Stardust: A Novel by Stewart Carla

Author:Stewart, Carla [Stewart, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC042000
ISBN: 9781455504299
Publisher: Hachette Book Group
Published: 2012-05-15T05:00:00+00:00

My dreams came in fits and spurts that night. No matter what position I tried, I couldn’t sleep. And then when I did, everything was twisted and bizarre. I blamed Mary Frances, but the rain pounding the windows might’ve been partially responsible. Oddly enough, the girls didn’t come running into my bed as they usually did even though fierce streaks of lightning lit up the windows. Thunderclaps shook the walls, and with each one, a vision of O’Dell being swept through the bayou, the water engorging his body, leaching it of all its color, ricocheted through me.

I got up and put the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea. Worrying the sheets into tangles certainly hadn’t helped. And whatever O’Dell intended to tell his mother now rested in the bosom of the bayou—bobbing along the dark waters among the cypress.

I’d nearly finished my tea when the buzzer sounded in the office. Who on earth would be out on a night like this? I started to ignore it, then thought better of it. What if it was Mary Frances? Or someone in need of a dry spot to get in out of the rain? Aunt Cora’s warnings of all the awful things that could happen zipped through my mind, but I grabbed my robe and went to open the door.

A man of sixty or so ducked in the door, his hair plastered to his head, clothes sopping wet. “Sorry to be so late.” He took a good look at me, then stammered, “Y-you… you’re not Doreen. Or Paddy. Mighty sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to bust right on in.”

“It’s fine. I’m Georgia Peyton.”

“Are you open? The light was on. I got a late start, didn’t figure on the rain being so blasted hard. Only thing that kept me from running my car into the bar ditch was seeing the neon sign.”

“I’m glad it was a beacon for you. Are you a friend of the Palmers?”

“Of sorts. I reserve a room for every weekend during the summer starting with Memorial weekend. Didn’t Doreen tell you?”

“No.” I told him about Paddy’s passing and Doreen moving to Oklahoma. That I was the new owner.

“So sorry to hear about Paddy. Fine fellow. Any chance you have a room?”

“Two left. Take your pick. Number one or nine.”

“Nine suits me. I can show myself in.”

He fished a wad of bills from his wallet and passed them over to me. “We’ll settle the bill later. I’m ready to get these wet things off and get some shut-eye. The fish’ll be biting like piranhas at first light with the bayou stirred up like this.” He took the key, scribbled his name in the guest log, and showed himself out. He’d written Malcolm Overstreet, a name I didn’t recognize. Oh, well. He’d paid me a hefty amount. I gave him time to get to his car before I turned out the porch light.

One cottage left. It wasn’t a matter of pride. I was merely doing what I was meant to do—provide a spot for weary bodies and happy vacationers.

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