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 had a few of her grandma’s old pieces appraised a while back and it came back north of a million.
Fucking hell.
I feel something now.
The kind of slow, killing rage that torches every good thing inside me.
And it feels good to be this angry at someone besides myself, besides Salem, because that anger’s incomplete and muddled.
This is different.
This is a death vow.
With Evelyn, I want to tear her grinning, lying face off.
“I’m still in disbelief. I just can’t believe she could do this. I feel so violated,” Mom strangles out, wiping her eyes as Junie hands her a tissue. “My oldest friend, and for no reason…”
“Shhh, Delly,” Junie says. “She must have had a reason, even if it was a terrible one.” She looks pleadingly at Dexter, but for once he has nothing to add. No quip, no wisecrack, no assurances.
He’s usually good at reassurances, but I guess that’s one more thing Evelyn stole away.
“I invited her into my home. I thought she valued my friendship. She watched you boys grow up.” Mom moans into her hand, biting her knuckle as she looks at me. “Was it always all a lie?”
I don’t know.
Her husband certainly fished me out of the lake before I drowned. I don’t remember much about that day, but I know he saved my life.
Evelyn, she just stood around in a panic. Was it in her head somewhere then?
Did she see us as easy pickings if she ever needed a lifeline? Was there already a heartless vulture inside her, waiting for a fresh carcass?
Or did it change when her husband, Walt, died? When grief ate her soul like that hungry crocodile in Egyptian mythology?
“It’s not your fault,” Archer says, his voice low and angry, gunning every word. “She lied to us. All of us.”
“But why?” Mom wails. “Why, Archer?”
“Because she could, Mom.” My voice is a sword. Everyone in the room looks at me. Maybe I shouldn’t state the obvious. “You showed her the jewelry years ago, didn’t you? You two shared everything. Did she know about the appraisal?”
Weeping, Mom pinches her eyes shut and nods painfully.
“Yeah. She knew we had money and she needed it. That’s enough. That’s the entire fucking reason.”
“Language, Patton,” she snaps. “Your father raised us better. We can’t panic and go to pieces now.”
“Dad’s dead,” I tell her, striding past them all into the sunroom. It’s quiet and dark here and I don’t bother flicking on the lights.
She’s redecorated plenty since I lived here, but I still know my way around.
Evelyn sat here with Mom and Salem and Arlo not long ago. Evelyn pretended to care while she hatched an atrocity.
The wind howls against the huge glass windows.
Every part of me feels just as cold as I burst through the French doors, walking to the small shelf near the door leading into the backyard. The world holds its breath, silent even though the light from the sitting room soaks across the potted greenery inside.
They’re plants they must’ve picked up from somewhere recently, lined up in a neat row. Mostly flowers by the look of them, perched inside here for another week or two until it’s warm enough to put them outside.
“Patton.” Dexter calls my name. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it’s a bad idea.”
“Slow down and think. We looked high and low. We couldn’t find anything related to that plant,” Archer says. They’ve always been on a different wavelength from me, my brothers, and it’s never been such a stark contrast.
I suck in a cooling breath of night air. “I’m going to find that backstabbing bitch.”
“Sure.” Archer’s voice is skeptical. “But we need hard evidence to make sure she’s nailed down.”
Dexter puts a hand on my shoulder that I shake off.
“Cool down before you do something stupid,” he warns.
My jaw is so tight it might snap. I’d welcome the pain.
“Something stupid? You mean like going after Evelyn myself?”
“What, you think you’re a bounty hunter now? The police are—”
“The police are useless in a case that’s international,” I snap. “Look, I’m not about to leave this shit to a police report and some FBI case file that moves like a sloth. She could’ve killed my son.”
Shit.
Archer staggers backward and Dexter freezes.
So many questions hang in the air as I storm away from them.
Salem, I could handle being calm around, but not my brothers. They know me too well.
And fuck, it all went down here in this house.
Evelyn was in this house and she tried to poison Arlo. How? There must be something left, some loose end she forgot.
“Son?” Archer asks eventually. “What do you mean, your son?”
“What do you think I mean?” Hiding won’t get me anywhere. The whole charade is fucking pointless. I’m done pretending and I decide to own it. “Arlo’s my son, Arch.”
Dexter stares at me like I’m a stranger.