Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Amka hadn’t known that. “Then I’ll give you all the details when we don’t have to whisper. For now, would you like another drink?” She could give the doctor a ride home in May’s truck and return it tomorrow.
“Yes. A double.” May leaned on the bar like she didn’t care if anyone saw her unraveling.
Amka fetched her a glass of water, a double shot of rye, and then busied herself wiping the same spot on the bar until her hand cramped.
So folks in town had noticed the tension between Christian and her. She’d wondered. Now her mind wouldn’t stop spinning about him. How he’d held her last night like she was something he’d never expected to find. How he’d kissed her like he was starving. How he’d whispered her name like it meant something. Real. Solid. Permanent.
And now?
If he’d finished looking for a killer taking eyeballs, he was now back out in the woods with Brock, chasing leads on Jarod’s murder and trying to stay three steps ahead of whatever was coming next—while the state troopers attempted to tie her to Jarod’s death. She hated that her chest hurt when she thought about Christian. She hadn’t signed up for this. Not the feelings. Not the what-ifs.
She tossed the rag in the sink and moved into the kitchen, noting how pristine it looked after Rudolph had shut it down for the night. The chef was a genius at not only food preparation but cleaning. He never missed a spot. So she paused at seeing a folded up piece of paper by the back door.
A note? She hurried and picked it up, wondering if it was Rudolph’s. If she should call and ask before opening it. Not that the old chef had any secrets. The paper was off-white. Heavier than standard. She unfolded it and read:
The town will hate you when the truth comes out. You’re a killer, and Flossy deserves to hang. Have $50k in a plain bag by Friday when I send more instructions. You and Jarod send the money, and I won’t tell a soul. You have plenty, and he has insurance money.
* * *
Her stomach lurched. The paper shook in her hand. Now somebody new was blackmailing her? As well as Jarod? It was shocking that the secret of his death still held.
She folded the note twice and walked back into the bar to shove it beneath the stack of invoices under the register, then placed a battered menu on top. No one saw. Her pulse galloped and she fought the urge to throw up.
“You good?” May asked.
Not even close. Amka almost reached for the note but paused at seeing the stress lines extending out from May’s eyes. “The broken bone was a rough one?”
May looked down at her hands. “Yeah. I had a few rough ones today, but I can’t talk about the other ones. Margie Japley already posted on Instagram about her femur. I texted her a copy of the x-rays and she squealed, she was so happy.” May shook her head. “Kids.”
Amka wouldn’t burden her about her earlier arrest or the blackmail note right now. May had apparently dealt with enough today. “I’ve got you, May. You drink all you want tonight.” She poured another and then turned back to the taps and double checked the pressure on one. Her throat tightened. The walls of the tavern pressed in. She thought she was done being scared. She thought with Jarod gone, the nightmare would slow down.
Apparently not.
May cleared her throat again. “You okay?”
Amka pasted on a smile. “Yeah. You?”
May raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Why don’t you sit down and dish on Christian? You look like you could use a break. It seems like you’re listing to one side.”
“This is my sexy limp,” Amka muttered, reaching for a tray. “I’ll gossip later.”
May snorted, and Amka walked over to an odd grouping by the pool table that included the widow, the insurance adjuster, and two influencers. The widow—Lorrie, that was her name—looked up and offered a faint smile.
Helene didn’t. The insurance adjuster looked two drinks past tolerable and not slowing down. “I’d like another martini, which makes it easier to warn you that my report states that I’m suspicious either you or your fiancé started the fire in the storage building. Mainly because Mr. Teller is avoiding talking to me about it. I’m thinking that we should reopen the investigation into the motel fire.” She hiccupped.
Jarod wouldn’t talk to anybody ever again. “Neither Jarod nor I set that fire,” Amka said.
Helene popped her last olive in her mouth and handed over her empty glass. “Any idea where he is?”
Amka tried to force a smile. “He’s still off-grid. He can disappear for weeks when he wants time with nature.”
Steve snorted, too loudly. “Oh, that’s real convenient. Maybe he did set those fires. He’s purposefully not answering your calls, Helene. It’s so obvious.”