Page 12 of Frosted and Sliced

“He…” Elyse began, and stopped when the man in question slid into the booth beside Georgette.

“He what, Elyse? Do continue,” Burke said, in a warning tone that sounded like it would be to her peril to continue. “He’s handy. Is that what you were going to say? Because I am.” They had a little stare down that Georgette couldn’t interpret, her eyes bouncing between them.

“I definitely know you are handy,” Elyse agreed slowly. “But I didn’t know your interests and skills tended toward home repair.”

He shrugged. “They do. I am a handyman who will be working at the inn for the foreseeable future. Clear?” If they’d been able to, his eyes would probably drill a hole into her forehead, he stared so hard.

“Okay,” Elyse finally drawled. “You are a handyman. Got it. But I’ll be keeping an eye out for you. Clear?”

He shrugged, then slid out of the booth and disappeared out the door. Georgette watched him go and faced her friend, confusion written all over her face. “What happened? What was that?”

“Burke is Burke,” Elyse said. She waved her hand in his direction and turned her attention to her menu.

Georgie studied the top of her head. “Elyse, can I actually trust that guy?”

“It depends on what you mean by trust,” Elyse said, glancing up so Georgette could read her lips. It was becoming second nature now, to remember. “Can you trust him to save your life? Yes, a thousand percent. He will show up and do the job, with zero regard for his personal safety. Can you trust him with your heart?” She made a face like she was gnawing the rind of a lemon, and Georgie laughed.

“I think we’re okay, then, because that is a thousand percent not happening.”

“He’s going to be living in your inn. That’s pretty intense,” Elyse noted.

Georgie waved her off. “It’s a huge inn, and he’s not exactly Mr. Communicative. It’s not as if we’re going to be spending quality late night hair braiding sessions, where we spill our deepest and darkest fears. I doubt he’ll even stick around. I think this is a temporary landing place for him, a pause. Whatever it is, it’s notthat.” She paused and bit her lip. “Is it?”

“I don’t think so,” Elyse said slowly. “But Burke has never been known for confiding in anyone. Does anybody know him? I honestly have no idea.” She paused, looking as if she wanted to say more, but couldn’t bring herself to. And then she looked around and leaned in, as if making certain they weren’t overheard. “All I’m saying is to be careful with Burke. There’s something…there’s something odd there.”

Across the street, Burke flicked off the receiver and sat back.There’s something odd there.What did that mean? He’d considered Elyse a friend, as much as he had friends, and yet she obviously didn’t feel the same. Or did she? He needed to make certain that she wouldn’t tell Georgette his secret in his absence, and she hadn’t. That had to count for something, didn’t it? At the very least, she had to trust that he wasn’t up to anything nefarious, that he had a good reason for keeping his silence on certain matters. For now he’d have to continue to trust her, because he would definitely know if Elyse blabbed to Georgette. If he ever told her the truth, he wanted it to be on his terms. Until then, all he had to do was keep his nose clean and stay out of trouble. But it was a tiny town in Northern Maine. How hard could it be?

He started the car and drove away, blithely unaware of the storm that was already brewing and about to descend.

CHAPTER 6

“We need to talk about your doors.”

That was Burke’s opening line, when he found Georgette seated on the floor, sorting laundry. Whenever she had downtime, she tried to address the details it was otherwise easy to overlook, such as all the towels and sheets. As time allowed, she liked to go over them in detail, noting any tears or stains, so she could replace them. What did people do to washcloths? She went through so many of them, due to mascara or lipstick or unknown things that wouldn’t come off in the wash.

“What about my doors?” she asked. Their paths hadn’t intersected since the brief interlude in the diner yesterday. Georgette had no idea where he went or what he did with his time. Had he been hiding in the inn the entire evening yesterday? Hanging out in the dusty rodent zone? Maybe. She should probably care about that more, and she wondered why she didn’t. Was she lonelier than she realized? Without guests to occupy her time, was she thankful to have a ghostly figure haunting her attic?

“They’re pathetic,” Burke announced.

“They’re original to the house,” Georgette replied.

“I know, that’s what makes them pathetic. Do you know how easy they would be to kick in? One blow, and they’d fly off their hinges.”

“Why would someone have to kick them in, when I leave them unlocked?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if so overwhelmed by her idiocy, he could no longer breathe properly. “Why do you leave them unlocked?”

“I run an inn, a, what’s that word, hospitality industry. Welcoming strangers inside is kind of my thing.”

“Any lunatic could get in,” he said.

“Clearly,” she replied, motioning to his lurking frame.

That gave him pause, and it almost seemed like he smiled as he folded himself into a seated position beside her. “Think you’re pretty cute, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. All the boys love Georgie. It’s my detailed attention to linen that reels them in and keeps them coming back for more.” She smoothed the edges of a fitted sheet through her fingers, checking the snap on the elastic. It could only survive so many dryer cycles before it gave out and became limp.

“I don’t like how open this place is,” Burke said.

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