Then he wondered why he gave a shit and promptly started finger combing the mess of hair on his head. He’d kept it shorter before…well, just before, but lately he hadn’t cared enough to keep up with his biweekly trims, and it showed. The unruly mass of hair was thick and wavy and almost curling on the ends at the back of his neck.
And that just wouldn’t do, he decided. Soft waves and curls would make him look soft and that definitely was not happening.
His image wavered in the mirror, splitting off into two blurry reflections of himself. Matt squinted and rubbed his eyes, which did nothing to help, instead it created two even fuzzier versions of himself. Except his hair was different, shorter. It had to be his subconscious nagging him about his appearance, just as it kept making him think he smelled those cookies, but he could fix that. Mind made up, the images merged, leaving Matt with only his own bedraggled face looking back at him. Definitely need to lay off the liquor.
A glance at his watch told Matt he had about twenty minutes before he needed to leave for work. It was enough time for what he suddenly thought was a good idea. Brilliant, even. Maybe he should listen to his subconscious more often.
* * * *
Carlin Douglas hated McKinton. Small town, small minds, he was sure of it. His one visit here when he’d been a teen had confirmed it. There’d been a vicious attack on a gay man back then, and the fear that had flooded Carlin had him packing his bags and demanding his aunt send him back home to New York immediately.
For a boy who’d just accepted he was gay, and was actually kind of reveling in the knowledge—because he finally, finally got why he didn’t get a woody around Becky Thompson—being anywhere he could potentially be killed for his newfound bit of self-discovery was absolutely terrifying.
He’d told his aunt just that, and she’d taken it well, almost like she’d already known. Years later, Aunt Mary had confirmed his suspicions and claimed she’d known he was gay before he did. She was probably right.
Of course, Aunt Mary had become one of his most staunch supporters when his dad had freaked out about him being gay. Luckily his dad had eventually got past his own issues.
Carlin looked around at the shops lining Main Street. He fucking hated McKinton, and no doubt there’d be some hick-ass police department, some inbred three-toothed sheriff who spat snuff out between the gaps in those three teeth, straight onto the carpet…wait.
Would they have carpet? Or would there be dirt floors? Carlin knew he was being unfair, every bit as judgmental as the people he was condemning in this town. He was an ass, no doubt, but it was all that was keeping him from thinking about his Aunt Mary’s death. Sometimes snark was his salvation, and wasn’t that pathetic?
“How…quaint,” Carlin muttered as he pulled his rental car into the hotel parking lot. “A run-down motel. Of course. Fucking figures there wouldn’t even be a damn bed and breakfast here.” Staying at Aunt Mary’s was the only other option, but he couldn’t do that. Carlin turned the car off and groaned as he dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. Shit, he was cussing like he used to before he’d managed to clean up his act. Aunt Mary would have laughed at him then threatened to kick his butt. He needed to get it together before he met with the three-toothed sheriff.
“Crap! I am going to make an idiot of myself it I keep thinking about the sheriff like that.” Especially when he knew the sheriff had all his teeth—Aunt Mary had shared that bit—and was attractive. Then again, Aunt Mary thought any man was attractive as long as he had a pulse. Which reminded Carlin that Mary didn’t have a pulse, and his nose burned as tears pooled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “Shit shit shit,” Carlin muttered as he swiped at his cheeks.
“Quit stalling, you freaking wuss.” Carlin got out of the car and looked at the motel. The hideous army green and beige color scheme made Carlin cringe, but the place itself was actually decently maintained, from what he could tell. The U-shaped building was only a single story. There were assigned parking slots in front of each room. All the green doors had numbers on them, and a large window so the customer could open the curtain and peer out on the wonder that was downtown McKinton.
Carlin rolled his eyes at his own cattiness. He really needed to find a more productive way to vent. He wiped at his cheeks again and wished he’d checked his appearance in the rearview mirror before he’d got out. Then he shrugged off the thought.
It wouldn’t make any difference if his nose was red and his eyes redder, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled. He wasn’t here to impress anybody—just the opposite. Giving a shit what anyone else thought about him here in this town was stupid.
The only thing he wanted from this trip was to make sure his aunt had a proper funeral. Everything else, going through her things, deciding what to do with them, finding a real estate agent to sell the house—those were secondary.
The clerk behind the counter looked at him suspiciously as Carlin pushed the door open. He returned the look with a cool disdain that had said more than words ever could in a courtroom on more than one occasion. Mentally warning himself to turn down his flame, Carlin approached the desk and lowered his voice from its normal light tenor to something closer to a baritone, another trick he used in the courtroom.
“I’d like your best room,” Carlin informed the clerk, ignoring the way the man narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, so if you have a decent room you haven’t
