Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
That would now benefit him greatly.
If Alan was in as much debt as it sounded he was, he was going to bully his way into getting his money from Steph. He would get it come hell or high water, and he probably wouldn’t be very nice about it.
I couldn’t decide who I suspected more.
Realistically, it was Alan, but that was only because a part of me didn’t want to think my friend was capable of such a violent act. Declan had been stabbed thirteen times after all, which was most definitely a crime of passion, so it had to have been someone close to him.
The fact was, Alan and Steph were the closest people to Declan, and they both had excellent reasons to want him dead.
One for the money he’d pissed away at the bookies and desperately needed to replace, and the other because of the abuse he’d unleashed on her.
I blew out a breath and started walking up the high street. I’d parked higher up than normal for my beach run this morning, but it hadn’t been to get extra steps in.
No, siree.
That was because I planned to stop in at the café or F*ckoffee to get a cup of coffee and see if there was any gossip I could needle out of Heather or anyone else I knew.
It just seemed like the kind of place where people freely talked about random stuff that might be helpful to me. I knew I was pretty much cleared by the police at this point, even if they hadn’t said so, but I couldn’t walk away from this. I was invested. I needed to see it through to the end.
I pushed open the door to the coffee shop, simply because it was closer, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Steph was standing in the middle of the store, pointing her finger at an older man opposite her. “I told you to take it up with my lawyer!”
The man’s lip curled in anger. “What, so you can brush me off like that arsehole did?”
“No, because I want to settle it, you idiot! I’m trying to get to grips with things, this isn’t my fault!”
“You have the joint account—you can pay me the money you owe me.”
Well, that was some good timing.
“Let’s get something straight, Alan,” Steph said angrily. “I don’t owe you anything. Declan and the business owe you money, and that’s why you have to go through the lawyer. I told you that you’ll get what your share is worth, but it’s not going to happen overnight!”
So, the joint account was real and they both knew about it.
Well.
This was a stroke of good luck, wasn’t it?
If this were a movie, I’d roll my eyes and scoff while saying, “Well what a coinky-dink that is!”
“I want my money,” Alan said, taking a step closer to her. “You have seven days.”
“Or what?” Steph snapped. “Are you afraid your wife will find out you’re flat broke because you pissed your life’s work away at the bookies chasing a win that never came?”
Oh, shit.
Alan’s face whitened, and I’d never seen anyone look like they were going to pass out until now. “I don’t—I…”
“Don’t threaten me,” she said, pointing at him once more. “And if you approach me one more time, I’ll report you for harassment.”
Alan said something to her, something I couldn’t figure out, and I shuffled up to the counter where Heather was chewing on a straw as she watched it unfold.
“Aren’t you going to kick them out?” I whispered.
She grinned. “Absolutely not. This is great entertainment.”
I’d never understand the small-town mentality.
I didn’t think I’d want this kind of drama at the bed and breakfast if I ever got it opened, but I supposed that was the difference in our business. People would come here for information and grab a coffee—they wouldn’t go to the B&B for information and book a room at the same time, would they?
Alan stormed out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.
“Now what did my door do to him?” Heather grumbled, looking past me at it. “Mardy old bastard.”
Stephanie turned around, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, Heather, I’m so very sorry.”
Heather waved her over and looked out at the other patrons. “Don’t you lot have coffee to drink and cake to shove in your gobs?”
And just like that, the coffee shop returned to its usual upbeat atmosphere.
“You didn’t start that, he did,” Heather said to Steph. “And it’s the last time he’ll be in here, too. Don’t you apologise for standing up for yourself, honey. Something tells me he’s not used to women doing that.”
“He and my late husband,” Steph muttered. “Hey, Lottie.”
“I’d say good morning, but it doesn’t seem like one,” I quipped, then turned to Heather. “Can I have a cup of coffee, please?”
Heather nodded and turned to make it.