A Fool and His Honey

“Hello,” Karl said, looking up at the sound. He gave me a comprehensive but brief scan, and lowered his eyes to make sure he’d stamped all the snow off his boots. Satisfied, he pulled off the boots and left them by the door, padding further into the living room unself-consciously, and I began to see this was the protocol in snow country.

“I’m Aurora. Thank you for bringing the Jeep. Martin says he’s known you forever.”

“Just about.” Karl had finished divesting himself of several layers of outerwear, and finally looked me in the eyes.

Karl Bagosian had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen on a man. On anyone. Large, oval, very dark, fringed by eyelashes most women could only dream of, those eyes could speak to you long enough to talk you right out of your clothes and into Karl’s bed.

“Well, I feel like a female peacock,” I said, mildly disgruntled. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he said, after a surprised hesitation. Karl preceded me to the kitchen, and I had to remind myself he’d been here many times before… before I was born, no doubt. Karl had thickened a little with middle age, and he had white teeth that gleamed like an actor’s. He sat at the kitchen table watching me, while I poured a mug of coffee and placed it before him with milk and sugar handy.

“If you haven’t had breakfast I would be glad to make you some toast,” I offered. “Martin’s on the phone; he’ll be down in just a minute.”

“This is southern hospitality, the kind I keep hearing about, I guess.”

“It’s just hospitality. How else would I treat you?”

He had no answer for that. “This is some mess about Regina, huh?” he asked, looking up at me with those gorgeous eyes. He poured sugar in his coffee with a liberal hand. I watched in amazement as he did the same with the milk. It hardly looked like coffee anymore.

I propped myself against the kitchen counter. “Did you know Craig?”

“Yeah, he stole a car from my lot.”

“What did you do?”

“I went after him and got it back.” And the large dark eyes didn’t look so gorgeous anymore. In fact they looked downright scary. I realized I was very glad I hadn’t been there when Karl had gotten his car back.

“Mr. Vigilante,” Martin said from the doorway. He meant to be smiling when he said it, but the smile came off lame. He’d heard the whole conversation.

Karl got up and shook Martin’s hand, and they did the shoulder-patting ritual. Deep affection.

“The little sumbitch-‘scuse me, Aurora-is just lucky I didn’t fix his wagon for good,” Karl said, white teeth gleaming.

“I only laid off because he was your niece’s husband.”

“This was since they got married?”

“Yeah, in fact this was last week. Right before he showed up on your doorstep down in Georgia, dead. Maybe he wanted to drive down in a jeep.”

“The police know about this?”

“Yeah, I told ‘em after I heard Craig got killed. Told ’em I had a key to the house here. They come out here to take a gander.”

Karl Bagosian looked so exotic I found I had expected him to have a foreign accent. It was a little shocking to hear a homely midwestern voice coming from his mouth. I thought of him in harem pants. I clamped my lips together.

“What are you smiling about?” Martin asked from my elbow. I jumped.

“Would you like some more coffee, honey?” I asked.

“Lord, she’s no bigger than a flea, Martin.”

I particularly dislike to be talked about as if I weren’t there. But this was Martin’s friend.

“Small but mean,” Martin said. I looked up, startled, and he was smiling… Lucky for him.

“Was the house very different than it is now? When you brought the police out here?” I asked Karl.

He took a swallow of coffee, raised the cup to me in appreciation. Since Martin had made it, that compliment wasn’t due me, but I nodded anyway.

“Yes, the house was a mess,” Karl said bluntly. “All I did was hang up the clothes and vacuum, run the dishwasher. That made a big difference.”

“Thank you,” I said, impressed at his enterprise. “Did the police seem to think anything had happened here in the house?”

“It was just like they’d gone shopping,” Karl said, shaking his head. “Like they were both going to be back any moment. Oh, I forgot to empty the wastebaskets that day, I just recalled. Sorry. Darlene was with me, but that girl is bone lazy.”

“How old is Darlene now?” Martin pulled out a chair, settled in opposite his friend.

“She’s twenty-six.”

Martin was seriously shocked. “Not… your daughter, Darlene? Is twenty-six?”

Karl nodded. “And she’s my youngest. Darlene is responsible for every one of these gray hairs.”

“How old are your others, now?” Martin sounded apprehensive.

Karl cast his eyes up, as if the answer would be written on the high ceiling. “Lessee. Gil is thirty, ‘bout to be thirty-one. Therese is twenty-nine.”

Martin looked at me, horrified. I shrugged, smiling. The difference in our ages had always bothered Martin more than me. Martin, who worked out and played killer racquetball, had always had the body of a younger man. Not that my experience was that broad… but he’d always pleased me, and he knew it. As far as mental attitudes went, Martin and I had our differences, but no more than any two people have.

“How old are you, Aurora? Martin’s looking worried.” Karl was not a man who would miss much. “My wife Phoebe is just a kid, too; she’s twenty-five.”

“I’m older than your wife and your children.” I gestured toward his mug, asking if he wanted a refill.

“No, thanks,” Karl said. “Martin, you ready to run me back into town?”

“Thanks for bringing the Jeep out, Karl,” I said. I perceived that it was mano a mano time, and I was being left behind.

“Do you need me to get anything while I’m in town, Roe?” Martin was already putting on his coat and sliding the cell phone into his pocket. I sighed, but tried to keep it silent. Tracking down a scrap of paper took a minute, but I quickly made a list of things we’d neglected to get the day before.

In the back of my mind was the fear the snow would get worse, and we’d be marooned out here. What if we lost our heat?

What if whoever had killed Craig came here looking for Regina?

This was a thought so sudden and shocking that I really regretted having it, especially since I was watching the bright red Jeep recede down the driveway with Martin and Karl inside when the idea came to full bloom in my mind.

I paced around the house distractedly, trying to rid myself of the fear. It hardly made sense that whoever killed Craig in Georgia would come looking here-and that was assuming the killer hadn’t been Regina herself. I managed to talk myself out of the worst of my funk, but a quarter of an hour later I was still padding around the house in two pairs of socks, staring out the windows at the snow.

After checking on the now-napping Hayden, I pulled on my boots and stuffed the baby monitor in my coat pocket. Gloved and hatted, I stepped out the south-facing front door and watched my boots sink into the snow.

I’d seen ice, I’d seen sleet, and one memorable January we’d had three inches of snow and been out of school for two and a half days. But I’d never in my life seen white stuff this deep, probably six to eight inches. I knew from what Martin had said about his childhood that it was likely this snow wouldn’t melt for weeks, but only be deepened by subsequent storms.

The sky was an oppressive leaden gray, just like yesterday. It seemed quite probable to me that-amazing though the thought was-it was going to snow again. If we’d been on a vacation in a ski lodge with lots of fireplaces and smiling servers, that would’ve been one thing. But out here in Farm Country, with the fireplace in the living room that at least also served our bedroom upstairs, we’d have to do a lot of the fetching and carrying if our