Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
She’s Evelyn. Sweet old grandmotherly Evelyn with her flowers and bittersweet Minnesota memories, missing her husband dearly.
Evelyn, who’s told us time and time again how wonderful we are together.
“I know it sounds batshit,” Patton says, his voice heavy. “That’s how we all felt when we figured it out. Arch and Dex, they’re thinking it, too. I’m not crazy.”
“I just don’t—how? Why?”
“It wasn’t just the poisoning, Salem.” He comes and sits next to me, taking my hands.
And he explains her schemes with the personal loans, the nearly half a million she collected from all three brothers, stealing their money and cashing the checks after baiting them with the same sob story.
Lying to them, using their pity and their generosity against them.
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head, even though I think I do. It’s just too horrible to contemplate. “But why poison him? Why would she want to hurt Arlo?”
“She needed a distraction. The cops called the banks and the money’s already been sent to some overseas account,” Patton growls, finding taco shells in the cupboard and opening the bag. “She landed in Miami hours ago and we’ve been trying to get in touch, but we haven’t been able to get through. Odds are she’s already left the country.”
“Jesus Christ. Holy shit. I don’t understand,” I repeat, kneading my forehead until my skin burns. “I mean, she’s that greedy? She’s that cruel for money?”
“Human nature.” Patton shrugs. “It’s an ugly fucking thing if a person’s priorities are screwed up. I know mine will never be right again as long as she’s free. If I ever track her down, she’s dead.”
My heart drops.
“Patton, no. Leave it to the police. You seemed so calm about this…”
“I’m not,” he snarls. “That lady was my mom’s oldest friend and she deceived us all. She lied to us. She almost killed our son.” His throat works as he stands, rushing back to the pasta meal simmering on the stove. “Don’t worry. As much as I’d like to go after her and strangle her with my bare hands, that’s not what’ll help us the most right now. I know that.”
And I know what he’s saying without saying it. He’s here, helping me because that’s what will make the biggest difference.
He’s also right, but it drains the good will I had. I thought he was here because he wanted to be, not because he felt like this was the place where he could do the most good. Not because he’s obligated to be a messenger for bad news.
I can’t bear to sit anymore, and I stand up, pacing around, carefully avoiding Arlo’s toys. I don’t even look at them.
This was partly my fault. I’m his mother. I’m supposed to be in charge, and somehow this money-grubbing witch poisoned him right in front of me.
The smell of seasoned ground beef simmering suddenly turns my stomach.
“Arlo will be fine,” he tells me, but this time I wonder if he believes it.
“How did she do it?” I pinch the skin on my elbows until it hurts. “And how come nobody noticed?”
“She clearly planned it in advance. We were blindsided.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I missed it. She was trying to hurt him and I didn’t notice.” Did she put it in his cake? Surely, she couldn’t have if we all ate it. “He’s only five! I should have been more aware. If I hadn’t been so self-absorbed—”
“Salem, stop.” He turns and grabs my arms, holding me in place. “Listen to me, this isn’t your fault.”
I want to believe him so desperately I’m shaking, but I’m his mom.
I’m supposed to protect my little boy and I couldn’t.
“I don’t know. What if he just got into something when I wasn’t looking? Foxgloves, they could be anywhere,” I say absently.
“You know that’s not true, especially this time of year,” he rumbles.
Yes, I know for a fact that’s a weak little lie.
I know I’m falling apart.
“Dammit, woman. Stop beating yourself up and look reality in the face,” he growls. “The whole world isn’t out to get Salem Hopper.”
“Easy for you to say,” I flare. “This sort of stuff always follows me. And now my rotten flipping luck rubbed off on my kid.”
“This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with a greedy fucking snake. One sick, backstabbing monster who wasn’t what she seems.”
“But she chose me,” I whisper. “Out of everyone she could hurt, she picked us. She picked Arlo.”
He strides back into the kitchenette and starts dishing out dinner, this one pot pasta concoction with meat and tons of garlic, judging by the smell.
Slowly, deliberately.
If he’s pissed, I can’t blame him. Not with how I’ve melted down.
I can see it in every line of his shoulders and the tense, careful movements—but he’s trying to keep it together. For my sake, he’s trying to be kind.