Sedona Law 5 by Dave Daren (romantic novels in english .TXT) 📕

give it a rest. We’ve got dinner at The Count’s.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “and we’ve got a whole lotta nothing to tell him.”

Chapter 7

“Why does this address sound so familiar?” I asked Vicki as we drove out to The Count’s house.

“Because we’ve been there before,” she replied.

I frowned. “When?”

“Uh, you’ll see when we get there,” she said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound cryptic at all,” I muttered.

“Well,” she chuckled, “we’re only going to dinner with a man that’s under investigation for murder. I think cryptic is appropriate.”

“Oh, that makes it totally less scary,” I added.

The GPS announced our arrival, and then I knew exactly when we’d been here. We were parked at the end of a suburban neighborhood on the bank of a small pond. In the middle of the pond, on an island, was a wooden house. But not just any wooden house. The roof curved and slanted, and the giant windows all created a massive dragon’s eye.

“We have to cross the moat to get to the dragon’s lair,” I remembered.

“Correct,” Vicki laughed.

We had been here when we were looking at houses, only we ran for our lives once we saw the moat. Or was it the dragon that scared us off? I didn’t remember which came first, the chicken or the egg. The point was, we ran.

“I can’t believe he bought it,” I mused.

“You can’t?” she laughed. “I can’t think of anyone better to live here.”

I stood on the bank and looked the dragon pupil dead on. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So,” she said, “how do we get over there?”

I scratched my head. “I don’t really know,” I admitted.

Suddenly, from the other side of the pond, we saw The Count rowing toward us in a canoe.

“Well,” I chuckled, “I guess that’s our ride.”

“High end shoes be damned,” she laughed.

“Louboutin?” I asked.

She looked at me like I’d just woken up from under a rock.

“No,” she said. “Marc Jacobs. Geez.”

“My apologies to Napoleon Dynamite,” I muttered.

She laughed, and The Count arrived at the banks with his canoe. He tipped his hat.

“Hop in, good sir and madam,” he said. “I shall take you to my home.”

Vicki and I looked at each other, and then she slipped off her Marc Jacobs shoes and boarded the canoe barefoot.

“My apologies, madam,” The Count said, and he looked embarrassed. “Perhaps we should have chosen somewhere more … comfortable.”

“This is perfect,” she smiled, “I’ve never been to a house with a moat. It looks lovely.”

“It is lovely,” The Count agreed with a grin. “I’m sure you will enjoy your stay.”

I shrugged and followed her into the boat, and during the three minute ride to the house, The Count babbled on and on about the dragon eye and everything the realtor had told us when we’d looked at it.

“I built it,” he said as he puffed out his chest in pride, “and I tried to sell it not too long ago, but then I couldn’t part with it.”

“We’re looking into building our house,” Vicki told him.

“Really?” he asked as we arrived at the island. “It such a personal endeavor, such a joy to do it yourself.”

We all got out of the boat and arrived at the dragon’s eye. Up close, it looked a little more like a house. It had a curved roof, and the windows were the eyeballs, with a height that rose and fell to produce a tiered oval.

The Count also had a well maintained yard, with flowerbeds and even a lemon tree.

“Lemons, huh?” I noted.

“During the summer,” he said, “I sell them to a man who sells them at the farmer’s market. The rest, I’m afraid they rot. It’s a tricky business having a fruit tree in your yard.”

We walked up a rather pleasing porch and then stepped inside. The interior was darker than I expected. There were large velvet curtains that covered the windows, and I guess they also kept out the desert heat.

The Count flipped on lantern style sconces, and the decorating theme was a medieval castle or something of the sort. It was a small cabin, though, with mainly one room, but I also saw a small kitchen-dining area and a closed door that presumably led to a bedroom.

“Have a seat,” he gestured, “I shall serve our meal.”

Vicki and I sat down on the couch. The couches were dark red velvet with ornate gold footing. Against one wall was an antique mahogany desk with a typewriter, and piles of typewritten pages sat at intervals all over the room.

I picked up a stack and flipped through it. It looked like the beginnings of a dystopian science fiction novel, with an erotica twist.

“Look at this,” Vicki said.

I set down the papers, and she pointed toward the wall. All over the walls hung historical weaponry, but a massive silver sword sat displayed in a metal stand in a corner. It had an ornate curved gold handle and glistened in the low light.

“Now,” I told Vicki emphatically, “That. Is. Cool.”

“That is super awesome,” she agreed, and we rose to inspect the sword.

“We have to get one of these,” I said.

“Where would we put it?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” I stated. “We’re getting one. Non-negotiable.”

Alfred appeared from the other room and smiled at us looking at the sword.

“That is a general officers sword,” he said. “It was used by officers of King George’s army during the American Revolution.”

“Where did you get it?” I asked as I studied the intricate gold carvings.

“From an antique dealer I met in England,” he said. “It cost a fortune to have it sent to the U.S. since I couldn’t exactly put it on a plane.”

“Right,” I said, and Vicki and I both laughed.

“Here,” he said. “Step back.”