Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Stop it,” I snap, getting pissed now. “She did it. That’s enough.”
“You don’t know that. All signs point toward Hugh, not Tara. I know you’re hurting, but you don’t give a shit that she finished off your old man. You’re only mad because you think she did your mother, but I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m not kidding, Finn. If you keep pushing, I’m going to break this bottle and stab you with it.”
“Fine, go ahead, but that won’t prove anything. You still won’t know for sure. You’re basing all of this on a guess.”
“Fucking prick.”
“Yeah, buddy, I know.” He slips out of the booth and stares at me. “Don’t drink too much. You’re pathetic when you’re wasted.” He walks off without a word.
I salute him with the glass and throw it back.
We’ve been having that argument for two weeks. He’s not convinced she did it and I think it’s obvious. But a small needle of doubt has worked itself into my brain, and as I sit here alone with an empty glass, I slowly raise my hand up into the air.
And look at the ring on my finger.
My wedding ring. The wedding ring I haven’t taken off since I put it on. Even though I’ve wanted to throw it down the drain a dozen times in the last two weeks.
You don’t know.
Goddamn prick.
There’s a way to find out. I’ve been avoiding it, because on some level I’m self-destructive and all I want to do is wallow in my ceaseless pain and misery, but I know that won’t get me anywhere. I need answers. I need closure so I can move on and finish this once and for all.
It’s time to put this argument to rest.
Chapter 27
Kellen
The apartment complex is a rundown building on the south side of the city. It’s brown, with various shades of brown highlights, and the paint is chipping from the walls. Finn whistles as we approach and I stop before we go in through the main entrance.
“I don’t want to hear a word,” I say, staring at him hard.
He grins. “About what?”
“We’re just making sure. You keep saying you want proof, so let’s get proof. That’s all we’re here for.”
“If you’re right, I’ll apologize and never whistle in your presence again. But if I’m right, I’m whistling all the way home.”
“I swear I’m going to cut your tongue out.”
“I’ll invent a new way to whistle then. You can’t stop the joy, Kellen.”
“Watch me.” I shove in through the front and stomp up the sticky staircase with Finn on my back. The sounds of crying babies and overloud televisions and shouting from somewhere further along the hallway reminds me of how many people live packed into a place like this. I wonder what Eunika’s life was like outside of the Hayle manor—and consider that maybe she had a good reason to help someone poison my mother.
Assuming she was a part of the plot.
We reach her apartment and knock. I wait a moment, knock again, and finally the door opens a crack. Eunika’s eye peers out at me, and the door slams shut, but I manage to ram it open before she can slam a bolt down.
“Bad start,” I say as she stumbles back and runs into the living room. I draw my gun and follow. I find her standing in a tiny kitchen with a big chef’s knife clutched in both hands, the tip wobbling from side to side as her hands shake, her jaw clenched with stress.
“I don’t want trouble,” she says.
Finn comes in behind me, also armed. He looks around and goes through the place, clearing the rooms. I stand still, gun aimed at Eunika, and she stares back at me.
She’s wearing civilian clothes, which is strange. Gray pants and a long-sleeve white blouse. She looks younger, healthier almost, like being in the Hayle house stole some of her youth.
“Empty,” Finn says.
“I live alone. Nobody is here.” Eunika glares from me to Finn. “What do you want with me?”
“You’re not curious how my mother’s doing? The patient you’ve watched over for years and years?”
She grimaces and the knife slowly sinks. “I hope she’s okay.”
“No, you don’t.” I dart forward, grab her wrist, and twist. She gasps in shock as the knife falls to the floor. I twist again, harder this time, and she groans as I shove her onto a bare simple couch. She sits there, rubbing the joint, glaring.
I sink into a chair. Finn remains standing. I keep my gun trained on her.
“Why are you here? Did you come to beat up on a defenseless woman? I knew what they said about you was true but I didn’t know how far it went.”
“Enough. I have one question and the way you answer will determine whether you live or die. Do you understand?”
She stares at me and I can see the fear in her eyes. I’m used to that look. I’ve seen it dozens of times.