SURVIVING SAVANNAH: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK 16) by Honey Palomino (buy e reader TXT) 📕

“No,” I asked, curious. Usually women with tits like that were always the type of men like him. “Why not?”

“Well, she’s dead, first of all.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure she is,” I agreed. “But still…”

“I’ve just heard too many stories about her, I suppose,” he said. His voice had that slight drawl that I’d heard in many of the people here. “She scares the shit out of me.”

“It’s just a painting, man,” I said.

“Zelda?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Just a painting? Dude, be careful, she’ll hear you say that, and you do not want to catch Zelda’s attention.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “C’mon, man, you don’t have to sell me on the tourist-trap folklore.”

He looked at me with genuine worry. “Like, seriously dude, stop.”

“What is Zelda gonna do to you if you tell me the truth?”

“I am telling you the truth. The question is what is Zelda going to do to you for questioning her?”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, giving in. “What’s the story? Do I need to look it up on your webpage or something? Rate my ghost experience on yelp or trip advisor?”

“You can laugh all you want, man. You’re the one staying here. You’re the one that will have to deal with the consequences.”

“Jesus, dude. So ominous,” I said, downing the shot and letting my gaze travel back up to Zelda’s black-as-night eyes.

“I see you, mama,” I winked at Zelda, with a small laugh. The candle in front of me flickered and the dude behind the bar jumped, shook his head, and then quickly walked away.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and still, I shook my head and laughed. Was I being brazen in the face of a ghost? Who cared? What was I gonna do, run away like a little boy?

The booze had given me confidence I hadn’t had earlier when I checked in. But now that it was nighttime and the whole place was lit up in soft lighting, the flames of candles flickering and reflecting on the polished woodwork of the tables and walls and floors, the fire dancing in the fireplace, the vibe was definitely spookier.

With the oversized portrait of the woman towering over the mantle, the warnings from the bartender and Pearl, there was no denying it was good schtick. Those kid’s voices they warned about were probably piped in through the vents or something.

I laughed up at Zelda, shaking my head. I threw a hundred dollar bill down on the counter, and sauntered out of the house. Wandering out onto the street for a smoke, I decided to wander over to the park across the street.

Another man was standing under a big tree, near a beautifully carved marble fountain and he waved over at me.

“Good evening,” he said, tipping his hat my way like he was in a classic movie or something. He was dressed the part, too, with his three-piece pinstripe suit and shiny leather shoes.

“Hey,” I said, lighting up my cigarette.

“You’re staying across the street?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I nodded, taking a big drag and letting it out, the smoke billowing around us and hanging in the heavy hot night air.

“Did you meet Zelda yet?”

I laughed and nodded. “I just saw her portrait.”

“Such a shame, those kids were her life,” he said.

“Kids?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear the story yet?”

“Not really, no,” I replied.

“Zelda originally owned the house. Her husband built it for her, before it was turned into a Bed and Breakfast — but after, well, you know — the deaths.”

He whispered the last two words, drawing them out with a slow drawl, and I was beginning to wonder if he was a part of the shtick, too.

“Tell me more,” I prodded.

He nodded, pausing and staring over at the house before taking a deep breath. “Kids get bored, you know? There’s only so much to do in this town, and back then, there was even less. And they didn’t know. It wasn’t their fault.”

His eyes trailed up, and I followed his gaze to see he was staring up at the chimneys, a small stream of smoke floating out of each of them. The house was beautiful and old and elaborate, with round balconies looking out over the park, and the large brick chimneys flanking both sides of the house.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? And to think that such tragedies occurred there.”

I waited for him to continue, but he just stared off into the distance, as if he was reliving whatever he was thinking about. I stared up at the moon, full and hanging heavy over our heads, and the stillness in the air was as peaceful as it was unsteadying for my anxious mind.

“So, what happened?”

He nodded, again, blinking. For a moment I thought he would break out in tears, but he spoke again.

“Zelda had gone to the market for milk, leaving the children alone for a moment. Her husband had died in the war a year prior, leaving her to raise the children alone. But while she was out, she ran into Helen, her childhood friend, and they spoke in the park for a few moments. And then she stopped by the post office to mail a postcard to her sister, Beverly. But of course, it was impossible to get out of the post office without spending at least half an hour catching up with old man Henry. And then, the sunshine seduced her and she spent another bit of time wandering around the cemetery after visiting her husband’s grave. When she finally arrived back home…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, his eyes distant and far-away.

I thought of the woman in the painting, with her dark eyes that had probably been so full of life at one time.

“The kids were playing. They were so precocious.” He shook his head again, his voice was so faint that I could barely hear him now. “I remember once little Robert decided he was going to try to fly off the