Long Summer Nights by Kathleen O'Reilly Read Free Book Online Page B

she held up a hand. “Let us rephrase. He’s my only constant renter. Money trumps all.”
    “He’s lived here a long time?”
    “Seven years.”
    “You haven’t wondered?” It had taken Jenn one night to succumb to temptation. The idea of resisting for seven years seemed…impossible.
    “No. I have a daughter. I can’t be curious too close to home.”
    “Oh,” murmured Jenn, trying to sound blasé, then gave up. “Do you think he’s ever killed anyone?”
    “Physically or does verbally count?”
    “The criminal sort of death.”
    “No. All he does is stay in his cabin. Writes. Glowers.”
    “And don’t you want to know his story?”
    Gently, Carolyn removed the coffee cup from Jenn’s hands and sat her down in a very maternal manner. “I can see this is going to be a problem for you, and let me tell you about this place. There are two kinds of people in Harmony Springs. The ones who grew up here and have chosen to stay. There’s about four that fall into that category. And the rest are people who came here, usually on the road to somewhere else, but they like the idea of a hideaway where people didn’t worry so much about where everyone came from, or what their story is.”
    “Am I going to have problems finding something to write about?”
    “Probably.”
    “Why couldn’t you have told me that on Day One, and sent me merrily on my way to someplace like Hollywood or Vegas, where everybody wants to tell their story?”
    “There’s a lot of dirt here, Jenn. You just got to know where to look.”
    “Where do I start?”
    “Browse the shops on Main. Mr. Goodnight in the antique store will talk your ear off, most of it worthless, but who knows. And don’t forget to stop in the ice-cream store.”
    “Ice cream? I love ice cream.”
    Carolyn only laughed.
     
    W ITH CAFFEINE-FUELED courage pumping through her veins, Jenn finally broke down and braved the need for personal hygiene, aka the community shower. And to be fair, as shower houses went, the ones at the campground were not half-bad. There was gloriously hot water. The concrete floor and walls were painted an antiseptic white, and scarlet poppies bloomed all over the shower curtain.
    Privacy, cleanliness and functionality. In the middle of the room, a wooden bench provided a place for clothes or sitting, or whatever else people did in shower houses. Jenn wasn’t sure, but the bench did provide a great dry spot for her things.
    Yes, she had a certain Psycho moment when she stepped into the stall, but the hot water did a fab job of washing away dirt, dust and Jenn’s general fear and loathing of the great outdoors. Honestly this wasn’t so bad. Earlier she’d bought a bottle of tropical gardens shampoo at the store, and if she worked very hard, she could imagine herself in a lush green jungle, warm spring rain rushing over her body,exotic birds calling high among the branches, and there in the corner was Cabana Boy, awaiting with a warm towel.
    Having been blessed with an active imagination, Cabana Boy soon morphed into fully grown, fully aroused, fully unhappy Cabana Man, who wouldn’t have held a towel if his life depended on it.
    If only he wasn’t so dark and mysterious in those ways that mothers always warned. If only he wasn’t so…large. Her body began to tingle and whirr, tiny currents of nerves that started with her breasts, moved lower to swirl between her thighs, finally gliding over her…
    Toes?
    Jenn glanced down and screamed.
     
    A ARON WAS HARD AT WORK on the thirty-seventh draft of page forty-two when he first heard the scream. At first he thought it was only in his head. Sometimes that happened when he got lost in his book, but he wasn’t writing a murder mystery.
    Realizing he should do the right thing, he rushed out the door, paused to listen, and then heard it again.
    The screams were coming from the showers?
    Aaron wasn’t a Boy Scout—he didn’t like being a Boy Scout—and as he ran toward the concrete