Roon & Raud and the Case of the Missing Ex-Husband

Roon & Raud and the Case of the Missing Ex-Husband – Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

A golden beam of sunlight barged its way through a gap in the curtains, spilling across the hardwood floor and climbing the patchwork quilt sprawled over the bed where Roon and Raud lay tangled together. It was the kind of light that demanded attention, unapologetic and far too chipper for such an early hour.

Raud was the first to notice. Her nose twitched, then scrunched, then twitched again like a rabbit sensing trouble. Her eyelids fluttered open just long enough to glare at the offending sunlight before slamming shut again. With a low grumble that sounded suspiciously like a curse, she rolled over and planted her face firmly into Roon’s chest.

“Ugh,” she muttered, her words muffled by Roon’s bosom. “Why does the sun hate me?”

Roon stirred beneath her, blinking awake and realizing with some amusement what—or rather who—was heavy on her chest. Her strict brow softened as she looked down at Raud nestled against her. After 45 years together, it was still odd how someone so cantankerous could look so sweet when half-asleep.

“Morning, my little sunshine magnet,” Roon murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she buried her nose in Raud’s unruly gray hair. It smelled of Pantene shampoo—the same shampoo Raud had been using since Nixon was in office. Reliable, like everything about her.

Raud grunted again—a sound equal parts agreement and protest. Then, without warning: “Roon, lemme tell you about this dream I had last night.” She pulled her head back just far enough to squint up at Roon’s face. “It was nuts.”

“Oh boy,” Roon said with a chuckle that jostled Raud slightly. “Here we go.”

“So there I was,” Raud began dramatically, lifting one arm to gesture vaguely toward the ceiling—though whether it was supposed to represent the dream world or merely point out the ceiling fan needed dusting was unclear. “Right in the middle of roller derby madness. I think when The Blaze  was in the ‘69 finals. Except it wasn’t just any derby rink—it was this crazy, swirling vortex of colors. The whole place spinning like one of those kaleidoscopes you look through as a kid.” She paused for effect. “And get this—the crowd? Unicorns! Robots! Probably a couple aliens! All losing their minds.”

The corners of Roon’s mouth twitched upward as she idly stroked Raud’s back.

“And my team,” Raud continued, straightening now with newfound energy and sitting up against the pillows. Her wiry gray hair stuck out at odd angles, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care. “Parts of it were my old team—you remember Rocket Ronnie? Crimson Carrie? Fly-Girl?—but also some weird stuff I couldn’t even explain if I tried.” She waved her hand dismissively as though it didn’t matter anyway, before leaning forward conspiratorially. “But the real kicker? The other team.”

Roon raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Clowns,” Raud said grimly, as if pronouncing a death sentence. “And giant gummy bears.” She let this sink in for a moment before shaking her head in disbelief at the absurdity of it all.

“Clowns and gummy bears,” repeated Roon dryly. “That’s quite an intimidation tactic.”

“Oh yeah—and you wouldn’t believe their moves! But wait!” Raud held up a finger and kept going without pause as she threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed in one fluid motion—which might have been more impressive if not accompanied by an audible pop from her lower back.

“And then,” she said dramatically while stretching side to side like she was gearing up for battle instead of recounting nonsense dreams fueled by too much pizza before bed, “the whole rink morphed into this giant pinball machine. Suddenly, there were these massive pinballs bouncing all over! And me—with my stardust glitter wheels—I’m dodging them left and right trying to score points while laughing my ass off!”

She paused long enough to scratch her belly under her worn t-shirt, which read “Vagitarian” in faded letters that looked like they’d survived several hundred spin cycles too many.

Roon picked up a pillow lazily from beside her and tossed it in Raud’s general direction as she stood there reliving every chaotic detail of her imaginary escapades.

“You’re probably going to start charging admission to your brain soon,” Roon said with mock exasperation as the pillow bounced off Raud’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Raud protested mildly before scooping up said pillow from where it had flopped onto the floor and haphazardly tossing it back onto the bed—not quite hitting its original spot, but close enough by Raud’s standards.

Still smacking her lips like someone preparing for coffee rather than combat, she shuffled toward the bathroom in what could only be described as slow-motion determination, snagging clean underwear from an open dresser drawer along the way without breaking stride.

“You better save me one of those gummy bears next time!” Roon called after her retreating form, but if Raud heard—or cared—it didn’t show.

Minutes later, Raud reappeared like a soldier returning from battle, her eyes scanning the battlefield of clothes strewn across the floor. She picked up a crumpled T-shirt, gave it a quick sniff, and recoiled dramatically. “Nope,” she muttered, flinging it aside. After a few more unsuccessful sniffs (one accompanied by an audible gag), she finally unearthed a pair of jeans that smelled only mildly suspicious. Close enough. She tugged them on with the indifference of someone who’d long abandoned the fantasy of being glamorous before breakfast. No underwear—not forgotten so much as intentionally forsaken—it was still sitting on the bathroom counter where she’d left it.

She grabbed a flannel shirt from the back of a chair, shrugged it on against the morning chill, and padded out into the hallway barefoot, her footsteps sticking slightly to the wooden floorboards.

“Put some coffee on, you human disaster!” came Roon’s voice from behind her, muffled slightly by sleep and sarcasm. There was the sound of creaking springs as Roon dragged herself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to a dentist’s appointment. “And make it strong enough to revive Frankenstein while you’re at it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raud hollered back over her shoulder, scratching lazily at her ribs. “Coffee black as your soul—coming right up.” Her voice was gravelly, somewhere between morning fog and late-night whiskey.

Roon snorted softly to herself as she shuffled toward the bathroom, her bare heels making tiny slapping sounds against the floor. In contrast to Raud’s perpetual chaos, Roon cherished these quiet moments—precious little islands of calm before diving headlong into the hurricane that was her lover’s daily existence.

Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled off her bonnet and ran her fingers through her short gray hair before pausing to examine the maroon streak she’d had dyed in last month. Was it fading? Maybe. Did she care? Not particularly. The streak stayed—for now. With that settled, she turned her attention to her skin.

Reaching for the familiar jar of coconut shea butter perched neatly on the vanity (because unlike Raud, Roon believed in order), she unscrewed the lid and scooped out exactly enough—not too much and not too little—into her palm. The thick cream melted into her hands as she rubbed it in slowly, methodically, like an artist preparing their tools for work. The buttery smell swirled around her like a comforting hug. Self-care in a jar, she thought wryly.

Next came what Roon referred to (in private) as her “uniform.” A simple matching set of cotton underwear found its way out of a drawer and onto her body with unceremonious efficiency—a sensible bra completing the ensemble like punctuation at the end of a sentence. Then came crisp khaki slacks and a blue button-up shirt that always made her rich brown skin glow just right in natural light. Socks. Gold hoops in ears that had been pierced longer than she had been alive. Plum lipstick applied with care but not obsession.

By now, Roon could hear faint but unmistakable signs of life down the hall—Raud’s tuneless humming—and grabbed Raud’s abandoned underwear from the bathroom counter on her way out.

In the living room, sunlight spilled through half-drawn curtains onto a large aquarium that dominated one wall: Raud’s pride and joy (aside from whatever mess she’d recently created). The tank glimmered faintly even before Raud flicked on its light, transforming it from watery gloom into an explosion of shimmering greens and blues that danced across walls and ceilings like tipsy fairies.

“Good morning,” said Raud cheerfully—to whom or what wasn’t immediately clear until Roon saw their finned roommate glide gracefully into view. Erline, their betta fish-slash-resident drama queen, emerged from his hiding spot among silky green plants that swayed gently in unseen currents like lazy ballerinas.

Raud leaned closer to Erline’s tank until her nose nearly fogged up against the glass. “Morning there, you little weirdo,” she murmured fondly before stretching her arms in preparation for whatever thrilling task awaited next—including feeding this aquatic diva.

Erline shimmied upwards toward the tank’s surface upon recognizing Raud’s face—fins flaring theatrically as though auditioning for some underwater opera—and waited expectantly near the top with tiny bubbles fizzing around his mouth like impatient drool.

Roon watched from across the room as Raud prepared to launch into what appeared to be some elaborate feeding process involving exaggerated gestures only necessary when one is performing for an audience—even if that audience consisted solely of one flamboyant fish.

Raud chuckled softly, reaching for the small container of brine shrimp perched on the edge of the aquarium stand. Erline swam down to the corner to make sure she had the right container. She unscrewed it and sprinkled a tiny pinch into the water. Erline surged upward with uncontainable enthusiasm, his shimmering fins quivering as he snatched up the floating treats.

“Don’t overdo it,” said Roon as she appeared in the doorway, her voice laced with amusement. “I don’t want a repeat of last time. Remember? Poor little guy practically popped.”

Raud grunted in response, her tone noncommittal. The lid clicked back into place as she leaned closer to the tank. “Yeah, yeah. But just look at him. Can’t resist that kind of happiness, can you? He deserves a little indulgence now and then.”

As if to punctuate the statement, Erline released a trail of bubbles that rose lazily to the surface before bursting with delicate pops. His fins flared out dramatically—a tiny underwater fanfare—before he darted toward a tuft of java moss like he’d remembered something urgent.

Roon’s lips curved into a sly smile as she stepped beside Raud, dangling something haphazardly over her shoulder—the forgotten underwear, swaying accusingly like a flag of surrender. She tilted her head toward Raud and raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of indulgence… forget something this morning?”

Raud’s gaze shifted downward in mild confusion before realization dawned so suddenly it could have cast its own shadow. She stuck her hand straight down the waistband of her pants for verification, then exhaled through her nose like someone who’d just lost a bet they hadn’t wanted to make in the first place. “Huh. Guess I got distracted.” She plucked the underwear from Roon’s grasp with a sheepish grin that bordered on unapologetic. “What would I do without you keeping my dignity intact?”

“You’d end up as breaking news,” Roon replied without missing a beat, eyes twinkling mischievously. “‘Local woman arrested after causing public disturbance: tripped over pants and mooned half the city.’”

Raud snorted, but before she could find an equally absurd comeback, Roon turned and wandered off into the house with an air of mock serenity, shaking her head at some private joke only she understood.

The morning sun had begun its slow creep across their home, filling it with slanted streaks of warm light that carried just a hint of gold. Roon moved methodically from room to room, tugging back drapes and letting beams tumble freely onto polished floors and furnishings alike.

In the living room, sunshine settled affectionately on their mid-century pieces: a teak coffee table polished smooth by years of use; an Eames lounge chair with caramel-colored leather worn into soft creases; and their low-slung sofa that somehow managed to look both stylish and permanently lived-in. The sunlight caressed it all indiscriminately before climbing up to graze the eclectic assortment of framed photographs and art lining one wall—a mishmash of color and memory collected over years like seashells brought home from trips to distant beaches.

Roon paused at one crooked frame—a black-and-white photograph capturing a younger version of herself with Raud grinning broadly at her side, arms slung around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their expressions were unguarded—eyes crinkled with laughter too full-bodied to contain—and looking at it now made Roon’s chest ache gently in that peculiar way happy memories sometimes did.

She straightened the frame carefully before turning away toward the kitchen, where sunlight streamed through sheer café curtains, weaving faint lace shadows onto the checkerboard linoleum floor below. It glimmered off their red Formica-topped table and its matching vinyl chairs—cheerful relics from another era—and bounced off their vintage chrome-trimmed toaster like punctuation marks left by time itself.

Raud ambled to a small radio perched on the counter near their mugs collection. She flicked it on casually, tuning into familiar soul melodies that slid seamlessly through the air, rich and smooth enough to taste if one tried hard enough.

The music drifted in the air—her body already succumbing instinctively to its rhythm despite herself. A sway started in her hips and worked upward until she was moving without thought or restraint to the beat’s gentle insistence.

Her hands search the collection and chose without thinking: her trusty blue-speckled camping mug and Roon’s rainbow Pride mug that gleamed faintly even in dimmer corners of their kitchen light.

Mugs secured in hand, Raud spun lightly on her toes—a small flourish drawn not from performance but pure impulse—as she let herself dance across tiles warmed by sunlight patches scattered unevenly beneath her feet.

Roon lingered in the doorway unnoticed for several moments longer than necessary (or plausible) while watching this unscripted display unfold—a smirk ghosting across her lips because only Raud could make doing absolutely nothing look this joyful.

When Raud finally twirled straight into her mid-shimmy, colliding unexpectedly into Roon’s frame with an audible “Oof!” both women froze momentarily before erupting simultaneously—Raud into laughter loud enough to rival any siren, Roon only chuckling softly but no less sincerely.

Grinning unabashedly now like someone caught red-handed stealing every cookie from life’s proverbial jar, Raud leaned forward conspiratorially: “Well hello there beautiful,” she murmured as though testing lines at some bygone singles bar gone hilariously wrong—and perfectly right all at once—“Come here often?”

Roon chuckled softly, drawing Raud closer. “Only if there’s a charming dancer shaking her booty,” she said, planting a quick kiss on Raud’s lips before swatting her playfully on the backside.

Raud giggled in response, her face lighting up as she glided toward their pride and joy: a gleaming Italian espresso machine that sat like a throne on the countertop. It was an extravagant purchase—far more than they’d ever admit to their friends—but it repaid them every morning with cups of smooth, dark brilliance.

With the focus of an artist at work, Raud carefully measured out freshly roasted beans, grinding them to perfection before tamping them just so into the portafilter. She clicked it into place, her hand hovering briefly over the machine’s polished surface before pressing the button to begin extraction. A low hum filled the air as thick streams of espresso poured forth, crowned by a golden crema that glistened in the sunlight streaming through their kitchen window.

Once two perfect shots had adorned each mug, Raud moved with purpose: five ice cubes clinked melodiously into one mug for her iced Americano, while the other received a splash of steaming water for Roon’s preferred piping-hot brew. The mugs—one a little spotty and the other vividly rainbow-colored—somehow looked right together. Like them.

“Here you go,” Raud said as she placed Roon’s mug in front of her and leaned down to press another light kiss on her lips. The rich aroma of coffee swirled around them like an invisible blanket.

Roon inhaled deeply and smiled wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. “Mmm, you treat me too well.”

“That’s true,” Raud quipped, flashing her partner a mischievous grin. Their hands found each other again on the tabletop, as if drawn by instinct alone.

Roon took a cautious sip of her drink and exhaled with audible satisfaction. “Is there anything better than this? I mean really?” She paused momentarily, some rogue thought crossing her mind before dissolving like sugar into coffee foam.

“Hmm,” murmured Raud thoughtfully, swirling her iced coffee with a deliberate slowness, as though conjuring an idea from its depths. “It’s close…but imagine this: add a tray of fresh croissants delivered by a chic French maid.” She tilted her head toward Roon with raised eyebrows, daring her to disagree.

Roon snorted into her mug but managed not to spill any coffee (barely). “You’re incorrigible,” she said with mock severity before breaking into a grin. “Although…croissants would be nice.” A teasing glint appeared in her eyes as she added slyly, “Maybe we just skip straight to some French maid role-playing? What do you think?” Her eyebrows waggled in exaggerated suggestion.

Raud choked on her iced Americano mid-sip and pressed one fist dramatically against her chest until she could speak again. “Oh, no you don’t!” she spluttered between laughs. “Not until I’ve had at least half my caffeine quota for the day!”

Their laughter echoed softly through the small kitchen—bright and unhurried—as they settled back into their chairs, basking in another easy morning spent together.

“So,” Raud finally said after taking another bracing sip from her mug. She started rummaging idly through one drawer, then another, eventually scattering utensils across the counter without much care for tidiness. “What’s on today’s gay agenda for our undeniably fabulous gay lives?”

“Well,” Roon began thoughtfully, watching Raud toss aside an egg whisk like it had personally offended her. “I need to talk to Seb about this month’s Pride & Pints event—the shirt designs especially.” She tapped a finger on her mug contemplatively before continuing. “They’re selling these things online now too, so they have to appeal to everyone…or almost everyone.”

“Seb always has such wild ideas,” Raud replied absentmindedly as she checked yet another drawer in vain.

“Like it. Raud, honey, check the Bail Money box, would you?” Roon said, gesturing to a handcrafted wooden boob on the counter. It was a very impractical gift Raud had given her. It took more than two decades to figure out what the hell to do with it. It held loose change, though never enough for bail.

“I promise I won’t get arrested today,” she said lightly before leaning down conspiratorially near Roon’s ear. “…At least not for murder.”

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