Siobhán and Gabhain at 241 Harper's Cove Read online

  Siobhán and Gabhain at 241 Harper's Cove

  Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  Also by Deanndra Hall

  Siobhan and Gabhain at 241 Harper’s Cove

  Harper’s Cove, Book 8

  Copyright 2017 Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 3722

  Paducah, KY 42002-3722

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names of characters, places, and events are the construction of the author, except those locations that are well-known and of general knowledge, and all are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental, and great care was taken to design places, locations, or businesses that fit into the regional landscape without actual identification; as such, resemblance to actual places, locations, or businesses is coincidental. Any mention of a branded item, artistic work, or well-known business establishment, is used for authenticity in the work of fiction and was chosen by the author because of personal preference, its high quality, or the authenticity it lends to the work of fiction; the author has received no remuneration, either monetary or in-kind, for use of said product names, artistic work, or business establishments, and mention is not intended as advertising, nor does it constitute an endorsement. The author is solely responsible for content.

  Cover design & Formatting by:

  Drue Hoffman, Buoni Amici Press.

  Disclaimer:

  Material in this work of fiction is of a graphic sexual nature and is not intended for audiences under 18 years of age.

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Everyone wants to see Gloria get her just desserts. No one wants that more than I do. I’ve just about had my fill of the neighborhood busybody, haven’t you?

  But even though I’ve been planning this out for months, I have a feeling I’m going to run into some surprises here. I can barely wait to find out what they are! And I’ll also be a bit sad to see her go, although I doubt her neighbors will share that sentiment.

  So sit back, get something to drink, and dive in. You’ve never seen an ending like this!

  Love and happy reading,

  Deanndra

  To Gloria (and all the neighbors like her)

  We all love to hate you, but it’s deeply satisfying to know that you’ve gotten your just desserts. Just remember: As long as we know you’re watching, we’ll keep giving you something to stare at.

  ― Deanndra

  1

  Siobhán

  I keep thinking that someday we’ll make enough money to rent another space to work in and not have to use parts of the house as a studio. Gabhain says he thinks we will by next year. The projections we got from the distributor look good, and their representative said if we’ll do a couple of trade conventions this year, she bets we’ll hit it big before the end of the year. I just want to rent a building and not have people traipsing in and out of our house.

  Now my main goal is to corral all the crap necessary for work in the basement and two bedrooms. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a bedroom where I can sleep without camera equipment and storyboards and all that shit lying around. I have to have sleep. Everyone does. And I’m tired of sleeping on the sofa in my own house.

  I can hear the guys downstairs beating and banging. When last I looked, they were installing some faux marble columns for a shoot, and I think it’ll look good. My challenge for today is to get an enormous amount of yardage of black velvet. Where they think I’ll get that, I have no idea, but I’m going to try every fabric store and upholstery shop in the area and hope I get lucky.

  By the time I shower, dress, and put on my makeup, it’s nine thirty. Time to get moving. “Babe?” I yell down the stairs. “Babe, I’m leaving! Do you need anything else?”

  “Yeah.” As I stand there, I hear clomping and in a few seconds my gorgeous hunk of a man appears at the bottom of the basement stairs. “Could you get some more of these screws?” he says, handing me some kind of screw. I know nothing about that stuff.

  “So if I show this screw to the guy at the hardware store, he’ll know what it is and get me more?”

  He laughs. I know he’s laughing at me. It’s a big joke, how unhandy I am. “Yes, baby. If you show him that, he’ll know what to give you.”

  “How many?”

  “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a half pound?”

  Now I’m confused. “They don’t sell them by the each?”

  “That would take all day! No. They don’t. Just tell them a half pound, or maybe a box if they come that way,” he says with a grin.

  “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Hey, don’t forget that velvet!” I hear Kelso yell.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it!” I yell back.

  God. They’re so demanding!

  “Do you by any chance have black velvet?” I ask the lady at the fabric store. The place is packed because they’re having some kind of sale. Wish I’d known that―I would’ve come right at dinnertime so everyone would be at home.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s right back there at the back on those long tubes. See it back there?” she asks, pointing.

  “Yes! I sure do. Thank you so much.” When I get back there to look at it, I realize there’s going to be plenty here. No one else wants black velvet, so the roll is almost full. I pull it from the rack and, boy, that shit’s heavy! By the time I get to the cutting table, I’m gasping for breath. Doesn’t help that I’ve got on four inch heels. I just lean it up against the edge of the table and stand there.

  After helping about ten other ladies, the woman at the cutting table asks, “How much of that do you want?”

  “All of it.”

  She gives me this crazy look. “All of it? Do you realize how much is on this roll?”

  “No, but I want all of it,” I repeat.

  “What in the world are you going to do with all that black velvet?” she asks. Here comes the interesting part, the one where I lie through my teeth.

  “I work with movie sets and I’ve got to have it for a set,” I explain. That’s not a lie. That’s exactly what I’m going to do with it. Of course, I don’t add that I need all the extra because before we can get through the filming, some of it is bound to be ruined by jiz and lube. She doesn’t need to know that.

  “Oh, this stuff is great for draperies for historical plays and the like. You know, like Gone with the Wind and things like that,” she says, unrolling it from the tube and counting as she does.

  Gone with the Wind. Oh, yeah. That’s the kind of thing I’m doing—if Scarlet and Rhett had stripped and fucked each other’s brains out. My mother would be so proud. Kidding. I just say, “Yeah, that’s the plan. Draperies.”

  When she finishes, she says, “Twenty-five yards. My, this is heavy.” She hands me a ticket and the fabric, and I almost drop it because it weighs so much.

  “It is heavy! Thank you,” I manage to sputter from behind the enormous stack of folded fabric. By the time I get to the cash register, I almo
st drop it. I have to wait for the women in line in front of me, and then I plop it down, take out my card, pay for it, and head out of the store.

  My next stop is the hardware store. There’s a guy in the fasteners department—turns out that’s what it’s called—and I stop him and show him the screws. “Oh, yeah. Those are drywall screws. People use them for all kinds of things because of those wide threads. They work well for a lot of applications.” He stops in the aisle and turns to me. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Oh, shit. Here we go. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been in here before,” I say, knowing that eventually he’s going to put it together.

  Starting again, he steps straight up to the screws, then looks at a few of the boxes. “Here ya go. It’s a half-pound box.”

  “That’s exactly what he asked for,” I tell him, happy to have found what Gabhain was wanting.

  “Great.” He stands there for a minute, then says, “I know I’ve seen you somewhere.”

  I just shrug. Maybe if he remembers, it’ll be after I’ve left. “Well, thanks for the screws,” I say, turning to leave. And then it happens.

  “You look just like this woman in these porn movies I’ve seen,” he announces. When I turn to look at him again, he’s grinning. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  God, I’m so tired of that shit, but I’m not going to deny it. I’m just not going to confirm it. “You know, they say everybody has a little porn star in them.”

  “If that was you,” he whispers, leaning in as if on a covert mission, “I especially liked the one where you got it from two guys at the ski lodge.”

  Oh, yes. The Snow Bunny’s Holiday. I loved shooting that one. It was great. It was Gabhain and Steven Morris, a veteran in the business. And Steven’s hung. Yum. “If I meet that porn actress, I’ll tell her what you said,” I say with a laugh.

  “You do that!” he calls to me as I walk away.

  Seriously. Do they really think I’m going to stand in the store and talk to them about getting fucked by two guys on camera? Not happening. I pay for my screws and think how ironic it is that I came to the hardware store and got screwed by being recognized in the fasteners department.

  I park in front of the house and just happen to look up as I pull my keys out of the ignition. There, on my sidewalk, is that nosy old biddy who lives down in the three hundred block. Gladys? No, Gloria. Some of the neighbors warned me about her. Great, just great. “Hello there!” she sings out as I step out of the van. “Just wanted to say hello. Haven’t seen you out. Thought I’d just stop by and say hello.”

  “Thank you. That’s so kind of you,” I tell her. “I’ll pass along your greeting to my husband.”

  She nods, still grinning like a monkey. “Yes, your husband! I’ve seen several guys coming and going here. So which one is your husband?”

  “He’s the tall one. Really tall and broad-shouldered.” I’m trying to get the stuff out of the van, but it’s hard because she’s between me and the back door of the van and it’s all there on the back seat. “I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to get inside, if you’ll excuse me,” I say, trying to move past her.

  She doesn’t give up that easily. “So what exactly do you do, Sib-HAN?”

  “That’s Shi-VAwn,” I say, correcting her pronunciation. “My husband’s name is GAH-vun.” I don’t tell her our names at birth were Sharon and Gary. That’s information she really doesn’t need.

  “Oh, excuse me. I saw your names on the mailbox,” she says, her face turning slightly red.

  “Common mistake. And to answer your question, we’re photographers.” Well, that’s not exactly a lie. We do take pictures―moving pictures. I’m just not going to tell her of what.

  “What kind of photography do you do?”

  Think, Siobhán! I tell myself. “We do some fashion photography, and we also do fitness models.”

  “THAT explains all those young men and women! My, they’re a handsome bunch!” she says.

  She’s been watching us. How nice.

  “Yes, well, I suppose I should get inside. I’ve got things to do,” I tell her, struggling to get around her to open the back door of the van. “Nice seeing you, but I really have to get these things inside,” I tell her and manage to squeeze myself between her and the van. “The guys will be looking for this stuff.” I grab the box of screws, shove them into my bag, and then reach for the huge, folded yardage of velvet.”

  The minute I pull that velvet out of the van, I realize I’ve made a huge mistake. “Oh my goodness! What on earth are you going to use that for?” she almost squeals.

  Think! Think! “We work with community theater,” is what comes out.

  Her eyes narrow. “Really? How long have you been doing that? I used to go to a lot of the plays they did down there, and I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Actually, we’re working with a different theater. Down in Hastings,” I explain, hoping to god they really have one.

  “Oh. I see. Well, can I help you with that?”

  The shaking has already started in my arms from the sheer weight of the stuff, and I’m desperate to get inside. “Oh, no, thanks. I’ve got it. Really.” I struggle toward the door, and then she rushes past me.

  “Oh, here, let me get the door,” she says, darting up the steps. I don’t want her in my house, and yet I think that’s exactly where she’s going.

  “No, really, you don’t have to―”

  “Hey! Wondered how far out you were. Here—let me take that,” Gabhain says as he steps out onto the porch and reaches for the folded stack of fabric. A cheesy grin is stretched across his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s been watching this fiasco unfolding from the front window.

  “Thank you, baby! And thank you, Gloria,” I say, proud of myself for remembering her name. I’d just as soon forget it.

  “You’re welcome. So good to see you!” she says and waves. “Hope to see you again soon!”

  “Thanks!” I call back and close the door behind me. “Dear god, were you watching out the window?”

  He belly laughs. “Yeah! It was pretty funny!”

  “No. It wasn’t,” I bark and drop my purse on the sofa. “It wasn’t funny at all.”

  “Yeah, actually, it was. But I’m sorry,” he says and leans toward me for a kiss.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get to experience the craziness that is Gloria soon enough, I’m sure.” I pull the box of screws from my bag and hand them to him. “Are these right?”

  “Perfect! Oh, and Jeremiah called. They’ll all be here by Friday,” he says as he grabs the box of screws and heads down the basement stairs.

  Friday. I can barely wait!

  Gloria

  I finally got a chance to talk to that McAllister woman today. She seems nice enough. But I’m sure there’s something going on over there.

  It’s a nice house. I was just telling Russell that the other day. I remember when it was built and how happy the Andersons were to live there while their kids were growing up. Then they moved to be closer to his parents and it’s just had one owner after another until now. Makes me wonder how long these new people will be there.

  When I step back into the house, Russell is nowhere to be found. There’s a note on the table: “Gone to the hardware store. Back in 30.” Thirty minutes? Thirty days? Thirty years? He’s never home anymore, I swear. I don’t know why he can’t stay put.

  It’s at least one thirty. I think I’m going to have a little refreshment. There’s pomegranate juice in the fridge, and orange juice, and vodka in the drawer with the dish towels. I keep it there for safekeeping, in case some kids come in or something. You just never know who’ll turn up at your door these days, and I wouldn’t want the wrong person getting hold of it.

  And wouldn’t you know it, I just get mine mixed and Russell walks in. “I just made myself something to drink. Want one?” I say and show him my glass.

  “It’s not even five o’clock. Rea
lly? No. I don’t want something like that,” he snaps.

  “It’s just pomegranate juice and orange juice,” I tell him, praying he doesn’t ask to sip mine.

  He just gives me that look of his that seems to go right through me. “Let me have a sip of yours.”

  Oh, lord, here we go. I hand it to him and he takes a little sip. Then he says, “Good god, Gloria, don’t get near a flame.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I just had a tiny little bit. Almost nothing,” I tell him.

  “Your ‘almost nothing’ is everybody else’s ‘holy shit, I’m getting schnockered,’” he says in this snotty tone that makes me want to scream. “I’ve told you to lay off, but I swear to god, I think you’re getting worse.”

  I need to change the subject. This is a conversation I’m tired of. He just doesn’t understand, and it’s not like I drink all the time. “Hey, guess who I talked to today?”

  He reaches into the fridge, gets out a soda, and then turns to me. “I have no idea. Who?”

  “That nice lady down there in two forty-one. Siobhán McAllister.”

  He just shakes his head. “Don’t tell me—they’re doing something nasty down there. Am I right?”

  “Well,” I retort, almost snorting, “matter of fact, I’m pretty sure they are.”

  “What makes you so sure?” he asks me, his brow dropping.

  “Because there are two men living there. Two. And because she was carrying in a huge bundle of black velvet!”