Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Or maybe it’s not even about love. We’re standing in a fucking Scooby-Doo Mystery, and I’m just holding onto what Farrow said.
No one is bleeding or dying.
But she’s crying, and there’s that damn camcorder…alright, this mystery needs to be solved like yesterday.
Xander peers into the room. Seeing Kinney screaming into her pillow. He winces, then nods to me like you’ve got this. He strolls lazily away, and Farrow and I slip into Kinney’s bedroom.
I shut the door behind me. “Kinney, what’s with the camera?”
Her head pops up, and she glares. “God, do you two not listen?” She wipes roughly at her wet eyes. “I said leave. Go away. Get out. You aren’t needed here.” She hiccups and rolls off the bed, her hot stride pointed at the camcorder. She rattles the thing.
Farrow nears without any hesitation. Most would move like they’re approaching a snapping turtle, but he’s not scared of my sister. He tells her, “If it’s broken, that’s just going to break it more—”
“Did I ask you?” she retorts.
“Hey,” I cut in. “We’re just trying to help, Kin.”
She sniffs louder, eyes pinging from me to Farrow. “You can’t do anything.”
“Maybe we can,” I say strongly. “Try us.” I follow Farrow further into the room. He has an easygoing gait and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
I try to oil my rusted joints and sit. Calmly.
I sink down next to Farrow, my hands clasped together, forearms on my thighs. And the camera on the tripod—it’s pointed directly at us. At the bed.
My blood goes cold.
I sit up straighter. More rigid.
Kinney is quiet for a second. I think she might be pretending to ignore us. Her dark eyeliner is smeared underneath her dried eyes, and her dyed black hair is chopped with blunt, short bangs. I strain my ears as she mutters, “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”
Thinking that whatever she’s doing is stupid is a better option than where my brain has already gone. “You don’t know that.”
Kinney huffs, her gaze nervously darting from Farrow to me, back to Farrow.
“No judgment,” he says easily.
She takes another deep breath. “I have a video diary. It’s personal, so don’t ask to watch it. And I didn’t want to record the diary on my phone or laptop in case the clips leaked to the cloud or wherever. But I should have because I just lost months of footage.” Anger flames her eyes. “It’s just gone.”
I’m proud of her.
That’s my first reaction. “You did a good thing, Kinney,” I say. “Recording it on a camcorder.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Farrow lifts his brows. “Definitely.”
She smiles a bit. I stand up and check the camcorder, popping out the memory card. I don’t know much about these. They’re kind of outdated and old. Most people just use their cellphones to record videos.
“We can give it to Uncle Garrison.” I inspect the camera’s functions. “He could probably fix it.” Our uncle is proficient in computers and stuff like this. He’s hacked me before. I was twelve and gloated that my passwords were too strong for any hacker.
Yeah, he proved me wrong.
Kinney shakes her head. “I don’t want Uncle Garrison to know I have a video diary. No one knows.”
Farrow frowns, confused. “Not even your little girl squad?”
She glares. “We’re not little, you turd.”
“Farrow calls everything little,” I defend him.
He smiles at me like that’s not completely true. And I know, he’d never call his brain or dick small—but those are technicalities and semantics that I’m ignoring.
For his own life. Because Kinney might skewer him with one too many death glares.
She crosses her bony arms. “No, I didn’t tell my best friends because it’s personal. And if Dad found out, he’d overreact.”
I want to deny that, but I thought the worst the moment I saw the camcorder. And I’m pretty positive my dad would have demanded to see the footage. Just to ensure Kinney wasn’t doing anything inappropriate. He’s a strict dad. Because he cares. It’s what I’ve always known.
Farrow comes over and eyes the camera before looking up at me. “There’s one more option.”
“What?” I ask, not knowing this one.
“Jack Highland.” Farrow mentions the exec producer, who has an extensive knowledge of camera equipment. “I’ll tell him this is security shit and private. He won’t ask questions, and we’ll see what he can do.”
Kinney exhales in relief, but when we stare at her, she rolls her eyes and layers on a blasé attitude. Deadpanned. “That’s better.”
She doesn’t say anything else or even make fun of me for having the losing idea. She must be really worried about this.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I stare hard at the incoming text.
SOS. In your garage! Come quick. Please. – Jane
This day is giving me whiplash. I show Farrow the text, and before we leave, he tells my sister, “Hang in there.”