Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“That’s what I’m saying!” She shakes her head. “It’s like they don’t have smart people in charge.”
The grin tugs at my lips, but I have to focus. “All right, so let’s start with the day of the accident. What did you do before you got the call?”
I check my phone to make sure it’s recording then sit back in my chair with my notepad. Georgia leans back too, trying to mimic my casual seating, but she goes too far and almost falls.
“Whoa.” Her chair snaps back into place and then she starts again. “Okay, it was my second day on the job, so I woke up and put on the same uniform from the day before because I didn’t think about having to wash it every time and needed to order more than one.”
Again, I have to hide my smile as I clear my throat. “Okay, got it. Then what?”
“Then I remembered I wanted a gun but I’d never shot one before, so it didn’t seem wise to just get a real one.” She huffs like that was obvious. “So I broke into the high school and took it from the drama department.”
“Um, I didn’t say this before, but if you’ve got some side crimes you’ve committed, maybe leave those out of the official report. Okay?”
“Oh.” She thinks it over and then nods. “Well then I guess I borrowed the bubble gun to complete my outfit.”
“I’ll make a note that you used air quotes around the word borrowed.”
“This is exciting stuff.” She puts her feet up on her desk and pops another Kiss into her mouth.
“After the fit check, what happened?” I watch as she thinks it over for a second and then snaps her fingers.
“I went by Sofa King Cozy to talk to Lane. She’s building a table for the nook in my parents' kitchen.”
“That’s the furniture store downtown?”
She nods. “Yeah, her and her twin sister Liv run it.”
“That’s right next to Clean Kitty where Quinn was taken. Did you see anything suspicious that morning?”
“Just the sounds of them fucking.” She slaps a hand over her mouth, and her eyes go wide. “I want that stricken from the record.”
I sit up from my chair and lean closer. “This could be important, Sheriff. You should probably give me all the details.”
Chapter Seven
GEORGIA
How does this man keep making me blush? I do my best to attempt to downplay it, acting as though discussing sex is not a big deal and it doesn't affect me in any way. Normally it doesn't, but with Neil it’s different.
“It’s not against the law to have sex in your own building, right?”
I don't want to admit to any crimes, for myself or against any other residents of Cottonwood. Quinn might be new in town, but she's one of us. She's sweet, and I knew right away she was special with how hard Rhodes fell for her. He’s always been a good guy.
“Maybe,” Neil hedges.
“It was in the back, and I don't think any of the cats witnessed it.”
“It might violate a few health codes.” He gives me a teasing smile.
“When they finally got together, things went hot and fast, so they might have been getting frisky in the back. But most of what they were doing was covered. I mean he bent her over and her skirt hid…” I trail off when Neil’s eyebrows rise. “Too much information?”
“I was teasing about the details, but how do you know all that?” He shakes his head, smirking.
My stomach sinks. The reason I know is because I saw the sneaky photos Simon took of Quinn and Rhodes together. Rhodes didn't want the more sexual ones shown around, so I'd taken them and hid them in my cruiser. I knew the state police wouldn't search my vehicle and they’d be safe.
What happened to them was appalling enough, but people looking at the photos was an invasion of privacy on top of it. Rhodes didn't want anyone to see them, but we knew we needed some to show Simon was stalking her. So we went through them and left out the ones that weren't as graphic.
“Sheriff?” Neil pushes, and I realize I haven't responded to his question.
“Girl talk,” I blurt out.
“You guys give that level of detail?”
“Okay, Mr. FBI Agent. I don’t know what you learned in that fancy academy of yours, but here in Cottonwood”—I tap my finger on the desk—”girl talk is highly classified.”
“All right.” He puts his hands up, conceding. Internally I sigh in relief. “But I get the sense something is off. There’s more to the story.”
Well, crap. That relief was short-lived. I should google how much time do you get in the slammer for messing with evidence. I still have those pictures, but I should probably burn them. I’m escalating my crimes rather quickly, I suppose, so why stop now?