Chapter Fifteen
Luna
I sleep until late. No dreams disturb my deep slumber. And for that I am grateful.
My brain desperately needs time to process everything.
It’s too crazy to write in a diary. Too bizarre to believe it could be true. But the image needles my memory like a splinter: Shadow’s face morphing into black and white; his skin as white as a marble statue’s, his eye sockets like twin black holes.
No matter how many times I pull the pillow over my head, it doesn’t change the facts I must face.
I don’t know if Shadow Sylva is human.
Sitting up in bed, I slump against the headboard with my arms crossed.
What did you see that made you believe such fiction, Luna Blackwood?
When the artificial overhead light dimmed and flickered on and off, I saw the cloak of humanity Shadow uses as camouflage.
With the lights on, he’s a healthy, well-built man, maybe even a bit of a gym bro, at least that’s what his lean physique and bulging muscles tell me.
No doubt I could play the xylophone on his rock-hard abs if I really wanted to—but that would be such a waste of all that gorgeous tautness.
Shadow’s best body part lies strictly south of his abdominal muscles.
The perfect symmetry of his ruggedly masculine features aside, Shadow’s sexiness is bone deep. When I was sitting on his lap last night, I could feel the thick shaft of his cock writhing under the weight of my soft mound like some hungry serpent eager to strike.
Every time he touches me, it feels so… right. I can’t explain it more than that.
But I can no longer allow my desire to see him naked to cloud my judgment.
“That’s it!” Sitting up, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and plant them on the floor with a loud thump. “I’m going to spend today searching for the truth! I’m tired of fumbling around in the dark like some Goddamn Landslide newbie.”
Sensing that something exciting is going to happen, Muohta jumps off the bed, does one of those dog-yoga poses, yawns, and then trots downstairs for breakfast.
My ankle complains a bit when I point my toes to put on socks, but the purple bruising has faded to a faint yellow-brown. On Landslide, all I ever do to dress in the mornings is change out my underwear and then wriggle into jeans and a t-shirt.
Impatience pulses inside me as I take the time to drink coffee and munch toast. Darting upstairs to rinse out my mouth with Listerine, I grab my coat off the hook in the hallway as I head out.
“Come on, Mu. Let’s go.”
This time, I make sure to lock the door and turn the handle to double check.
The plastic surface of the car seat chills me through the denim. My breath mists the windscreen. Winter is right around the corner.
With Ben’s map on my lap, I back out of the drive carefully and go looking for the entrance to his property.
The main road in Landslide goes in a circle around the island.
Each property owner’s home has access to it.
But finding the entrances is not so simple, because so many people ride horses or ATVs straight through the woods when they want to get around.
Fuck it! Swearing under my breath, I drive up the first dirt track I see. The hatchback wheels grind and slip in the mud. The tracks wind around the trees. I see lots of jagged trunks felled from many axe cuts. Probably for winter firewood.
My mind darts from seeing things to thinking about things; I refuse to imagine what I might learn today in case it muddies my understanding.
Muohta barks. He sees the log cabin up ahead before I do.
Always the wiseass, I smirk at my dog. “Maybe the Unabomber lives here, Mu. Real ‘cabin in the woods’ style, don’t you agree?” Muohta pants to let me know he gets the joke.
A man comes out onto the porch before I even have time to pull up the handbrake. He’s wearing greasy overalls and work boots. He waits for me to get out before speaking.
“Please leave that dog inside the car, M’am. I wouldn’t want the damn beast to get any ideas about revisiting, if it’s all the same to you. I’m no bear-head—just being cautious.”
Fumbling with the map in my hand, I slap a friendly smile on my face as I close Muohta inside the car.
“Er… good morning. I’m Luna Blackwood. Inherited the Aherne place from my aunt. I came by to introduce myself.”
Hopping off the low porch, the man walks over to me with his hand held out.
He’s elderly but also weathered by the seasons.
This is understandable, because the only moisturizing lotion sold at the general store is Vaseline petroleum jelly, and that stuff slides right off the skin at the first opportunity it gets.
Shaking my hand, the man gives me a grim smile. “Jerry Steele. Sorry to hear about Tempest. My land backs onto hers.”
“Seriously?” Ben was right—Landslide is deceptively larger than I thought. “So, if I continued walking straight ahead, I would reach my backyard?”
Jerry Steele’s smile fades a bit. “Well, I’d rather you don’t go traipsing over my land until I know you better. A man’s business is his own, after all.”
If Celia hadn’t explained to me how things were on Landslide, I might have been put out by his comment. Needless to say, I’m not expecting an invitation inside for coffee and Bundt cake.
But I can be stubborn when I need to be, and I can’t let Jerry's suspicion of strangers put me off.
“I was wondering if you knew my aunt? You see, I didn’t even know she existed until the lawyer called me.”
Digging his hands into his pockets, Jerry whistles softly through his teeth.
“Tempest? She was all right. My wife used to babysit her to help Sam out. A clever child. What we would call a ‘bright spark’ back in the day.”
“Can I speak to Mrs. Steele, please?”
Backing away from me, a grimace of pain on his face, Jerry shakes his head. “Diane’s been gone these last three years, Miz Luna. Ain’t no good asking there.”
Holding out my hand, I try to keep the conversation going. “Wait! Can you tell me about the Midnight Riders motorcycle club? Their clubhouse is on my land…”
“Your land?” Jerry scoffs. “Everyone’s property on Landslide belongs to the Riders ultimately, Miz Luna. Best you go back to wherever you came from.”
And just like that, my neighborly chat is over as Jerry shuts the door.
Determined to find someone willing to talk to me, I do a tight U-turn in the front yard and head back out to the road. For one moment, I let the engine idle. I can’t remember if I turned in from the left or right. The field and fences all look the same.
Fuck it! I’m not in a bad mood, but I hate getting lost when there is a perfectly good map sitting on my phone as an app.
Choosing right, I drive a while before that sign with the burned lettering pops into view once more:
Denn die Todten reiten Schnell.
A memory stirs in the back of my mind. What was the translation again? The dead ride fast.
Damn it. I’m right back where I started.
Muohta gives a mournful howl as we drive straight past his home. It gives me such a fright.
“For fuck’s sake, Mu! Show a little compassion for my nerves.” I can’t help glancing into the backseat as if I expect a corpse’s death mask to be sitting next to the furry Samoyed.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was spooked. Turning onto the first lane I come to, I hope to get more answers here.
Stables and barns line the twisting lane, and as I approach the main house, I see animal stalls. The forest has been cut back and tamed. Neat bales of hay peak out of storage sheds.
Ben Magoo is in front of his house running some kind of wood chopping machine. He raises his hand to his cap as he sees my car. The log splitting machine whirrs and shakes before spitting out four quarter rounds of firewood. They topple over and land on the ground as Ben cuts the power.
“Good morning.” I make sure to leave Muohta in the car. “I came by to say hi.”
Jerking his chin towards the house, Ben is a bit more welcoming than Jerry. “You can bring the dog in. God knows it’s capable of opening the door and menacing the cattle if it gets bored in there.”
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Muohta prances inside with me. Such a sweet little fluffball looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
The Magoo house is homely, with rugs covering the burnished floors and polished bronze ornaments on the shelves.
The furniture in the living room is carved wood with puffy velveteen cushion upholstery.
The layout is almost the same as Tempest’s house, only without the elevated porch because the land is flat.
“Coffee?” Ben shuffles into the kitchen.
“Any beverage is good. Thank you, Ben.” I get straight to the point. “I can’t help noticing you have only two rooms upstairs. The same as the Ahernes. Did Tempest sleep in one room and her parents in the other?”
“Ah-yup, I guess. That Laura, she didn’t stick around long enough to leave much of an impression. How would that woman be related to you again?”
Ooh. Granny Laura did not make any friends on Landslide, I’ll be bound.
“My mom was Tempest’s half-sister from Laura’s second marriage.”
A grunt as Ben pours boiling water into two mugs. Banging a sugar bowl and milk jug onto a tray, he brings it into the living room. I’m no coffee snob, so the powdered granular coffee is very welcome.
Taking a sip from his mug, Ben settles into a high-back chair.
“Tempest was a few years older than me, but I remember her fondly.”
“Thank you, Ben. That means a lot.” Tapping the map Ben made for me what seems a lifetime ago but was really only a little more than a week, I get to the point.
“I went over to introduce myself to Mr. Steele. I’ve been so busy cleaning the inn, I was a bit neglectful getting to know my neighbors. He’s a widower, too?”
Ben nods.
Encouraged by his helpfulness, I forge ahead.
“And if I were to visit the”—I check the name on the paper that Celia wrote down for me—“the Elliots and the Farmers, would I find any females to chat with there?” Giving a nervous laugh, I try explaining.
“It looks like I’m going to have to get the chalet inn ready for the summer tourists this winter if I don’t manage to sell the property, and I can’t always be pestering Celia when I’m hungry for some feminine conversation. ”
The sigh that comes out of Ben blows the steam off his coffee.
“Miz Clara Elliot is poorly, but they won’t move away from the creek water.
It plays on her lungs. And Miz Betty Farmer moved to live with her daughter Linda in Winnipeg, so only Mickey Farmer stays here with his dad Jake.
” Ben comes right out and says what I’m thinking.
“The air in Landslide doesn’t agree with some folks. ”
I must know more. “Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. But what about Celia? She seems to be doing fine.”
Another long sigh. “Ay-uh, I guess, but she was sick almost to death when she first came to live here. Nearly died a few times, from what I hear. But Celia seemed to get better once she hit middle-age.”
I think Ben is finished, but I’m way off mark.
“And here’s the kicker.” Leaning forward, he puts his empty mug back on the tray on the small end table.
“Celia was sickly, but she was happy about it. It was the darndest thing I ever saw. Come to think about it, Clara Elliot has no complaints about her illness, either—says it’s not so bad now that she’s a pensioner. ”
I’m intrigued. “What was it? Malaria? Some waterborne disease?”
Ben shrugs. “A summer breeze could have knocked her over like a feather, she was so peaky, but Celia couldn’t give a hoot.
Nor did Harry, mind you. He would walk around with quite a strut in his step.
Said to any man who would listen that the illness made his wife horny as all hell, if you pardon my language. ”
A stillness settles over us as I think of a way to phrase my question. But Ben isn't finished yet.
“It was the same with my own wife, only she got so sick she died. We have no kin on the mainland she could go stay with. It was a bitter pill.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ben. Kids?”
Shaking his head, Ben brings the tray over to me to collect my mug.
“Nope. The illness makes most women infertile or struggle to keep a pregnancy. Betty Farmer, Linda’s mom, was able to have a parcel of babies, but they put the girls into boarding school on the mainland before they turned thirteen.
Mavis Steele gave old Jerry a son, so he’s got someone to pass his land on to… ”
An island of middle-aged women with health problems. What the fuck is wrong with this place?
“Is that why Aunt Tempest didn’t get married? Because she was sick?”
Ben looks at me with utter incredulity as he comes to sit down.
“Heck, you really don’t know nothing, do you? Tempest might not have gotten married, but she sure did have a baby. That’s why we were all piqued with interest when you came along, Miz Luna.”
Oh God, please don’t let my aunt’s baby have died in infancy or some other horrible tragedy. I don’t want to have inherited the house and inn on the back of a dead child.
“Who was the father?” The question burns my mouth as I say it. “And what happened to the baby?”
The chair creaks as Ben heaves himself out of it. Walking to the door, he opens it and waits for me to leave.
He’s not pissed; he’s admitting that he is no longer happy to tell me my own family secrets.
“Best you direct your questions at Dante’s son, Miz Luna. The old biker has retired to the mainland. It’s his son Shadow who’s in charge of Landslide now.”