Page 17 of Killer Honeymoon

Frank silently scowled at the property across the street for several moments, then he sighed and met Sawyer’s gaze. “The house doesn’t belong to Marian anymore. Lester Moore convinced her children to sell the property once it became clear it wasn’t safe for Marian to live alone.”

“Who’s Lester Moore?” Sawyer and Royce asked at the same time.

“Some asshole property developer from Bay Village,” Frank said.

“Bay Village?” Royce asked.

“Wealthy community just outside Cleveland,” Sawyer replied.

“The jerk sails into the harbor on a ridiculous yacht like he’s some kind of royalty,” Frank said. “You’ll recognize it when you see it.”

Royce chuckled. “I can’t stand the guy already.”

“The son of a bitch has purchased every property along this street except for yours and mine,” Frank said, shaking his head in disgust. “He’s turned them into vacation rentals and must be advertising on sites geared to douchebags. Listen, I know times change. I’m not so stubborn as to shun progress entirely. For the most part, I can put up with the influx of tourists over the summer months. What I cannot abide is this man coming to our island and buying up all the properties so he can turn South Bass Island into Bay Village 2.0 or some private resort for the super-rich.”

“I can promise my parents won’t sell to him,” Sawyer said. “My family hasn’t been here as long as yours, but this property means too much to us.”

“You can bet your ass he’ll come knocking on your door,” Frank said. “He’ll offer you at least fifty percent more than the property value. It’s why no one is telling him no.”

“Until now,” Royce reminded him. “The guy can hold on to his money.”

Frank heaved a sigh of relief. “Not all his guests are assholes like those four over there.” He hooked a thumb at the house where the two couples were staying. “They are the worst I’ve seen. They drink and party at all hours of the night. If they’re not hooting and hollering, they’re arguing and fighting.”

“When did they arrive?” Royce asked.

“Friday. It’s unlikely they’ll stay longer than a week. I’m hoping they blow through their booze budget early and go home.” Frank sighed again. “Sorry to be a buzzkill. I didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Sawyer said. “You let us know if things get too heated. I don’t mind backing you up.” Frank might be seventysomething, but he still had his pride.

“You’re still a good kid,” Frank said, patting him on his shoulder. “I’m glad to see some things don’t change.”

“Looking forward to a backgammon rematch,” Royce said as the older man headed down the driveway.

“Makes two of us,” Frank called out.

The entire time they unloaded the SUV, Sawyer felt like someone was watching them. He shrewdly glanced around when he made trips back and forth to the vehicle but couldn’t figure out where the feeling was coming from. He caught the slightest shift of curtains in the big picture window of Mrs. Haggerty’s old place on the final pass. Were the frat boys sizing them up as potential targets or trouble?

Sawyer turned his back on the house when Royce approached and said, “We’re being watched.”

Royce cupped his face and kissed him hard. “That should give them something to talk about.”

Sawyer chuckled as he wheeled the last suitcase into the house. Royce shut and locked the front door, leaving them in calm, blissful silence.

“God, I love your parents’ lake cottage,” Royce said. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s this?”

Sawyer followed Royce to the kitchen where a silver ice bucket sat in the middle of the kitchen island. He pulled out the bottle of champagne and immediately went to work uncorking it. Sawyer turned around and found a huge fruit basket and a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the counter. Beside the vase was an envelope with Royce’s and Sawyer’s names. Sawyer recognized his mother’s handwriting.

A softpopechoed behind him as Royce opened the champagne.

“Flutes?” he asked.

“Cabinet next to the refrigerator, I think,” Sawyer said. “We’ve got a letter from my mom.”

“Yeah, the flowers, fruit, and champagne are definitely her touch.” Royce found two flutes, filled them with champagne, and set them on the counter. He struck his default pose—arms around Sawyer’s waist and chin resting on his shoulder—and said, “Open it.”

Sawyer did and pulled out several pieces of paper. The top sheet was a handwritten note from his mother.

Dear Sawyer and Royce,