1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

I t was a nice night for murder. The worried pitter-patter of Felix Finley's feet was annoying, but not annoying enough to dampen my mood. Cicadas chirped. Not a single rock slipped into my loafers. It was pleasantly chill beneath the thick foliage of the forest. And the body I currently had slung over my shoulder was lighter than expected, despite being dead weight—literally. Ha.

If one of my coworkers had asked me if I was doing something fun over the weekend I never would've expected to tell them yes . And I was —having fun, I mean. Because I was spending my few off-hours helping my very troubled, very odd, very pretty neighbor dispose of the body of the man he'd "accidentally" killed.

I say "accidentally" (in quotations) not because I think behind his bumbling facade that he's actually an evil mastermind, but because as the only serial killer that lived in our cul-de-sac, I figured I was kind of an expert.

I'd always been a practical person. Logical to a fault. Stubborn, maybe, if you ask my sisters. I rarely opened up. Rarely got excited. Rarely had fun—because fun (according to most) tended to be a complicated, awkward thing that involved too many people.

Which is why this was quite monumental.

"Are you sure we won't get caught?" the small blond fretted. I ignored his worries, determined to waste as little energy as possible on him, as I had much more efficient uses for it at the moment. "Marshall?"

"Finley," I injected as much ire into my voice as possible. "It is quite difficult to carry on while you are yapping at me." It wasn't, not really, but he didn't need to know that. The scent of the garbage bags Felix had used to cover the body clogged my nose, but I managed to ignore it, my mood too chipper for even plastic to ruin.

We were going through the back of the property, as I didn't think it was a good idea for the general population of our small mountain town to recognize how often I visited the local crematory.

Once a year to be exact. On my sister's birthday.

"Yes, yes. Sorry. My apologies." Finally, silence. At least, there was silence—for a solid…ninety seconds? But who's counting? "It's just—" Lord, give me patience. "Well…I've never done this before."

"I can tell." It was difficult not to scoff. I wasn't sure I managed. Though Felix didn't seem to notice.

"You're unfazed," he added, hopping along beside me, having to work twice as hard to keep pace. I blamed his shrimpy legs, as they were a quarter of the length of mine. Oddly enough, he reminded me of the chihuahua we'd had growing up. It'd chased us around on its tiny little legs, constantly getting in our business, nosy bastard. Only, Felix was more muscular than a chihuahua, and somehow yappier too. "But of course you are! I mean, you're you , Marshall. You're never fazed. It's like your super power."

His voice quaked, and he was so distracted that he nearly ran head first into a low hanging branch. Shifting the body on my shoulder, I lifted the branch just in time. Felix strode right through where it had been, completely unaware that he'd almost gotten brained.

Amazing. Truly. I'd never met a more oblivious person.

Don't mistake me for a good Samaritan.

I didn't help him out of a misplaced sense of chivalry.

I simply didn't think Felix had any brain cells to lose. I was only protecting my peace, as I was the one that had to suffer through living across the street from him. It wasn't that I liked Felix or anything, or that—despite his penchant for leaving packages out on his doorstep all day long , his unkempt lawn, and his apparent allergy to sunlight—he was my favorite person in all of Beach Town.

I didn't pick favorites. (Why would I, when everyone sucked?)

I didn't like people. (What was there to like?)

I didn't help people. (A waste of time, if you ask anyone with sense. )

Except for…today. Now . This specific, very bloody situation. I still hadn't figured out how exactly Felix Finley of all people had managed to murder a man. But I figured once the body was taken care of, there'd be plenty of time to question him.

The prospect made me almost giddy.

Would he talk in circles? Would he lie? Would he fake innocence?

I couldn't wait.

And yet, somehow, Felix was still fucking talking.

"Like last year!" he chirped, as though I'd given him any sort of indication that I wanted him to continue his inane chatter. "When Barry hosted his annual Summer Bash in his backyard and told everyone to dress up in Hawaiian shirts." Did he always talk this much? Or was he nervous? I suppose dead bodies could do that to some people. "Only, he changed his mind last minute about the theme—when you were out of town. He left a note on the door, but you must not have seen it—because when you got back, you showed up to the party in a rather spectacular shade of pink."

"Yes, I remember."

"With flamingos."

As if I could forget the flamingos.

God, that party had been an absolute nightmare. It was every year. But last year had been particularly grievous. There were fairy lights, of all things. Fruit punch. And they'd been playing music from dated musicals on loud, tinny speakers. The warped voices made me feel like an ice pick was being driven through my ear canals.

I hated having to fit in here almost as much as I hated the chaos of amusement parks, or the general disgustingness of public bathrooms. There wasn't enough booze in the world for me to tolerate Barry, and that was a simple fact. I had never been more tempted in all my life to blow my cover entirely than I had been at that damn party.

It hadn't taken more than a glance to realize that I was off-theme. Like dominos falling into place. I'd found Barry, on instinct, two seconds from twisting his vapid little head right around just so I could enjoy the pop sound it made.

It had been a while since something had upset me enough to be tempted to throw caution to the wind. If there was one thing I hated more than shitty speakers it was being off-theme.

"Everyone else was dressed in their Sunday best, on account of the new theme being ‘Night on the Town.'"

Not everyone .

I'd been tempted to head home to lick my wounds in private, but I hadn't wanted the sharks to taste blood in the water. Before I'd had a chance to contemplate options aside from murder and escape—I saw him .

There was one person who hadn't followed the herd. One person who'd stood by me in solidarity. One person who'd shown up to the party—despite rarely leaving his house in all the years we'd lived across the street from each other—dressed in orange with patterned board shorts, and an awful crocheted lei around his neck.

"Everyone except you," I hated that my tone softened, but it did.

"Except me," Felix echoed.

We were getting close to the break in the trees that would lead to the back of the crematory. Allen would be waiting for us at the door like he always was, and our conversation would finally, blissfully be over. I wouldn't have to think about Guys and Dolls, flamingos, and crochet hopefully ever again.

"So…" Felix started up again, and I lamented my life. "We're neighbors."

I prayed to God for strength. "Yes."

"We've been neighbors for a while."

"Ten years."

"We've never really talked." Felix sounded…nervous? At least, I thought he sounded nervous. I'd never been all that good at reading people.

"I don't talk to most people if I can help it."

"That's fair," he laughed, and to my surprise, didn't look offended. Not at all. Not even a little. Huh.

I thought the conversation would end there, but it did not.

"I like your vest," Felix said, sounding oddly demure. I glanced down at my favorite sweater vest—the tan argyle one that matched every one of my button-downs. I dressed in pastels, despite hating them. Because people were less likely to be afraid of a man dressed in baby blue. The double layer of fabric—both shirt and vest—also served to help cover up some of my muscle mass. Which I much preferred as I knew my rather in-your-face body size could come across as intimidating. It wasn't like I was trying to attract attention. The opposite really.

"Thank you."

"Do you work out?" Felix stared at my arms and I flushed a little, embarrassed that he'd noticed.

"Yes."

"That's… handy ." He stared at them some more, his eyes glazing over as he watched my biceps flex where I carried the corpse. He licked his lips. "Very handy."

"It can be, yes." I frowned down at him.

"You're quite big," Felix blurted, then immediately looked like he regretted the words. "Apologies, that was rude. I shouldn't comment on your size."

"You wouldn't be the first." I was six foot five. Most people couldn't help but point it out.

"Then I am even more sorry for bringing it up," Felix said, proving once again why he was far more palatable than most of our other neighbors. "I'm not…used to talking to people. It's been a while since I had a real conversation."

I highly doubted that, seeing as I was currently carrying the evidence of one of his nighttime visitors. Of which he had a decent amount. Like clockwork, every few weeks if he wasn't assaulting my eyes with an ugly package on his front porch, he'd disturb my peace with the arrival of a visitor. It was like he couldn't help himself. A sex maniac.

Not that I was judging—because I wasn't.

Okay. Maybe I was. A bit.

But it was only because I didn't understand it. I hated being touched by people. Hated talking to them. Hated strangers. Hated sticky, sweaty, messy things. The idea of willingly inviting someone I didn't know into my bed was abhorrent. What if their shampoo stank? They'd ruin my carefully cultivated ecosystem.

Oh god.

No thank you.

I assumed Felix's barrage of questions was due to his nerves, so I didn't fault him for them. Even though they were annoying. And so was he.

"You have very nice biceps," Felix complimented me, obviously trying to move on but unable to help himself. He then promptly almost ran into another tree branch. Without thinking, I lifted that one too. This time, against all odds, he noticed what I'd done. Felix flashed me a grateful, embarrassed smile. "Thank you. Almost walked right into that one."

I grunted in response.

Felix had peculiar teeth. They were one of his more recognizable traits. Dark eyebrows. Dark expressive eyes—though right now they looked oddly…red. Pale hair that was obviously dyed. Pointy teeth. They were slightly crooked, and it was…charming. Maybe . At least, I'd think so if I was a lesser man. A man that was even remotely interested in other people's teeth, or crooked grins, or crinkly little scrunched-up freckle-covered noses.

But I wasn't.

I wasn't.

My heart did a weird thing in my chest that immediately filled me with anxiety as we finally broke through the tree line and began walking across the manicured lawn. Luckily, the crematory was located at the edge of town. There was very little traffic even during daylight. At night, it was a ghost town. The woods blocked us from view of the single winding road as we crept across the night-dark grass, fireflies flitting around our feet.

"Are you sure we won't get caught?" Felix asked again, that sweet pointy smile anxious. I readjusted the body on my shoulder so I would have something to do other than reach out and tuck the stray lock of unkempt blond hair away from his face.

He had his usual ridiculous bucket hat on. Wide-brimmed and black. There was no sun to block, so I didn't understand his need for it. If he was trying to be inconspicuous, he was failing.

"Yes, Finley , we're fine. It's fine." Sucking in a fortifying breath, I exuded as much confidence as I could muster. Because we were fine. Of course we were. I would take care of everything .

Comfort was not something I was very adept at offering, but I tried now, because he very obviously needed it. "Now be quiet, please?" Felix nodded. "I'd leave you out here but I don't trust you not to confess to the first person you see."

It was after midnight, no one was out, but I wasn't quite ready to admit I didn't want him apart from me just yet.

"I don't do well alone," Felix was quaking a little. Minute shivers trembled through his petite but muscular frame. For such a small man, he sure had broad shoulders. This wasn't the first time I'd noticed, but it was the first time I allowed myself to acknowledge that I was noticing.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, my voice still far softer than I was comfortable with, I agreed, "Good thing I'm not leaving you alone then."

Felix's smile returned. His eyes were bright as we reached the back door and Allen pushed it open for us. He was a grizzled man, in his sixties probably. In the ten years I'd known him, he hadn't seemed to age a day. His salt-and-pepper-colored beard twinkled from the light that spilled onto the lawn.

"He joinin' The Club ?" Allen asked, gaze flickering over tiny Felix and his ridiculously big hat. At some point, when I'd been distracted by Allen opening the door, Felix had popped on a pair of Gucci sunglasses.

He was not very covert.

I wasn't certain we wanted him in The Club , after all. We didn't really have a choice though.

"I suppose," I gritted my teeth .

"Well, alright then." Allen eyed the body, then me, then Felix, his eyebrows shooting up. If I'd been less distracted by the body on my shoulder, I probably would've noticed the look Allen and Felix exchanged. But I did not. And as we stepped inside the sanctuary of my favorite building in town, I didn't allow myself to think of Felix Finley's lovely little smile.

Not once.

Not at all.

Not even a little.