Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
I lean against the wall, cocking my head to follow the conversation. They stick to asking about Laurel. Sounds like they think she offed her husband. Why the fuck are they even wasting the energy on such a piece of shit?
Margot’s calm and controlled voice drifts through the house. As the probing questions continue, I relax. If anything, they seem more interested in Margot’s father, not Margot. Maybe they think the old man was involved with her and killed her husband for revenge?
Still, my guard stays up. Protecting Margot’s my first priority, but I don’t want her father implicated in a murder either.
“Three generations of Cedarwoods have operated this way,” Margot says, her voice strong and clear, tinged with disdain for the stupid questions. “Other funeral homes have similar policies.”
That’s my girl.
“I see,” grumpy cop huffs like a walrus lifting himself out of the water.
Margot answers more inane questions, her tone shifting to polite but firm, just distant enough to give nothing away. Every answer sounds reasonable, logical, leaving no room for suspicion.
“Just out of curiosity,” the other cop says, “do you know where you were the night of…” he hesitates, then rattles off a date that falls right in the middle of my trip to Deadbranch. Fuck. At least if I’d been in the state, I could’ve been her alibi. But law enforcement from New York to Tennessee knows all the Lost Kings MC charters were in Deadbranch for Digger’s final farewell.
“Here, probably,” Margot answers smoothly. “I’d have to check my schedule to be sure.”
“Pretty woman like you wasn’t out on a date?” one of them asks.
My hands curl into fists.
Margot lets out a nervous laugh. “Unlikely. I work a lot.” After a few seconds she says, “I would’ve been prepping for the Walsh funeral.”
They don’t ask if anyone can confirm her whereabouts.
Relieved, I blow out a slow, silent breath. If they seriously suspected Margot of being involved with that guy’s death, they would’ve asked for someone to confirm where she was. They’re only here to check items off of their list.
Still, do I need to bring this to the club? Or at the very least inform Teller? Cops sniffing around a business we have a stake in could be an issue. I can present it as they had a question about one of Margot’s clients, can’t I?
Except that I know Margot is involved. It borders on lying to my club. Not that I think anyone will have an issue with what she did—if it was a one-off. Hell, they probably wouldn’t care, even applaud her. But once I mention her kill list has a few more entries, that might be a red flag for my brothers. If she’s ever caught, it could bring unwanted attention to my entire club.
Fuck me.
My gut’s screaming to protect Margot at all costs. From everyone. Even my club.
“Did you ever interact with Mr. Larsen?” walrus cop asks.
“Absolutely not,” Margot snaps. “As far as I know there is a restraining order in place. We would have called the sheriff’s department if he showed up here.”
“Man can’t say goodbye to his daughter?” the older cop presses.
Fuck that dude. And fuck you too.
“The man was directly responsible for his daughter’s death.” Margot’s sharp tone pierces the otherwise somber atmosphere. “In a brutal, deliberate act. So no, we would not have opened our doors to him.”
“Of course,” the younger cop says, trying to sound reasonable.
“It was a small service. Very short. Only Laurel, her mother, and her sister attended,” Margot adds in a calmer tone. She’s playing this perfectly. No nervous giggle or guilty stammering. Just straightforward answers as if she has nothing to hide.
“You haven’t heard from Laurel since then?” the younger cop asks.
“No. But I wasn’t expecting to, either.” Margot pauses. As if it’s an afterthought, she asks, “Wait, how did he die? You don’t seriously think Laurel had anything to do with it, do you?”
Good girl. They’ll think it’s odd if you don’t ask how he died.
“Unlikely,” the younger cop says. “Guy overdosed in a motel room.”
“Oh,” Margot says, in a voice devoid of emotion or further interest.
“You don’t seem surprised,” the older cop prompts.
“Laurel mentioned that he had a substance abuse problem,” Margot explains. “I’m a little ashamed to say this, but at the time, I thought she was just making an excuse for…what happened…for what he did to her.” She strikes just the right note between contrite and judgmental.
Damn, Margot’s a good liar. Scary good.
“No, it looks like she was telling you the truth about that,” younger cop agrees. “Well, if you hear from Laurel, please let us know. You have my card.”
“Will do,” Margot promises. “I’ll let my father know as well.”
“When will he be back?” the older man asks.
“In a few hours, but we’ll be busy with the service. I can have him call you tomorrow if you want?”