Page 4 of Little Deaths

He wanted to check the voicemail right away but he made himself wait. Edgy with nerves, he walked into his favorite coffee shop and ordered a cardamom and rose latte. He found the warm blend of spices comforting for some strange reason.

An hour and a half later, he was home. He set his half-drunk coffee on the kitchen counter and hung his coat up on the coat hook by the door next to a framed quote that said, “Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.” After dumping his leather jacket and satchel on his bed, he put on a Stone Temple Pilots CD and lit some lavender and spruce incense as “Sour Girl” filled the room.

His bedroom was decorated sparingly, since he didn’t like distractions and rarely entertained. There was a corkboard over the desk where he’d pinned a few reviews of his books, and some framed movie posters with titles likeCleopatra’s CurseandSilent to the Grave. A prop snake loomed on the varnished oak desk, a truly monstrous thing that was coiled and ready to strike. Beside that was a Signet typewriter from the ‘70s that had set him back a few hundred dollars, plus repairs.

He went back into the living area, retrieved his coffee, and sat down in the oxblood leather armchair. He pulled out his cell phone casually, trying to quell the anticipation that had been buzzing in his veins for the last hour, and then he punched play and speaker at the same time.

“Rafael.” Her low, melodic voice floated hauntingly in the room, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “It’s Adonica—Donni. I don’t know how to tell you this, but your father—well, he’s . . . dead. As of this morning. They think it was a heart-attack.”

Dead?

His stomach clenched. He hadn’t been expecting that.

The dark emotion swirling through him was too heavy for grief, too black for anger. A perfect storm of regret and loss and something that felt curiously like the end of a curse. There was nothing to stop him from coming back and taking what he wanted.

“The funeral is this Friday,” she was saying now. “If you want to come. I’ve already made arrangements with Red Cypress Estates.”

I bet they ripped you off, thought Rafe, still reeling from the news of his father’s death. The funeral home was owned by the O’Donnells—Catholics, of course, his father would have had it no other way—and Darwin O’Donnell had the gaudy charisma of a used car salesman.

“Things are bad,” she said, which recaptured his attention. “I don’t know if you’ve been following the news. But it’s bad. The wine, the deaths—his name is poison, now. If you come here, it’s going to be bad for you, too. Your father spent most of his savings on legal fees, but it didn’t look like we stood much of a chance. And yesterday, a process server came by the house talking about a lawsuit and some loans. They’re threatening to take the house if we can’t pay damages.”

Oh really, he thought.Desperate, are we?

“I know you must hate me,” she whispered. “But I think I need your help. There’s nobody else to turn to or I wouldn’t ask.”

There it is.He leaned back and exhaled roughly, letting his hand fall to the fly of his jeans. Closing his eyes, he freed himself from his pants as he reached over to play the message again.Don’t worry, Donni.You’ve got somebody.

You’ve gotme.

Chapter One

Leading Lady Material

Rafe didn’t respond that night. He was busy—that was good. It would have been weird if he had been hovering over the phone, like he’d been waiting for a chance to respond for all these years. Weird and disturbing. She’d been worried about the possibility of him taking her reaching out as encouragement. He’d sent all those emails, after all. Sick, twisted emails that she’d started routing to spam so her husband wouldn’t see all the things he was saying he wanted to do to her.

(I know what you taste like)

But when Rafe didn’t respond the next morning, or the rest of the day, either, she began to grow concerned. The call hadn’t bounced, but Rafe might have changed his number. He’d been so angry that morning, hurt and incredulous and—angry. The look in his eyes had been a well of hate. She’d been afraid that he and his father might come to blows. But then he’d turned that same look on her, and the agony of it was almost her undoing.

He might still be mad at her. Mad enough to . . . do something. Donni swallowed nervously.

Would he make a scene at the funeral?

Surely not, she told herself.Not in front of the whole town.He’s famous now. He has a career to protect.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she looked at it with dread, but it wasn’t Rafe. It was Angie, one of her few close friends.

How are you holding up?

I set up things with the funeral home today. Now I just have to find Marco’s phone book and inform all of his crazy relatives that he’s dead. You know, the ones so strange we never had them over. THOSE relatives.Donni closed her eyes briefly before putting a smiley-face emoji.

Funerals are a lot of work. Are you sure you don’t want help?? I can fly down.

Bless you, Donni wrote.But no thanks. I can manage. Besides, aren’t you filming?

GIRL GANGS BEFORE GANG BANGS, BABE.

The message was accompanied by three eggplant emojis and an OK emoji. Donni laughed out loud but it cut off abruptly in her throat as she darted a nervous look around. She didn’t like the way the sound of her voice echoed in the empty house.

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