Mia’s aunt was in that odd age range that could be late sixties, early seventies, but she dressed and carried herself like she still had fond memories of being a head cheerleader back in high school. She had a thick mane of styled blonde hair, a tanned face with enough makeup to think she wasn’t wearing makeup, and gold jewelry around her neck, on her ears, wrists, and practically every finger. Gwen was wearing a tight white turtleneck with tight acid-washed jeans, said jeans decorated with glitter and stones along the pockets and rear.
She was an inch shorter than I am, and her shape was what could be politely called full, or bosomy, or zaftig. She barreled into my house and gave me a big kiss on my cheek. “Christ on a crutch, Mia didn’t tell me you were such a good-looking boy. Wow!” she said in a booming voice.
I managed to step back and avoid any other further kisses. “Come on in, and thanks for coming by.”
She waved a hand dismissively and took the near couch; I dragged over a chair and sat down across from her. She brought in a scent of lilac that was strong enough to linger in my house for another week or two after she left.
“Shit, it’s good to get out and about,” Gwen said. “I’m living in one of those active senior places up in Porter. Expensive as crap but at least you don’t have to make your own meals, beds, or laundry. I’ve gone through three husbands and twice as many boyfriends, and I figure I sure as hell have done my share. Life’s too short when you get to be my age to waste time on deciding what kind of laundry detergent to use.”
“Well, I can see—”
“Plus, it’s stuffier than hell up there, you know what I mean? You got the older guys who spend all day on the computer, keeping track of their investments. You got the older ladies who sit around and gossip and stick invisible knives in each other’s backs, and you got the old couples who are in a new place and still fight over grudges from three decades ago. Jesus Christ on a crutch, it’s nice to be out and around.”
“Why are you there then?”
Gwen laughed. “Good goddamn question. Thing is, I’m on my own, I like it most times, and I got a nice nest egg. Thing with the place I’m at, once you’re in, you’re in …” She slapped a thigh for emphasis. “That means once this old broad’s body starts falling apart, I’ll have a place that will have to take care of me, per the contract, and they have to provide the care until I shuffle off to the great beyond. Can’t kick me out or put me in a wheelchair and abandon me at the mall. Pricey as shit but it’s worth it.”
She shifted on my couch, looked around the inside of my house. “You know, I’ve driven past this place for decades, and this is the first goddamn time I’ve ever been in. Not bad … but what the hell happened here a few months ago?”
“There was a fire.”
“What? Electrical? Hot ashes from the fireplace?”
“No,” I said. “It was arson.”
“Holy shit,” Gwen said. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Well, he’s dead.”
“Did he die in the fire?” Gwen asked.
“No,” I said, remembering a very dark and unpleasant time from last fall. “He died up in a town called Osgood.”
“Jesus … did he die in a fire that he set? That would be freaking karma, wouldn’t it.”
“No,” I said. “Somebody cut his head off.”
Gwen’s roaming eyes froze and came right to me. “You kidding?”
“No.”
“You’re a fine-looking guy, even though you look like you’ve been battered around some. A man gets his head cut off … bet you have lots of interesting stories. Am I right?”
I felt like I was being sprayed from a fire hose with a torrent of words and interest, and that I couldn’t move.
“Funny you should mention stories,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Because I’m looking for—”
“Yeah, well, before we get there,” she said, grinning, teeth too white and perfect. “I want to ask you one.”
“That sounds fair,” I said. “Go ahead.”
Gwen nodded. “Okay. For as long as I can remember, this place has always belonged to the government. It used to be a lifeboat station, then officers’ quarters when the artillery station got set up, and then for a while when the artillery station was replaced by radar to see if Russian bombers were coming this way.”
“That’s what I’ve heard, too.”
“Yeah, well, the question is, how in hell did you get this house? It’s always belonged to the Feds, it’s on a nice isolated part of the seacoast, and the value. I mean, Christ, I know the place is old but if it got torn down and replaced by a condo with four or six units, a paved driveway instead of that goat path you’ve got—could be worth millions, you know?”
“I do know,” I said. “And the reason I got this house … a favor was owed to me.”
“Last I knew, this place was under the … whaddya call it … stewardship of the Department of the Interior. The secretary of the interior steal your car or something?”
“No,” I said. “The secretary of defense stole my health … among other things.”
“Hell of a story,” she said slowly. “Mind telling it to me?”
“Not today, I’m sorry,” I said. “Look, can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?”
Gwen glanced at the chunky jeweled watch on her wrist and said, “Damn, not afternoon yet, I really shouldn’t have anything strong. Coffee will be fine. Black.”
“Be right back.”
A
