LITMIR.BIZ

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He made two turns to take him into the neighborhood where he’d grown up.

      It appeared as if nothing had changed in the time he’d been gone. Only when he noticed a lot of new construction at the top of a hill behind his neighborhood did he realize something was about to change in the tiny town.

      At the sight of the neat white ranch house with black shutters and a butterfly wind chime hanging off the edge of the small porch, his heart fluttered with grief. He pulled into the driveway and parked and wished that the past two years had been different.

      He didn’t bother taking anything from his saddlebags. He had plenty of time to unpack what few things he’d brought with him. He climbed off the bike, set his helmet on the seat and then headed for the front door.

      As he stepped up on the porch the door swung open and Jimmy Tambor pulled him into a bro hug. “I’m sorry, Bo. I’m so damned sorry,” he said and released Bo.

      “Thanks,” Bo said woodenly.

      “If it’s any consolation at all, the doctor thinks it happened in her sleep,” Jimmy replied. “She just went to bed as usual and I found her in the morning. I don’t think she suffered.”

      Bo hoped that was the case. His mother had suffered enough five years ago when his father had passed away in a car accident. At that time Bo had feared his mother would grieve herself to death.

      Jimmy had moved into the house when Bo had left town. Bo had wanted somebody he trusted to be there for his mother while he couldn’t be.

      “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for her since I left town,” Bo finally said.

      “You know she was like a mother to me, too,” Jimmy replied, his brown eyes a perfect match for the thatch of unruly hair on his head. “Come on, let’s get out of the heat. I’ve got a couple of cold beers in the fridge with our names on them.”

      Bo stepped into the house behind Jimmy, and the first thing he noticed was the lack of scent. Even on the day Bo had left town the house had smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

      His mother had loved to cook and bake, and never had Bo been in the house when the fragrance of her labors hadn’t filled the air. It was then that his true grief began.

      The pain stabbed him through his heart, leaving him momentarily breathless. He’d felt pain this deep only once before in his life and that had been on the night two years ago that Shelly Sinclair had been found murdered, her body floating in the lagoon.

      He sucked it up and stuffed it down, knowing the time to truly grieve would come later, when he was all alone. He followed Jimmy through the spotlessly clean living room and into the kitchen. Jimmy pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and Bo sat at the round wooden table where he’d spent most of his life eating meals with his mother and father.

      When his father died, Bo had moved from his apartment on the third floor of his business and back into the house with his mother. He hadn’t wanted her alone with her grief, and the return to his childhood home had gone seamlessly.

      Jimmy set one bottle of beer in front of Bo and then sat with his own bottle across from his friend. They unscrewed lids and each took a drink. Jimmy set his bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair.

      “There will be a simple graveside service tomorrow at three,” he said. “Your mother had all the arrangements already made. When I moved in here she told me where to find her important paperwork and that she’d left a will with Grey Davis. I’m sure he’ll want you to get in touch with him.”

      Bo waved a hand and took another drink of his beer. “I’ll get in touch with him sometime after tomorrow’s service.”

      “How long are you planning on staying?”

      “As briefly as possible,” Bo replied. “I stopped by George’s place to get a burger on the way in. He refused to serve me.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

      “You want a sandwich? I’ve got some ham and cheese.” Jimmy started to rise from his chair but Bo waved him back down.

      “Actually, I was getting ready to pull away from George’s and some pretty blonde woman ran out with a burger and fries for me.” Bo thought of the warmth of her smile and figured she must be new to town and didn’t know that he was the prime suspect in his girlfriend’s murder.

      “Curly hair?” Jimmy asked.

      “And long legs,” Bo replied.

      “That would be Claire Silver.”

      “Is she new in town?”

      Jimmy shook his head. “No, she’s been here all her life. She’s three or four years younger than us, so you probably just never noticed her.”

      Bo took another sip of his beer, mentally acknowledging Jimmy’s words. From the time he was seventeen, he hadn’t noticed any other girl except Shelly Sinclair. Shelly had been his high school crush, then his girlfriend, then his lover and finally a murder victim.

      “I’m assuming things are going well at the bar,” Bo said, needing to get thoughts of the past out of his head.

      “Business is booming, but you should know that by the profits we’re turning. In fact, I should probably get out of here pretty quickly because the dinner rush usually starts soon. I just wanted to be here when you arrived. I didn’t want you walking into an empty house.”

      “I appreciate that,” Bo replied.

      “I’ve still got all my things in the guest bedroom. I plan to rent an apartment, but haven’t had a chance to get it done yet. If you could give me a couple of days...” Jimmy let his voice trail off.

      “There’s no reason why you can’t continue to stay here. I’ll only be here maybe a week at the most. The house is paid for and at this point I don’t need to sell it.”

      “We’ll see how you feel about it later,” Jimmy replied. He finished his beer and stood. “I’ll be back here around three or so. I’ll try to be quiet so I don’t wake you.”

      Bo stood to walk his friend to the door. “Hope you have a good night.”

      Jimmy flashed him a boyish grin. “Every night is a good night at Jimmy’s Place. We’ll talk more sometime tomorrow.” He gave Bo a clap on the shoulder and then left the house.

      Bo went into the living room and slumped down on one end of the sofa. Jimmy’s Place. It had actually been Bo’s Place before the murder. During the late afternoons and early evenings, families had filled the dining room, drawn to the good food, the reasonable prices and the atmosphere of community and goodwill. At ten, the diners had mostly gone and the drinkers and partiers arrived.

      It was only after Bo had been named as the number-one suspect in Shelly’s murder that the families stopped coming in and even the staunchest alcoholic refused to frequent the place.

      Within a week Bo had become a pariah in town with only his mother and Jimmy sticking by his side. There had been no evidence to warrant Bo’s arrest, but in the eyes of Lost Lagoon he’d been deemed guilty and judged as such.

      A month after Shelly’s murder it had been his mother who had urged him to get out of town, to start fresh someplace else.

      With his life and business in shambles and the woman he’d loved dead, Bo had finally left Lost Lagoon.

      Although he still owned what had once been Bo’s Place, as far as everyone in town knew, Jimmy had bought the place, and under the new name, business was once again booming.

      Bo snagged a second beer from the refrigerator and then spent the next hour sipping his drink and wandering the house. Little had changed. The bedroom where he had stayed while he’d lived here looked as if he’d just stepped out for a meal rather than been gone for so long. The smaller guest bedroom held signs of Jimmy’s takeover. The closet door hung open, displaying

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