Page 2 of Thunder Road

“It was too chilly to go out without clothing, and we didn’t want to get arrested.” Vic tossed another pair of socks into the pile.

“Have you heard from Ross? Did the department survive without you? No crime sprees?”

Vic rolled his eyes. “Myrtle Beach isn’t exactly known for its crime waves, but apparently, things stayed pretty quiet. Ross hasn’t given me a lot of details—said he’d fill me in when I went to the station. I think he’s doing his best to help me extend that honeymoon feeling as long as possible.”

“Yeah, Pete keeps telling me that nothing much happened with the store.” Simon closed his empty suitcase and zipped it shut. “I mostly believe him, and I appreciate that he handled everything well on his own. But I guess we had to return to the real world sooner or later.”

As much as Simon had enjoyed the time away with Vic, he also liked running Grand Strand Ghost Tours and enjoyed helping people—living and dead—with his psychic abilities. He knew the value of being able to provide answers and closure, and his insights had brought killers to justice and solved cold cases, helping the spirits rest in peace.

“Of course, we’re getting back just in time for the craziness that happens in the fall.” Vic set his empty suitcase aside. “I’m not sure I’m ready forthat, but it is what it is. Motorcycle season is starting. That’s always busy—for good reasons and bad.”

Myrtle Beach had been a favorite destination for motorcyclists and cycle clubs practically since the bikes were invented. Road rallies ended in town with celebrations on the Boardwalk. Cycle clubs held fall gatherings once the beaches weren’t quite as crowded and the temperatures were moreleather-friendly. Local cops cracked down on cars and cyclists cruising Ocean Boulevard, but people managed to make several passes before being shooed away and then returned.

Bikes and bikers were a subject of conversation. Businesses appreciated the influx of visitors in the shoulder season—the months when the weather was warm, but most of the tourists had gone home. It picked up some of the slack from the exodus of beachgoers. Locals grumbled about traffic and noise, and some held outdated impressions that raised questions about crime or violence.

As Vic frequently pointed out, thanks to how expensive good bikes had become, the average bike owner was forty-seven. Which was at odds with the perception of young toughs from fifties-era movies.

Not that carousing didn’t happen, but the average rider was also married and much more likely to be an accountant or a doctor than a drifter.

“It’s usually not the bikers causing the problems,” Vic said. “It’s the people who come to the bars to hang out and pretend. They’ve seenRoadhousea few too many times and want to live the dream.” That usually meant they woke up hungover and needing bail.

“In some ways, I like the summer drunks better than the fall drunks,” Vic went on. “The summer drunks are younger and happier. They’re still in college, so they’re used to getting blitzed and then going to class. The Halloween crowd is older, and they’re trying to relive their glory days, but they’ve lost the knack. I hate getting pulled into rounding them up.”

As a homicide detective, busting drunks wasn’t usually part of Vic’s regular job. But when things got out of hand, he ended up pitching in. “You’ve got it easy. At least dead people don’t throw up on your shoes.”

“Look at the bright side. We’ll go to a party, and it’ll be fine—like it always is,” Simon said with a smile, knowing how to smooth his husband’s ruffled feathers.

Vic kissed him. “I forget that this is your busy season too.”

“I’m booked pretty solid,” Simon agreed. “But that’s good because the shop slows down over the holidays—and the people who come in then are not as happy.”

Clients who sought out dead loved ones for Halloween tended to have a sense of humor about the whole thing. Around Thanksgiving and Christmas, the messages were sadder as people hoped to contact departed family members.

His work as a medium often had a healing component, helping the bereaved move on and giving the dead peace. Unlike the Halloween thrill-seekers, the customers who sought his services the rest of the year usually needed answers or sought absolution. Simon saw his abilities as far more than a boardwalk diversion.

“Don’t work too hard,” Vic teased. “We’ve still got some honeymoon energy to burn off.”

Simon pulled him close and gave him a deep kiss, letting one hand slip down to squeeze Vic’s ass while the other teased at his package. “Hold that thought. I promise I won’t be too tired.”

Vic headed to the precinct while Simon walked to the shop, enjoying a cool morning and the ocean breeze. He sipped coffee from a travel mug and lifted his face to the salt air, appreciating a moment of calm.

Intuition told him things were about to get more exciting before winter set in.

Simon had learned to love shoulder season. Some businesses closed over the winter, while others were open for shorter hours. The beach wasn’t deserted, but the boardwalk and restaurants weren’t jammed like in the summer. The city’s rhythms were the opposite of his old life, and Simon didn’t miss the past at all.

Several years ago, Dr. Sebastian Simon Kincaide taught Folklore and Mythology at a college in Columbia, South Carolina, where he had grown up in a wealthy family. Then a student’s very religious parent had accused him of teaching Satanism, the college had caved under pressure, and Simon lost his professorship, and soon after, his fiancé left him.

Angry and needing a new start, Simon found his way to Myrtle Beach after an aunt offered him the use of her bungalow. When she and his uncle retired to Florida, they sold him the house and wished him well.

He’d met Vic when the skeptical detective had been stymied by a serial killer and was desperate enough to ask a psychic for help. They had solved the case, sparks flew, and he and Vic ended up together.

“Hey, boss! How’s it going?” Pete King, Grand Strand Ghost Tours’ assistant store manager, greeted Simon when he walked in.

“Not too bad, but the day’s still young. Any new requests for bookings?”

“You’re nearly booked solid for October,” Pete said. “At least, as solid as you want to be. I think I could fill every slot if you wanted.”

“I’d be among the dead by Halloween if I did that.” Simon leaned against the counter. “And I have a husband to consider now.”

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