January Thaw (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries) by Jess Lourey

closed for the day, I imagined the Prospect House had stayed open, probably drawing even more visitors as news of the nearby tragedy spread. They were scheduled to close for the day right about now, and all the vehicles crawling in front of me suggested they were right on time.
    I pounded on the steering wheel. I didn’t ask for a lot out of life, but after the last twenty-four hours I had, I was worried about my mental state if this night with Johnny crashed and burned.
    My brain scrambled to make the best of my current circumstances. If I could make it home in ten minutes, and Johnny wasn’t early, that would give me exactly thirteen minutes to retrieve my machete and have a go at my legs before switching into the peach-colored, lacy push-up bra I’d bought in Alexandria last week. It made me look as though I had B cups, which was arguably a bait-and-switch if tonight went how I hoped it would, but nobody expects the real thing to drive like the display model, right?
    I finally passed the clogged traffic and careened a sharp right onto the gravel. This was a shortcut in terms of miles, but since I usually drove half-speed on the back roads, it took longer. Not today. I squealed around corners, sliding across the ice and staying shy of the ditch with the help of spit and luck. As I turned into my nearly mile-long driveway, I saw I had carved two minutes off my best drive-home time. Excellent work! I might even be able to apply lip gloss and empty the bathroom garbage so as to hide that I had bodily functions.
    I was even beginning to smile as I turned the final corner and pulled into the circle loop in front of Sunny’s doublewide.
    That smile lasted right up until I spotted Johnny’s truck.
    He was early.

Nine
    Sunny’s place was beautiful—a double-wide trailer plopped near a pristine little lake nestled in the middle of a hundred acres of untouched hardwood forest. Her sweet red barn and matching sheds stood like comfortable sentries, and her cozy doublewide with its gray siding and maroon shutters faced the frozen water. Normally, living here made me feel both connected and independent, carving out my existence on some of the prettiest land in the Midwest. At the moment, however, it was the last place on earth I wanted to be. I considered turning right around and driving back into town, buying a pack of disposable razors at Larry’s, and shaving myself in their bathroom.
    That still left the granny bra.
    Curse words!
    When I’d decided that it was time to make myself more open to Johnny, I didn’t mean open to revulsion. Of course he’d be too kind to say anything, but when he pulled off my shirt or slid his hand down my pants, it’d be written all over his face. Horror. Doubt. Curiosity as to when things had gone so undeniably wrong in his life.
    I pulled alongside his 1971 Chevy truck, rebuilt from a junker to a beauty. It was solid and stable, just like Johnny. I sighed. No way could I leave him alone in my house and worrying about me as the hour grew later, even if the alternative meant exposing him to baseline me. I turned off the car, got out, and dragged my feet up the walk to my front door. Normally, I loved this short walk. Right now, it felt like the green mile.
    I opened the door, in the back of my mind still hoping for some way out of this. That’s when it came to me. I could just dart into the bathroom, right? Tell Johnny that I wanted to slip into something more comfortable, and once the bedroom door was closed, I could sneak into the bathroom to shave my legs, switch out my bra, and hide the brush cleanings and Q-tips in the garbage under some clean but strategically crumpled tissues. It’d be perfect! I opened the door with a smile on my face.
    I was greeted by Johnny, with an equally large smile on his.
    Unfortunately—given my present circumstances—a smile was all he wore.

Ten
    Johnny was standing in the kitchen, the living room and a center island the only thing separating us. The