turned her back on Kel and gave Shepherd his coffee.
“And a flat white for you,” she said, and then leaned in to add. “You can do better. You should know that.”
She straightened up and stepped back to give them both a blandly expectant look.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
Kel wiped coffee off his legs with a napkin and glared at her. He was about to growl out a ‘no’ when Shepherd interrupted him.
“What sort of pie do you have?” Shepherd asked.
To be honest, it worked better than the snarl. Instead of being able to flounce off, Em had to do her job. She looked annoyed about that. Kel settled back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back to enjoy the show.
She took a deep breath. “We have stack pie, water pie, shoofly pie…”
There were a lot of pies. Shepherd looked rapt. It was weird, but Kel was actually enjoying that more than he was annoying Emily.
The final call was two slices of Marlborough pie—one black sesame, one chamomile—and the culinary history lesson from Emily came free of charge.
Emily wrote the order down, took a second to give Kel a dirty look, and left.
“What if I don’t like Marlborough pie?” Kel asked.
Shepherd paused with his coffee half-lifted to take a drink. He cocked an eyebrow.
“The second slice isn’t for you,” he said. “It’s for Shithead.”
Kel stared at him.
Shepherd finished taking a drink of his coffee before he asked, ‘What?’
“I’m trying to decide if you’re hot enough to get away with being this weird,” Kel said.
Shepherd didn’t miss a beat. “I am,” he said.
Damnit, he was right.
Kel sighed and pushed himself up from the table. “Fair enough,” he said. “I prefer vinegar pie anyhow.”
He didn’t, but he guessed he was stuck with it now. Even though he could have just told the truth and said he’d rather have shoofly.
Shepherd looked over at the counter. “Aren’t you worried she’s going to spit in your food?” he asked.
Kel shrugged. “If I worried about that,” he said. “I couldn’t even eat at my gran’s house. I won’t be long. Don’t go anywhere.”
He headed over to the counter to put his order in.