The Haunted Caretaker by Gordon Phillips

Author:Gordon Phillips [Phillips, Gordon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2018-12-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8: About Henry

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “What say we raid the main pantry?”

“What?”

“It’s okay. I got permission to take what I like.”

So we went down into the big kitchen and the adjacent pantry, which was really several rooms, including a walk-in freezer.

I followed him in, distracted again by that Perfect Ass.

“Pick out whatever takes your fancy,” he said.

I almost laughed. But I knew he meant to choose from the food on the shelves. Twenty minutes later we were carrying our booty to the door of the manor house.

“Now I’ll really show you what I can do,” Hank said as he locked the door.

“I can’t wait,” I said.

We headed off and I let him lead, so that I could enjoy the view. The phrase “whatever takes your fancy” came back into my head, virtually pornographic. It made me wonder, however, whether a big hunk like Hank had ever taken it up the duff. I didn’t want to be presumptuous.

“As he locked the door of the manor house, Hank asked me without turning around, “What you going to do, anyway? Call for a tow truck?”

“I’m a Triple-A member,” I said. “They should be able to winch the car back onto the road.”

“Yeah, but it’s totaled.”

“Right. Well, maybe I could rent a car. Do they have a car rental place in town?”

“Not there. But in Adamstown, twenty miles further, near the freeway. I could—drive you there, if you like.”

I almost said, If it’s no trouble, but it struck me that those were empty, unreal “social” words. So I said, “Thanks! I would very much appreciate that.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

* * * *

Back at the cottage, I assisted with some of the food prep, chopping onions, that sort of thing. Working with Hank was pleasurable, and not only because just being in his proximity was a slightly heady experience—and the occasional brushes, touches of hands that are inevitable with two people working in a limited space, were quietly thrilling. Even better, Hank was just a good co-worker, never bossy, angry, or critical.

As a result of the experience, I found myself wondering what it would be like living here with Hank. Rustic, yes, but we could explore more of the kind of things he liked to do in the bedroom (or elsewhere). Speaking for myself, I was pretty much willing to do almost anything, if it was with him.

* * * *

The dinner turned out to be as excellent as the lunch, and after doing the dishes we sat in front of the fire, Hank in his armchair, me in one of the wooden chairs. He lit his pipe and we shared a companionable silence for a while, until my curiosity began to start working.

“What was his—the son up at the manor house—name?”

Hank looked startled and a little affronted at first, but then he shrugged. “Henry,” he said, and his voice had a cracked sound. I registered this and felt bad I had brought up the subject.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He looked up again and frowned.

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