Tomorrow morning, he’d leave her in his bed and go get them for her.
“Yes,” he answered her question.
He got silence then, “Pardon?”
“Got ‘im.”
More silence then, “Already?”
“Lenny Lemcock tries to stay on the wagon,” he started in answer. “He also frequently fails. When he fails, he needs to get so drunk he doesn’t remember anything for a month. This requires money. Money, since he doesn’t have a job and lives on Disability, he has to steal. Took one look at the house, knew it was Lenny seein’ as he leaves a mess as his signature. He also leaves prints. Didn’t even have to lift a print though to know it was him. He hangs in seven different establishments. I found him at the fourth, three sheets to the wind. He’s in the tank and unfortunately for Lenny, since this is about strike seven and although the guy is funny, can charm a snake and has proven that repeatedly by charming a variety of judges, the last time he appeared, he got the warning. No more second chances. He’s fucked. He’ll dry out doin’ time and my callouts for burglaries will drop drastically.”
“Do you know everything about everyone in town?” she asked quietly, residual sleep and a hint of sweet wonder in her voice.
“Only the ones who do fucked up shit.”
“And Outlaw Al,” she added.
“Al lives on a diet of canned meat cut by canned beans. His residence is a lean-to in an alley. His best friends are twenty-five feral cats and he can pack all of his belongings in a shopping cart and not one of them is something anyone in their right mind would want. All of that is fucked up shit. Just not the annoying kind.”
He heard her quiet, musical laughter and, like he always did when he heard it, he savored it.
When he lost it, he ordered gently, “Right, baby, time for you to go back to sleep.”
“Okay, honey.”
He closed his eyes as that went through him.
He loved her calling him Chace.
But her calling him honey was something else. Something pure. Something magical. Like the first snow of the season falling at night. You wake up to it, make coffee, wrap up in a jacket and scarf over your pajamas, tug on thick socks and sit outside on your porch, drinking coffee that makes your insides warm but seeing your breath puff out in front of you, the air coming out clean and going in cleaner.
It was a little common miracle but even common, that made it no less miraculous.
The first time she’d done it, it felt like he’d been touched by the hand of an angel and he hadn’t gotten over feeling that every time she’d done it since.
He opened his eyes and asked, “You got the directions to my place?”
“Yeah,” she replied softly and that went through him too. “I think I’ll be there around quarter to seven.”
“All right, honey.”
“You sure I can’t bring anything?”
“Just you.”
“Okay, Chace.”
That went through him too, always.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.”
“Later, baby.”
“’Bye, Chace.”
He disconnected, tossed his cell on his nightstand and rolled to his back, his eyes going to the ceiling.
Misty had slept in the master.
Chace had slept in the guestroom.
A month after she died, he’d gotten shot of his old bed that she slept in and bought a new one. Spent a whack on a mattress that felt like sleeping on a firm cloud. It was spectacular.
Tonight, Faye would be in that bed with him, her hair, her scent, her body, her crystal blue eyes all a pillow away.
A clean bed, unsullied by the garbage that used to be his life.
His bed.
He shoved his hand behind his head at the same time he lifted his knees and wrapped his other hand around his cock.
Then he closed his eyes and went through one of the many scenarios he’d be taking Faye through in the coming months. This one involved a lot of Faye using her mouth. He took his time. He did it stroking lazy at first, firmer and faster later.
And when he was done, he came hard.
Three hours later, after jacking off to Faye, making coffee and having breakfast and a run, Chace, showered, in jeans, a dark blue twill shirt, a heavy, wool denim marl sweater and thick wool socks, was sitting on the rocking chair on his front porch. He had a hot mug of coffee in his hand, his feet up on the top of the railing in front of him, his eyes pointed out at the plain.
Chace lived in a four bedroom ranch-style house at the southwestern end of Carnal. He owned fifteen acres and not one of his neighbors owned less than three times that. Therefore, from his front porch, he couldn’t see any of his neighbor’s homes. Just the valley plain they lived on, the trees dotting the plains and shrouding the houses, the hills surrounding the area, the mountains beyond that and, in the distance, the town of Carnal.
Carnal looked further away than it actually was. Seeming small across the plain, it was only a ten minute drive.
Chace’s mother’s parents had set up a trust for him that he could access when he was twenty-five. To buy this house and land, he’d accessed part of it for a hefty down payment that would leave him with a manageable mortgage on a cop’s salary. Living room, dining room, family room, huge-ass kitchen, butler’s pantry, walk-in kitchen pantry, two and a half baths, study and four bedrooms, the master having one of the bathrooms and a big walk-in closet. There was an old fashioned front porch, a large square deck out back and a massive two car garage that could easily fit two SUVs, two snow mobiles and an ATV.
The rest of the money, he never touched.
This was because, since he could fathom the concept, he decided he’d have three kids. This was mostly because he’d never had a brother or sister and he wanted one, the other, or, better, what Faye had, both. Not having it, he decided that whatever kids he had, they’d have siblings and live in a house full of people, noise and love. Therefore the rest of that money he’d set aside for their college educations. If they wanted to go to trade school, be beauticians or plumbers or got into Harvard or Stanford and became doctors or lawyers, he didn’t care. Whatever it was, they wouldn’t worry about paying for it.
He’d done this because his father refused to pay for Chace’s education because Chace hadn’t taken business courses but instead law and political science with a view to becoming a cop, not an attorney. In his usual fashion, Trane Keaton tried to use money to manipulate. Chace just got grants, loans, worked while taking classes and during the summers, paid his own damned way and took whatever courses he wanted.
He didn’t complain, it was no use and he had to do it to get what he wanted. But it wasn’t easy. He remembered the late nights studying, the exhaustion in classes and dragging himself to work after them and he’d paid off his last student loan five years ago. He wasn’t going to put a child of his through that.
He also, back in the day when he allowed himself to think of this shit, didn’t intend to marry a debutante or socialite with a Daddy who could spend a mint on her wedding. He’d marry who he fell in love with and whoever she was, she would have the wedding of her dreams even if Chace had to use his trust fund to help her. So the money was left alone for that too.
Last, his house was fucking fantastic. Big rooms. Lots of windows. Lots of places to be inside and out. Fabulous views. It’d been dated when he bought it so he updated all the baths, the kitchen and the flooring. His mother wanted to decorate it so he let her but went with her to guide her hand. Shopping was something he could give or take, usually give, but his mother loved to do it, she loved to be with her son, he enjoyed being with her so it was something they could do together. He couldn’t say he wanted to do it again. He could say it turned out well.