bought the place for a song when she was seven years old and never remodeled it, never refurbished it, but they’d certainly gotten their money’s worth out of it those long summers they’d spent here. Structurally, it was sound, watertight and well-insulated. But inside it had always housed yard sale furniture, squeaky metal cots and secondhand bunk beds, unpainted walls and a kitchen that made cooking on a campfire look inviting. But now...
“Wow,” Joey breathed. “Dillon must have decided to live here with Oscar after the wedding. Although I could have sworn he said Oscar hated nature.”
“Maybe he changed his mind? Love will do that to a guy.”
“Maybe...but still. This is like Architectural Digest gorgeous now. I don’t even want to think about how much this cost.” She turned in a slow circle in the living room. All the yard sale furniture was gone and in its place she found a distressed cedar coffee table, a large rustic leather sofa, a vintage oak rocking chair with what looked like a hand-knitted burgundy throw blanket tossed over the back. Someone had polished the floors to a high shine. The small woodstove had been replaced by a large stone fireplace with a rough wood mantel. And the kitchen had new tile on the floor, a fresh coat of rustic red paint, new rugs, new appliances—nothing but the basics but they were all high quality. Under the sink she found a recycling bin with the toaster box in it. It was that new.
“I wonder if they’re fixing it up to sell it.”
“House flipping?”
“Maybe. Still, nice of them to spruce it up before I came to stay in it.”
“Very nice.”
“Probably their way of making up for the fact that my lovely brother scheduled his wedding on my birthday.”
“Your fault for being born on Halloween. Perfect day for a Portland wedding.”
“Dillon and Oscar do love dressing up. It’s an ’80s movie theme. I have to pick a costume. Maybe I’ll go as Carrie.”
“Carrie?”
“You know—the girl with the blood and the prom and all the murdering—that Carrie.”
“You’re going as a mass murderer to your brother’s wedding?”
“It fits my mood.”
Except her mood was lifting a little. How could it not in this cabin, this beautiful cozy cabin in the woods? All the place was missing was a man to share it with. She and Ben would have had great sex in this cabin in the woods. They’d be in bed already. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not now or ever. Ben had committed an unforgivable sin. He’d lied to his wife. He’d lied to her. He’d betrayed her trust on the deepest level possible, and she would never take him back no matter how lonely she felt without him. And she did feel so terribly alone.
“This is a sex cabin, Kira.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I’m in a sex cabin, and I can’t have sex. This is depressing.”
“You can have sex. Go find someone to have sex with. Right now.”
“I’m in the middle of the woods. The next cabin is half a mile west.”
“Then start walking. Bigfoot’s probably out there. He’s probably well-hung.”
“And hairy.”
“I warned you about the beard rash thing.”
The floor creaked with the sound of footsteps.
But not hers. Joey hadn’t moved.
“Shit,” she whispered into the phone.
“What?” Kira whispered back, unnecessarily.
Joey looked up at the ceiling.
“Someone’s here. Stay on the line with me.”
“Yeah, of course. Are you sure?”
“I heard footsteps upstairs.”
“Then get the fuck out of the house. This isn’t a horror movie. Do not investigate.”
“Right. Going. Right now.”
Joey started backing up toward the door, her heart racing. The footsteps continued across the floor above her head. They were fast and purposeful footsteps, not at all tentative but also not threatening. They were heavy, too, like whoever was walking wore either work boots or cowboy boots. She hadn’t heard that sound in a long time. Even the VPs at her Oahu Air office often came to work in sandals or flip-flops—one of the perks of working one hundred yards or so from the ocean.
“Jo? You there?” Kira whispered again.
“I’m here. Hello?”
“Yes, I’m still here.”
“Not you. I was talking to whoever’s up there. I think he’s working here.”
“Hey there,” came a voice from the top of the stairs. A male voice. A deep yet friendly voice. “Joey Silvia?”
“That’s me. And you are?”
“It’s Chris. I’m almost done up here with the ceiling fan,” the man called down to her.
“Has he murdered you yet?” Kira asked.
“Not yet. He says his name is Chris, and he’s doing something with the ceiling fan.”
“Is he hot?”
“Am I supposed to run screaming from him or have sex with him?” Joey whispered.
“Depends on if he’s hot or not. Go look.”
“You just told me to leave,” Joey half whispered, half yelled.
“You can leave, but find out if he’s hot first.”
“Okay... I’m going up. If my phone dies and/or you hear the sound of me screaming, hang up and call the cops.”
“What if he’s not murdering you, but you’re screaming because it’s such good sex? Do I still call the cops?”
“I’m not a screamer.”
“If he’s the right guy you will be.”
“I’m going to go up and see what he’s doing.” She glanced out the kitchen window and saw a large green Ford pickup parked behind the house with the words Lost Lake Painting and Contracting on the side in black-and-gold letters. Okay, not an ax murderer, then. Just the guy she should probably thank for doing such a good job on the house.
“I’ll stay on the line,” Kira said. “If you think he’s going to murder you, say, um, ‘I’m on the phone with my best friend, Kira. She’s a cop. And she’s sleeping with a cop. No, two cops. Cop threesome.’”
“I’m
