four

“I’m not saying that I never want to see you again. I’m just saying that we’ve only even known each other for a few months. I think we should slow down a bit. That’s all.”

Madeline Braun, who had been Madeline Bogart before an ill-considered divorce, shifted uncomfortably in the booth at the coffee shop and tried to put a little space between herself and Eric Farrington. It didn’t work. He had his arm around her waist and she was firmly squished against the wall.

It was ridiculous.

Manipulating men was Madeline’s forte. She’d been doing it since she was in middle school. Pick them up, string them along for as long as they were useful, then drop them like a hot rock. But Eric, a small-statured jail guard who was commonly considered the most obnoxious human being in the central United States, clung to her like gum on the bottom of her best stilettos.

She’d only taken up with him because he was handy and she was trying to make her ex-husband jealous.

And—speak of the devil—there he was! Death Bogart himself, sitting across the tiny coffee shop with his new girlfriend, Wren Morgan, of whom Madeline was absolutely, positively not jealous.

Wren was a plain-Jane, girl-next-door type with an average build and a horrible wardrobe. Today she was dressed in an old T-shirt with a faded cartoon on the front. She’d paired it with shorts and sneakers, and her red hair was a wild cloud around her head. Her waist was larger than Madeline’s and her bosom was smaller and she had freckles she didn’t even try to hide.

She hadn’t even bothered to put on lipstick.

She and Death were sitting on opposite sides of their own table, each engrossed in their own electronic device. As Madeline watched, Wren reached out blindly and Death, almost absent-mindedly, slid the sugar into her hand.

Death always had been a gentleman. He was as kind as he was strong and when he was Madeline’s husband he’d treated her like a princess and never taken her for granted.

“So what exactly are you saying here, Sugar Boobies?” Eric asked, only half paying attention to her as he leaned in close and took a selfie of them together.

Madeline gritted her teeth. “I’m saying that I want for us to have a more open relationship. I think we should start seeing other people.”

Eric lit up. “Really?”

Madeline blinked, surprised by his reaction. “Yes. Really.”

“Awesome!” He looked across the coffee shop and called out, “Hey, Wren! You hear that? My Maddy-booby wants to have a threesome! Are you in?”

“Wants to—? What? I never said—!”

Wren pointed at Eric without bothering to look up. “You come within ten feet of me, Farrington, and I’ll stab you to death with my spoon.”

“Aw, baby,” he said, “you know you want to!”

Madeline growled to herself. Everyone in the shop was watching them now. This was a small town. She was going to be a laughingstock.

Because he’d always been an easy target for her, she turned on Death. “Really, Death? Eric’s hitting on your girlfriend and you’re not going to do anything?”

“Of course I’m going to do something,” Death said. The condiment bar was behind his seat and he reached one long arm back, snagged a plastic-wrapped utensil, and tossed it on the table in front of Wren. “Here, honey. Here’s a clean spoon for when you’ve finished.”

Eric finally released Madeline and slid out of the booth. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, “she’ll come around. Meantime, I know this chick out at the biker bar who’ll do anything, and I mean anything! I’ll call her and see if she’s busy tonight. It’ll probably depend on whether or not her rash has cleared up.”

He planted a big, wet, sloppy kiss right on Madeline’s mouth and sauntered away. She shuddered and reached for a napkin, certain she couldn’t possibly be any more humiliated.

Eric stopped at the door and shouted out to the early-morning crowd. “You all hear that? I’m getting me double nookie tonight!”

He pushed out of the building, the jangling door chime competing with a wave of laughter, and Madeline dropped her head. When she looked up again, Wren Morgan was regarding her with amusement, but not without sympathy.

“I suppose you think this is funny,” Madeline spat.

“A little, yeah. Okay, a lot. But listen. It’s sweet that you’re trying to let him down gently, but I’ve known Eric Farrington all my life. He doesn’t do subtle. You’re going to have to be a lot more direct if you want to get rid of him.”

Madeline considered, for a moment, whether she should be insulted or amused that Wren thought she would take relationship advice from a woman of her caliber.

“What would you suggest?” she asked finally, a sharp edge to her voice.

“Treat him like a cockroach. Hit him with a shoe and put him out on the curb on trash day.”

“Trash guy isn’t going to pick up Farrington,” Death said. “They’re not licensed for toxic waste.”

“This is a valid point.”

“I don’t necessarily want to get rid of him,” Madeline explained condescendingly.

Wren stared at her, shocked. “What?”

“He’s not a bad person. He can be fun. I mean to say, he has his good points.”

“He takes her places and buys her things,” Death explained, voice dry.

“Okay, fine. He takes me places and buys me things. So? Don’t you take Wren places and buy her things?”

“Well,” Death considered, “we drove Wren’s truck this morning, so technically, she brought me to the coffee shop.”

“But you did buy me a new jar of mustard last night,” Wren reminded him.

“It seemed only fair, since my brother drank yours.”

“Yeah. I really thought you were joking when you dared him to do that.”

“I can get Randy to do anything.”

Wren looked slantwise at Madeline, a speculative look in her eye. “Can you get him to kiss Madeline?”

“Okay, maybe not that.”

Madeline scowled at them. “So it’s true, then? Your brother’s back from the dead?”

Death grinned and it was like the old Death, the boy she’d fallen in love with before he got weighed down by war and grief.

“He is indeed.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay in St. Louis to help him recover from his ordeal.” Madeline knew that Wren had a job here in East Bledsoe Ferry. Surely, if they spent a little time apart, Death would realize Wren was just a fling.

“Oh,” Death beamed, even larger, “haven’t you heard? Randy closed up his house in the city and moved down here. He’s staying at my apartment right now, but eventually we’re going to find him a house. He’s got a job with the medevac helicopters and he’s joined the volunteer fire department.”

“He’s out on a call now,” Wren added. “Brush fire out by Racket, somewhere. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him around though.”

“Oh.” Madeline forced a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. “Lovely.”

“I know, right?” Wren grinned a big, full grin. “Must be karma!”

_____

When Madeline had huffed and stomped her way out of the coffee shop, Wren looked up. Death glanced up at the same time and their eyes met, both amused.

“That’s the thing about a small town,” Wren said. “You never know who you’re going to run into.”

“I know, right? It’s like dinner theater, only at breakfast. It’s breakfast theater.”

“I wonder how she’ll get out of Eric’s threesome.”

Death snorted. “I wonder if she really wants to.” He caught Wren’s raised eyebrow. “What? It’s not like she was choosy about who she slept with when we were married. Hey! Maybe I can get her to let me babysit tonight. I haven’t introduced Benji to his Uncle Randy yet.”

Benji was Madeline’s son, a charming little boy hugging the line between infant and toddler. He had been conceived while Death was serving in Afghanistan. Even though he wasn’t Death’s child, Death adored him. Benji returned the affection and had even upset his mother by saying the word “Deese” before “Mama.”

Death leaned over the table and read Wren’s phone upside down. “What are you so lost in this morning?”

“I found a 1930s book about Rives County history at the University of Missouri’s online library, in their Missouriana collection. There’s a list of boys from here who fought in World War One and I’m trying to figure out if one of them lived in the Hadleigh House.”

“Why’s that?”

“I found an artist’s sketchbook full of what looks like studies for a larger work. There’s no name on it, but the men in the picture are in World War One uniforms. Here, I took some pictures.”

She pulled up the photos and handed him the phone. He scrolled through them slowly.

“Someone was seriously talented,” he agreed.

He stopped at one particular drawing, a close-up of a woman’s head and shoulders. Her long hair was blowing across her face and she had her left hand up, trying to hold it out of her eyes. She was not a classical beauty, but her face had character. The unknown artist had captured, with his pencil, a depth of sorrow and compassion in her eyes and a kind of gentle strength.

Death frowned. “I know I’ve seen this woman somewhere before.”

“What? Where?”

“I don’t know.” He thought about it. “It wasn’t this angle, exactly, but it was this pose, with her hand up by her face. She was holding something in her other hand, I think.”

“Yes! A ladle. Look at some of the other sketches. She had a bucket of water at her feet and she was offering the soldiers drinks from a ladle.”

“How do you know it’s water?” Death joked, scrolling back through the photos. “If the soldiers are drinking it, it’s more likely to be booze.”

One corner of Wren’s mouth turned down. “They’re grouped around a well,” she said drily.

“Okay. Point.” He handed her phone back. “Sorry. I know I’ve seen her, but I can’t place where.”

“This looks to me like a study for a painting. Could you have seen that painting somewhere? Did you go into any parts of the Hadleigh House that I haven’t been in yet?”

“I might have seen the painting. I’ve barely been in the house, though, so it would have had to be somewhere else. Hey! Maybe it’s a famous painting and I saw it in a book or a museum or something. If you found the sketches for a famous painting, that would really be something, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah! That would be amazing! I’ll ask Doris. She’s our art expert. If it’s a well-known painting, she’ll recognize it for sure.”