Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Ian sat after making two cups of fresh tea for us. “What was Rita’s cause of death?”
“Strangulation but she had several abrasions as well.”
“So, she fought her attacker.”
“A possibility.”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Travis Rodgers was known to have a hot temper. Rita had been seen with bruises numerous times.”
“What did he say when questioned?”
“He was never questioned,” I said. “He couldn’t be found, and everyone assumed he had run off because he killed Rita. My dad was certain he’d get picked up somewhere since Rita had been dead for only a few hours, leaving Travis only so much time to get a distance away. According to those students my dad talked with at Willow Lake High School, where Rita and Travis were both seniors, most didn’t think Travis very bright, getting barely passing grades except in the auto mechanics class where he excelled.”
“I have to admit that from all you’ve told me, I would have concluded the same as your da.”
“As did everyone, but someone missed something somewhere.”
“Do you have any thoughts on the bones found beneath Travis?” Ian asked.
I shook my head. “That’s puzzling. Did the person who killed Travis purposely bury him with the other person? Had they been killed together? Or were they completely separate and had the person who buried Travis been shocked to find another body where he had dug?”
“That would seem far too coincidental,” Ian said, pushing his empty plate aside to cup his mug in his hands.
“I agree,” I said, easing my empty plate away as well to slide my laptop over in front of me. “By the way that was delicious. Thank you for cooking.”
“Anytime, Pep,” he said and kissed me.
It was a gentle kiss, sort of a prelude that enticed and it rattled my senses. I didn’t watch what I was doing and when I turned to my computer to share what I had learned from the newspaper articles, a picture and info on Lynx popped up.
My cheeks blossomed red. I hated that I blushed at times. You think at twenty-eight that would be a thing of the past, but blushing didn’t end with age… unfortunately.
Ian smiled. “Let me guess, Amy heard the models talking and told you about Lynx.”
“You’d make an excellent detective,” I said, thinking a handful of snow would do wonders for my heated cheeks about now.
Ian leaned close and slipped his arm around my waist. “I’ve never met Lynx and know only what I was told that she would be doing a few of the ads with me. She is a beauty, but she wouldn’t be a model if she wasn’t. I will hold lots of women in my arms for various photo shoots, Pep, but there is only one woman I want in my arms, the only woman I love—you.”
He kissed me then, a heart-pounding kiss.
I couldn’t get the words out fast enough once the kiss ended. “Hanky panky.”
He nibbled at my neck before whispering, “There we go, thinking alike again.”
We were off the stools, my hands at his sweatshirt and his at my sweater, when we both froze at the sound of a key turning in my front door lock. We barely got a step away from each other when my mom opened the door. One look at us and her cheeks flamed red.
So that was where I got it from since I had never seen my mom blush, but then I didn’t blush that often myself, only occasionally.
“Oh dear, I interrupted something. I thought you were alone. I didn’t see Ian’s vehicle. I should have knocked.”
“Ian walked here, and it’s all right, Mom.” I felt bad that she was more upset about nearly walking in on us in a compromised position, then we were at possibly being caught in one. One thing I realized though… it was time to take away the keys.
“Tea, coffee, Mrs. Madison?” Ian asked.
“No. No, I’m not staying,” she said.
“What are you doing out in this snow, Mom?” I asked, concerned.
“Danny drove me here. He’s waiting in the truck. I’m helping him with inventory today. As soon as I heard the news, I knew I had to bring you this.” She held out the zippered tote she carried.
“What is it, Mom?” I asked, curious as I walked over to her.
“Notes,” she said and unzipped the tote for me to peer into.
There was an abundance of them on various scraps of paper.
“Josh called and delivered the news about Travis Rodgers and to let me know that Dad is already blaming himself for thinking Travis guilty all these years and not getting justice for Rita. I worry what the stress of this discovery will do to him. You need to help him solve this case and finally put it to rest. Through the years he would scribble on scraps of paper the thoughts that came to him about the case. Then he’d get annoyed, crumple them up, and toss them away as if his ideas were nonsense.”