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)
I’d get annoyed, but I’d also—
A rattle slips out of me, escaping my tight throat. Archer doesn’t look at me deliberately.
Thankfully, no one else notices.
I listen in as Juniper and Delly carry on about some art-related project. The conversation turns away from me like the tide, leaving me free to talk to Archer.
Halfway through dinner, I ask him the question I know Junie has been waiting for me to ask.
“I need to know,” I whisper. His gaze flicks to me and away again, training it on the fork in my hand. “Where’s Patton? He hasn’t spoken to me in days and Juniper made it sound like he’s gone.”
“He was tight-lipped about the details.” He swallows, still not looking at me. “Honestly, it’s not my place to—”
“Screw that, Archer.” My anger boils over, and I struggle to contain it. I’ve burned enough bridges with this family already. “I need to know.”
“It’s—”
“My business.”
He sighs, knowing I’ve won.
“All right, dammit. He asked me not to tell you,” he growls. “But he went after Evelyn himself. Left a few days ago. He said he was heading to Miami first, and from there, anywhere else he can get a lead on her. And before you ask, no, no one’s heard anything.”
The shock pins me in my chair, the iciness spreading to my hands. I drop my fork. Holding anything now feels impossible.
Of course he went after Evelyn. I already knew that.
But hearing confirmation hits different.
On the one hand, she’s an old lady. He’s much younger and he’s a Navy veteran. He’s strong and he works out regularly. He’s more than capable if anything goes horribly wrong.
But Evelyn poisoned Arlo right under our noses without anyone noticing. A horrible feat I’m still not sure how she managed.
If she’s capable of poisoning a kid so discreetly, what else could she do?
“He’ll be okay. Trust me.” Archer nods at Dexter for support. “Last year, this guy took on a whole crime syndicate. We handled ourselves well, even that knucklehead little brother of ours.”
Dexter looks over, smirking.
“You make it sound more impressive than it was. I fought a guy with a broken bottle. I wasn’t dodging bullets or anything,” he tells us.
I’m not sure that helps.
My eyes rake over him, sizing him up. He’s slightly bigger than Patton or maybe it’s just the age difference. Everyone in Kansas City heard about the case, the monster of a man Dexter fought.
“He can handle her,” Dexter promises. “Don’t lose any sleep over him, Salem.”
“Yeah. He’s not as stupid as he looks—sometimes. She won’t trip him up,” Archer agrees, though I think he shares my worries about poison. “He’ll be on her with the cops right behind him, I’m sure. Pat has more common sense than you’d think in these situations.”
I really, really hope he’s right.
For now, there’s nothing I can do but agree.
Two more days pass by in a haze of anxiety.
Still no word from Patton, and I’m afraid to reach out to him again. I’ve already left a half a dozen voicemails apologizing for what I said and how we left things in chaos.
Not quite taking back my fears, but almost.
If he just came home, if he’d talk to me, then I could tell him exactly what the situation is, and—well, if he’ll listen, I could explain how I’ve come to my senses.
There are better ways to deal with love than running away to the Ozarks and starting a half-baked boat business.
And I try to will myself into believing I have a shred of courage as the day comes for the meeting I’ve dreaded.
I chose to meet my parents at the Sugar Bowl, Juniper’s bakery, thinking it can’t hurt to have a friendly face around. She doesn’t know the whole story, but I know her well enough to trust that she’ll step in and help if she needs to.
Not that I think my parents will do anything terrible in public.
I just can’t predict what they will do.
At three o’clock sharp, they walk through the doors.
Dad looks older than I remember. His hair has receded another inch or two and he’s wearing his pointy grey shot beard longer these days.
Weirdly, my mother looks like she hasn’t aged a day in five years. I’m sure she’s kept time at bay ruthlessly with scalpels and weekly salon treatments, though her hair sports a shiny new shade of black. It makes her skin look oddly colorless by contrast, despite the slight blush.
I suddenly wish I’d worn something smarter. Not this blue blouse tucked into a grey pinstripe skirt. It feels too formal, like what I’d wear to work, but not chic.
A shame it’s too late to ask Delly for advice.
Mom throws her arms open with an exaggerated grin the second she sees me.
“Salem,” she whispers, her voice choked. “Lemmy, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you!”