Death's Excellent Vacation - By Charlaine Harris & Toni L. P. Kelner Page 0,50
in these circumstances.
“Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been looking. It’s just . . . well, I’m just not used to seeing anyone else here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Angela.”
“Hi, I’m—”
“Philip,” she interrupted.
“Have we met?”
“Oh, no. I just arrived in town yesterday. But the village is buzzing with gossip about the two”—she made air quotes—“ ‘big-city fellows’ who moved into the Bay.”
He had a hard time imagining Clam Bay buzzing. The cashier was sitting slouched by the front of the store, motionless, staring out the window.
Angela moved past him and headed toward the register. He hadn’t finished his shopping, but he followed her. “So what brings you to Clam Bay?” he asked.
“Just visiting my mother.”
That surprised him. She didn’t have the look of someone born here. She wasn’t gorgeous. Or even especially attractive. In a different place, she might even be on the pretty side of plain. But here, in this place, she was a knockout. How the gene pool worked that one out, he couldn’t figure.
“I was adopted,” she said. “That’s what you were thinking, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, was it that obvious?”
“No, but it’s the first thought any outsider should probably have. So how about you?” she asked. “Why did you and your”—she broke out the air quotes again—“ ‘life partner’ decide to move to Clam Bay?”
“Not really a good reason for it, I guess. Just bad judgment on . . . Wait. What did you call us?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She blushed. “Was that the wrong term? I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You think . . . Uh, we’re not gay.”
She laughed. “Oh, it’s all right. Nobody here cares about something like that. We’re pretty tolerant of alternative lifestyles.”
“We’re not gay,” he said with a little more force than intended. “We’re just friends.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriends?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Confirmed bachelors?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Not confirmed,” he replied.
“So two single guys from the big city move to our little town and open a bed-and-breakfast. But you’re not gay.”
“We’re just friends,” he said.
“Right. Because straight men open bed-and-breakfasts all the time.”
“These straight men did.”
“Straight men named Philip and Vance.”
He wanted to argue, but he was suddenly beginning to question it himself. The thought was so distracting that he barely noticed when she ended the conversation and bid him farewell.
VANCE took the news of their “big-city fellows” status better than Philip. Probably because it turned out that he actually was gay.
“You’re what?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” said Vance, “but I’d say it’s seventy-thirty for it.”
“But I’ve seen you with women.”
“That would be the thirty part of the equation,” said Vance as he sipped his coffee.
“Oh my God. That’s why you agreed to do this with me. You think I’m gay, too!”
Vance chuckled. “Dude, you’re not gay.”
“I know I’m not, but do you know I’m not?”
“I’d say ninety-two-eight on the straight side,” said Vance.
“How the hell—”
“They’ve made some terrific advances in gaydar, dude.”
Philip laid his head on the table and thought about it for a while. “So eight percent gay?”
“Remember that week you went around humming ‘Hello, Dolly’?”
“That’s worth eight percent?”
“That, and the fact that you did want to open a bed-and-breakfast. Even I had my doubts when I first heard you mention the idea.”
“Bed-and-breakfasts are not an innately gay enterprise,” countered Philip.
“Fair enough,” said Vance. “But I wouldn’t lay odds on many single straight guys who start these things up.”
“But—”
“I don’t make the rules, dude. I just get them from the website.”
“So if you don’t think I’m gay, why did you agree to do this with me?”
“For the reason I originally said,” replied Vance. “I’d just lost my job, had nothing holding me in the city, and it sounded like something to do.”
“And that’s it?”
Vance shook his head. “Philly, I love you, buddy. I do. But you’re not my type.”
“I’m not?”
“What? Are you insulted?”
Philip was pondering that when the front door jingled. He didn’t know how he still managed to get excited at the sound. It never meant a tourist looking for a room. It had been raining for the last few hours, a slick, frozen rain that made the roads hard to travel. So maybe someone had to stop, and the Nook was the only place convenient. It was a long shot, but he peeked out into the foyer with a smidgen of hope.
It was Angela. Although she wasn’t a tourist, she wasn’t an unwelcome sight. He introduced Vance.
“This is my friend Vance,” he said, hitting the friend part hard. “My good friend Vance.”
Angela and Vance exchanged smirking glances. And he could