Free The Guest House by Erika Marks

than in their finding him.
    He came down the servants’ stairwell and felt the wall for the light. Throwing the switch, he bathed the room in a flickering yellow and sucked in a startled breath to find his father’s college roommate standing at the counter with a hand clenched at his breast pocket.
    “Uncle Jim?”
    James Masterson released himself and laughed. “I’m just glad I got this on solid ground,” he said in his familiar drawl, patting the bag of groceries beside him. “Five seconds earlier and we’d be mopping up my old friend Bushmills with a towel.”
    Cooper grinned. “Then squeezing that towel into a pair of glasses, right?”
    “Yes sir,” said Jim, tugging out the bottle. “This is hundred-dollar bourbon.”
    Jim gestured to Cooper’s lack of a shirt, then pointed to the ceiling and chuckled. “I sure hope I didn’t get you in the middle of something.”
    “There’s no one here but me.”
    “For now, anyway.” Jim brandished the bottle. “Join me?”
    “Sure. I’ll see if I can find us a couple of glasses.”
    Cooper crossed to the butler’s pantry and jerked on the overhead’s chain, squinting against the bare bulb’s harsh light. He surveyed the scattering of leftover glasses and dishware in the cabinets, a pale collection compared to the deep, tidy rows of goblets and china he recalled from his youth.
    “Sorry for scaring you, son,” Jim called. “Your brother was supposed to tell you I was coming up.”
    “Hud and I don’t talk much,” Cooper answered, his fingers drifting wistfully over the mismatched lineup, finally landing on a pair of juice glasses.
    “So Florence tells me.”
    Cooper tugged the light off and exited the pantry to discover that Jim had already taken a seat at the breakfast table.
    “How in the world did you find this place?” Cooper asked, pulling out a chair for himself and setting the glasses down. “It’s hard enough in daylight.”
    “Oh, I’ve been here before,” Jim said, pouring them each a generous serving and handing one to Cooper. “Your daddy brought me here for a month the summer after our senior year at Duke. It was to be our last big hurrah before joining the ranks. Cheers.”
    “Cheers.” Cooper clinked his glass against Jim’s and they each took slow sips. Cooper watched the older man a moment as he swallowed his bourbon, thinking he hadn’t aged. Jim Masterson still managed that same crooked smile, the same boyish mop of curly hair, almost all white now—the only evidence to indicate his years.
    Jim set down his glass and sighed. “Okay, here’s the bad news: Your mother doesn’t want to wait till September to put it up for sale.”
    Cooper nodded. “I figured she’d say that. So much for my summer plans.”
    “Now hold on.” Jim raised his palm. “I wouldn’t pack up just yet. Between you and me, it’s not going to happen as fast as Florence thinks. I can tell you right now we’re weeks away from getting this listed. Have you seen the guest house yet? The last report from the caretaker said it suffered water damage over the winter. We’ll have to see to that repair—and who knows what else,” Jim added, glancing warily around the room.
    “You know how she gets, Uncle Jim,” Cooper said, sitting back. “She’ll be on the next plane with a team of Realtors if you tell her that.”
    “She’s welcome to try. But I know more about the market than she does, and I know this house won’t sell for nearly what it’s worth, looking like this. But enough about her . . .” Jim sat forward, tapped the table affirmatively with his glass, and said, “When do I get to read the next Tide McGill mystery?”
    “I’m not sure.” Cooper rolled his glass in his palm. “I’ve been thinking maybe Tide needs to take a vacation for a little while. Maybe let someone else’s story fill the pages.”
    “Any ideas?”
    “None I’m particularly excited about.” Cooper studied his last sip before downing it. “I’m