Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Alba pats my shoulder. “Honey, you shared some of the diary. Your father belittled her. She stayed for . . . you. Gina Whitson was Super Woman.”
I groan. “Let’s return to the discussion of dried pampas grass—”
“Grass.”
“Ya’know, with obsidian vases as a contrast. The wedding will be unique.” I chuckle.
“No way! I’ll marry Graham in a shack overlooking the ocean. You’ll throw around a few flowers—rustic and classy. Now, keep reading, tell me all about it. Your mom was beautiful. Charles was handsome. If you really need, I might just read the diary for you and tell you—”
“I’ll stick it out, thank you very much.” I wave her off half-heartedly. She doesn’t know about the fire, and that one day, Charles wouldn’t be so handsome. That might be the reason he murdered Momma. I bite my lip, though. The more I read, the more I see my father in a different light. Not Uncle Red.
Breakfast puts us in a better mood. We catch a movie, and after window-shopping, have drinks at a pub with dark, wood-paneled walls and snarky statements on blackboards. After our second drink, Alba excuses herself to the ladies’ room.
“Hello, Miss Luxury.” I turn to a British man with dirty blond hair and murky green eyes. He sticks his hand out. “Lake Russell.”
“Well, you know who I am already. Your name doesn't ring a bell. Any titles?” I ask, smiling while I shake his hand.
“None that I can think of.” He settles at the table across from me
“Allow me to have your brew refreshed,” he says.
“No, thank you.”
Lake gives a hearty chuckle. “Try the curry. It’s sure to add some spice to your life.” His brows wiggle, and the goofy, albeit, friendly guy stands up as Alba comes back over.
Standing behind Lake, she gawks, mouthing, “He’s hot,” as he shrugs into a stylish pea coat.
“Enjoy your day, ladies.” Lake nods.
Alba sits down and orders us stronger drinks. “It’s a good thing that one continued on. We don’t need the trouble.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I pull out the diary. Alba’s been a blessing while navigating the pages. Flipping to where I last read, I add, “Here’s all the trouble I need.”
37
Victor
The notion that Dr. Charles Everhart wanted to murder Dr. Jonah Whitson was evident in the price on the latter’s head.
Insert Gina Whitson. That throws a fucking wrench into the fact that Charles employed X-Member to murder the husband.
What we have here is a crime of passion. Dedicated strokes catered to each stab wound. The trace evidence of Charles’s presence in the home, per the police files Paul had acquired. Each variable points straight at the bloke.
The story could go so many ways. Everhart stalked her for years. He’d also been in a fire about ten years before Gina’s death. Maybe he had grown tired of her not returning his affections. Perhaps, he murdered her.
Which begs the bloody question, why would Everhart hire someone to murder Whitson?
How asinine.
That’s what X-Member is for. But I’m mystified by one caveat. It would’ve made more sense if Whitson had murdered his own wife and Everhart required justice.
A broken heart does a killer make.
“You’re spinning round and round,” I mutter, sliding out of my Rolls Royce as my questions call after me.
Maybe Gina and Everhart were engaging in extramarital affairs all along. Everhart anticipated that Gina would leave her husband. Her death occurred right before Jonah and Gina were set to move from Brooklyn. Gina’s parents had finally passed, and Everhart decided she could leave her husband too? She said, “No.”
Simple really. But is it the truth? I don’t know. I’ve a sick habit of controlling everything, knowing all. Since I don’t know everything in this case, I need answers.
I glance across the tarmac. Jonah steps off one of my smaller private planes, donning his usual shades of brown and favoring his cane. He places his duffel bag down and greets me with a quick handshake. “Where’s Luxury?”
“We have business to attend to, Whitson.”
A chauffeur holds the back door open. Burt seizes Jonah’s duffel bag, and we get in.
“You've brought me here to ask about Everhart again?” Jonah settles back in the seat, irritation stretching the skin of his face. “Take me to my daughter first?”
“Of course, answer a few questions on the way.”
The harmless old man transitions into the bloody nuisance I met for lunch in October. Beady eyes scrape over me. “Ask away, although I have this feeling that you’ve made your mind up about me, Victor.”
As the car moves along the street, Whitson looks away, glowering at the iron figurines in front of the school of arts building at Arlington University. Perhaps it’s his first time in the United Kingdom, or perchance the old doctor is being evasive. Nonetheless, I prefer eye contact.
“Let us continue,” I begin, “it’s a very short ride to my estate. I’m sure Luxury will enjoy showing you the town.”