Chapter One
Corvin picked up the small box. He had folded the top flaps shut so he didn't have to look at the contents. A metal rose, a few shirts, a pair of torn jeans, all painful reminders of yet another relationship gone sour. Corvin seemed to have unusually bad luck as far as romance went, but then again, he was a busy guy, who kept odd hours. Opening the door to the donation trailer, he found furniture, boxes of toys, bags of clothes. He set the cardboard box on top of a stack of others, and closed the door again. His hands came away wet and a little muddy, so he dug around in the backseat of his Outback for a bar mop.
This was an old song and dance, a routine he was used to. But it didn't exactly feel great. Caleb had been a great guy, but he wasn't ready to give up hookups and partying. Corvin was tired of partying. He wanted stability.
Actually, Caleb had kind of been a terrible person, but Corvin knew where he was coming from.
Once his tan hands were dry, he climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. He caught a glance of his dark hair in the rearview mirror, a gift from his mother. Corvin had been told he was good-looking, and he was fully aware of it, but it was just his face. He rarely considered it beyond that.
Tonight was going to suck. Yet another late night at the bar was going to be the death of him.
His SUV pulled out of the parking lot, as quietly as it had arrived. He had once been active in this church, coming in every Sunday with his family. But as the years went on, and the comments about his sexuality had gotten under his skin, he had come in less and less, until now, when he was properly sinful.
A text buzzed his phone, which laid on the driver's side seat like a curse. He rolled his eyes until he thought they'd fall out of his head.
He knew what the text would say. It would be a picture of Caleb's latest fling, and a promise that he was having a great time without Corvin, and that he was better off without him.
Dick.
Fact was, Caleb was not having a great time without Corvin. Cor had it on good authority from Caleb's sister that Caleb was constantly drunk and absolutely miserable. And getting a bit fat, too, which she had added as an aside. Corvin didn't care that Caleb was getting fat. He hadn't even particularly cared that Caleb was having a bad time. But it was nice to know that someone who had put him through so much—the cheating, the fights, the lying—was having a bad time without him. There had been a sort of "boys will be boys" mentality from the people around him, but Corvin was tired of bad behavior being excused away by gender.
Even though it stung, he kept that promise to himself. He didn't even read them. He closed his eyes, and braced himself, then looked back down at the phone and deleted Caleb's number.
There, that was better. The phone gave him a notification that said the contact had been sent to the trash. Something almost like relief washed over him. He was going to be fine. Everything was going to be better.
He would stop dating for a while. He'd take some time for himself. No more playboys to break his heart. No more one-off flings that would leave him reeling, clutching the broken pieces of a future where he'd really settled down with someone.
Nope.
He climbed out of the car as a cold Halloween wind ripped through the trees. Bandon was a cold little town with cold little people, but it was his hometown and had always been so.
He looked to the left to see that the trash can was being robbed by gulls. He just sighed. Rats with wings, that's all gulls were. When he was younger he'd thought they were fascinating, but now they were just annoying.
Inside, the place had the pervasive smell of cigarettes. There hadn't been smoking in here in quite a long time, but the smell would never go away. The place had been decorated with creepy gothic Halloween decorations, and yellow envelopes were laid out on the bar.
When Corvin ducked into the back room, he took off his windbreaker. He wore the uniform of the bar, which was just a black t-shirt with a redheaded mermaid printed on the back of it. Walking back out, he ran into Mary, one of the waitresses. She was wearing a sexy French maid outfit, which really meant she was wearing a fluffy miniskirt and a crisp white apron over her uniform shirt. She also had on a nametag that said, "the maid."
"You didn't dress up!" she cried, playfully horrified. Mary didn't take much seriously. She had this cheerful attitude that was infectious, and she liked to have a good time.
"I think you dressed up enough for both of us. Aren't I the gardener or whatever? How do you dress up for that?"
"I dunno, wearing overalls? You didn't even try!"
"In every landscaping job I have ever worked, I wore a t-shirt and jeans."
"He's not a landscaper! He's Barkeley, the scorned gardener. You asked for a raise, and were denied."
That was ironic. Also, she had decided he had a name, but very few characters actually had names at all. Most of them were just labeled with their jobs.
"I look perfect for a scorned gardener."
This whole affair was stupid. Corvin had never been any good at these murder mystery parties. He always forgot to say his lines.