socks, then tossed them into our laundry bag, which reminded me that we were low on detergent.
I had ten little thoughts like this while I got ready for bed. I’d been reading through the novels of Charlie Huston and Duane Swierczynski, but it was like getting a jolt of caffeine if I read either one before bedtime; I definitely didn’t need that tonight. Instead, I opened a crossword puzzle book. I crawled into bed in my soft sleep pants and my T, and I lay on my stomach, absorbed in the crossword. Tolliver was better at them than I was, and it was hard not to ask him questions.
Another exciting night in the life of corpse-reader Harper Connelly , I thought. And I was happy that this was so.
Four
WE were scheduled to take Gracie and Mariella skating that next afternoon, Sunday, but not until two p.m. On Saturday mornings they had to pick up their rooms and do chores before they could go anywhere, and on Sundays they had church and lunch as a family. These were ironclad rules of Iona’s. And not bad ones, I thought. I’d run and showered and was about to dress when Tolliver’s cell phone rang. He’d been lazy and was still in bed, so I answered it.
“Hey, this must be Harper.”
I recognized the voice. “Yeah, Tolliver’s not up yet, Victoria. How’s it going?”
Victoria’s great-grandparents had been the immigrants. Victoria, born and bred in Texas, didn’t have a trace of an accent. “It’s good to talk to you,” she said. “Listen, nothing new on your sister, I’m sorry to say. I’m calling about the clients you-all referred to me. The Joyces.”
“They already got in touch?”
“Honey, they already been here in my office and wrote me a check.”
“Oh, good. But I can’t take any credit for the referral. Tolliver was the one who told them your name and gave them your phone number.”
“That’s what Lizzie said. That woman, she’s Texas all the way through, huh? And the sister, Kate? I think she’s interested in your brother.”
“He’s not my brother,” I said automatically, though I called him that myself about half the time. I took a deep breath. “In fact, we’re engaged,” I said.
Tolliver rolled over and fixed me with a sharp eye.
“Oh . . . well, that’s just . . . great. Congratulations to the two of you.” Victoria didn’t sound thoroughly delighted. Had she been interested in Tolliver herself?
“Let me know the date of the wedding and where you’re registered, okay?” Victoria said, more brightly.
“We haven’t planned that far ahead,” I said, thrown off balance and scrambling to get my conversational feet back under me. “You need to have a word with Tolliver? He’s right here.” Tolliver was shaking his head no, but he took the phone from me with a dour look when Victoria told me she’d like to talk to him.
“Victoria, hey. No, I was awake. Yeah, we’re together. We haven’t set any dates, though. We’ll pick a date soon. No hurry.” And he gave me a significant nod, looking right into my eyes.
Okay, got it, Tolliver. No pressure from you. Except who’d told Iona we were getting married in the first place? I turned my back on him and bent to rummage in my suitcase for clothes.
After a second, I felt a finger stroking in a very interesting place. I froze. Stealth-attack sex. This was something new. My body decided that I liked this, and didn’t pull away and slap Tolliver’s hand. The stroking grew more aggressive, more rhythmic. Oh, oh, oh. I wiggled. Then I felt the warmth of him behind me. Though he was still talking to Victoria, he was sounding more than a little distracted.
“Yeah, I’ll call you back,” he said. “I’ve got another call coming in.”
The phone snapped shut. Something more substantial replaced the fingers.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” I said, and reached out to brace my palms against the wall. And then the sharp upward curve of his penis pushed into me, and we rocked
I had ten little thoughts like this while I got ready for bed. I’d been reading through the novels of Charlie Huston and Duane Swierczynski, but it was like getting a jolt of caffeine if I read either one before bedtime; I definitely didn’t need that tonight. Instead, I opened a crossword puzzle book. I crawled into bed in my soft sleep pants and my T, and I lay on my stomach, absorbed in the crossword. Tolliver was better at them than I was, and it was hard not to ask him questions.
Another exciting night in the life of corpse-reader Harper Connelly , I thought. And I was happy that this was so.
Four
WE were scheduled to take Gracie and Mariella skating that next afternoon, Sunday, but not until two p.m. On Saturday mornings they had to pick up their rooms and do chores before they could go anywhere, and on Sundays they had church and lunch as a family. These were ironclad rules of Iona’s. And not bad ones, I thought. I’d run and showered and was about to dress when Tolliver’s cell phone rang. He’d been lazy and was still in bed, so I answered it.
“Hey, this must be Harper.”
I recognized the voice. “Yeah, Tolliver’s not up yet, Victoria. How’s it going?”
Victoria’s great-grandparents had been the immigrants. Victoria, born and bred in Texas, didn’t have a trace of an accent. “It’s good to talk to you,” she said. “Listen, nothing new on your sister, I’m sorry to say. I’m calling about the clients you-all referred to me. The Joyces.”
“They already got in touch?”
“Honey, they already been here in my office and wrote me a check.”
“Oh, good. But I can’t take any credit for the referral. Tolliver was the one who told them your name and gave them your phone number.”
“That’s what Lizzie said. That woman, she’s Texas all the way through, huh? And the sister, Kate? I think she’s interested in your brother.”
“He’s not my brother,” I said automatically, though I called him that myself about half the time. I took a deep breath. “In fact, we’re engaged,” I said.
Tolliver rolled over and fixed me with a sharp eye.
“Oh . . . well, that’s just . . . great. Congratulations to the two of you.” Victoria didn’t sound thoroughly delighted. Had she been interested in Tolliver herself?
“Let me know the date of the wedding and where you’re registered, okay?” Victoria said, more brightly.
“We haven’t planned that far ahead,” I said, thrown off balance and scrambling to get my conversational feet back under me. “You need to have a word with Tolliver? He’s right here.” Tolliver was shaking his head no, but he took the phone from me with a dour look when Victoria told me she’d like to talk to him.
“Victoria, hey. No, I was awake. Yeah, we’re together. We haven’t set any dates, though. We’ll pick a date soon. No hurry.” And he gave me a significant nod, looking right into my eyes.
Okay, got it, Tolliver. No pressure from you. Except who’d told Iona we were getting married in the first place? I turned my back on him and bent to rummage in my suitcase for clothes.
After a second, I felt a finger stroking in a very interesting place. I froze. Stealth-attack sex. This was something new. My body decided that I liked this, and didn’t pull away and slap Tolliver’s hand. The stroking grew more aggressive, more rhythmic. Oh, oh, oh. I wiggled. Then I felt the warmth of him behind me. Though he was still talking to Victoria, he was sounding more than a little distracted.
“Yeah, I’ll call you back,” he said. “I’ve got another call coming in.”
The phone snapped shut. Something more substantial replaced the fingers.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” I said, and reached out to brace my palms against the wall. And then the sharp upward curve of his penis pushed into me, and we rocked
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