Page 90 of Blood Moon

You’re a butthole. A horse’s ass.”

Mutt went on sniffing around the base of a tree, unmindful of John’s litany of self-incrimination.

After cleaning the kitchen, he’d decided to take Mutt out for the last time of the night, and also to take a look around. In light of today’s events, he was even surer that he would have a bull’s-eye on his back if Barker and the ogre ever located him.

He made a circuit, checked the garage and the boat’s hiding place. “The ogre would sink my boat, but they could have other people searching the swamp. Think anyone could find us?” The dog looked up at him, then sat down to scratch his ear with his back paw. “Right. Why worry?”

While listing all the people whose safety he was worried about, he hadn’t had time to tell Beth that she topped that list. Stupidly, he’d babbled about all the ways his life had become more complicated since she’d entered it. He hadn’tmeant it that way but had realized too late how it would sound to her. He knew he’d hurt her.

“Let’s go back, see what she’s doing.”

Mutt stopped scratching, and they headed back toward the cabin. When they got there, her bedroom door was still closed.

Every man since Adam knew that was never a good sign.

John bolted the door and replaced the shotgun in the rack. In the kitchen, he filled Mutt’s water bowl and considered taking a good belt of bourbon. He even took the bottle from the cabinet before rejecting the idea and replacing it. He washed his hands. After drying them, he hung up the towel with excessive care. He acknowledged that all these activities were cowardly postponements of the inevitable.

He went to the bedroom door and tapped it lightly with his knuckle. “Beth?”

No response. He tried again with another tap and a repetition of her name. Still nothing. A spike of fear shot up from his belly and into his chest. “Are you all right?”

She pulled the door open. Instantly obvious was that she had been crying for some time. “No, I’m not all right. Max died.”

She turned her back on him and walked over to the bed where she lay down in the fetal position and pulled the quilt up to her waist. She folded one arm beneath her head and stared blankly at nothing.

For a moment, he was at a loss for words, but then asked, “Why didn’t you come tell me?”

“There was no reason to.”

That stab hurt. But he couldn’t just turn around andleave her like this. He went in, but stopped midway between the door and the bed. “I know how much he meant to you. I’m very sorry.”

She moved her head in a small nod.

“What happened?”

“I called. Richard answered. I asked what he was doing with Max’s phone. He told me.” Before she got through that last sentence, she choked up.

“Did his heart fail? Was he in the hospital?”

She exhaled a soft laugh. “No, he was at his desk. He’d come in this morning at his usual time. He complained to Richard that he couldn’t make coffee worth a crap. He admonished him to learn how to brew it correctly by watching how I made it. That was, if I ever came back from Louisiana.” As she said that, her eyes made brief contact with his.

“Sometime later, Richard found him slumped over his desk, where he would have wanted to be when he drew his last breath. He told me he’d rather be dead than attend the retirement party being planned for him.” She smiled wanly. “He got his wish.”

Mutt wandered in and bumped past John’s legs as he walked over to the bed. John called him back.

“No, it’s okay.” Mutt rested his chin on the side of the bed. With her free hand, Beth stroked his head. “Richard tried to notify me, of course, but as you know, I’m not using my own phone. He didn’t recognize the number of the burner, figured my calls were spam, and didn’t even listen to the voice mails I’d left. He hasn’t had a spare moment since…”

She stopped to swallow and blot fresh tears using thecorner of the pillowcase. “He told me it was like a tsunami had come through the network building. When I called that last time, he answered out of irritation, not knowing it was me. He said his day had been manic, his nerves were frayed.”

John didn’t give a shit about Richard’s manic day or his nerves. Dozens of questions were flitting through his mind. Would he be driving her to the airport in the morning? Or would she want to go tonight? When would she come back?Wouldshe come back? Where did this leave everything? Where did this leavethem?

He knew these were selfish concerns, but also justified. The floor had dropped out from beneath him, too.

“Do you know the funeral arrangements yet?”

“There won’t be a funeral. Max had mandated that. He told me once that he didn’t want a media circus, where nearly everyone in attendance would be celebrating not mourning. Even his son. Max wasn’t religious. He had stipulated to his lawyer to have him cremated and be done with it. No farewells, sad or otherwise.” She began to cry in earnest.

“Beth.” John started toward the bed, but she held out her hand.