Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
I also melted back into him (obviously).
“We close? I’m starved,” he said.
“Salad done?” I asked.
He was about to answer when both Tonks and Hannibal started barking.
Tonks could make noise.
But Hannibal’s bark was terrifying.
I froze.
Hutch did not.
He grabbed my hand, dragged me from the stove, pulled me into the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and shoved me against the wall.
He then pointed in my face. “Don’t move.”
I nodded.
He went to the front window and peered around the curtain.
His alert body relaxed at whatever he saw, therefore I relaxed, and he ordered, “Hannibal! Tonks! Quiet!”
Hannibal immediately shut up.
Tonks gave a soft roo-roo then she shut up.
Hutch looked to me. “Mrs. Matthews.”
Oh man.
There came an imperious knock on the door, I moved into the room, and Hutch unlocked and opened it.
More imperious came when she demanded, “Kindly get out of my way and make sure your dogs don’t bite me.”
I watched with curiosity as to what Hutch was going to do in this situation, considering the woman not only didn’t offer a greeting, she didn’t ask for an invite over the threshold, or even to his house.
But Hutch just stepped aside and ordered, “Hannibal. Tonks. Friend.”
Tonks didn’t know “friend,” but then again, everyone was Tonks’s friend.
I saw Mark, Mrs. Matthews’s son, standing out on the porch, back to the door, keeping an eye on the darkness like he was guarding the door that led to a mafia madam.
Mrs. Matthews swept in, this time in a full-length, black fur coat with a matching fur hat, which she probably bought from an auction with authentication papers that stated it came from the wardrobe of the movie Doctor Zhivago.
Except it dwarfed her, so she looked like a human coat hanger.
Hutch shut the door.
Mrs. Matthews only had eyes for me.
She lifted a black kid-gloved hand, with all five fingers extended.
She grabbed her thumb. “Saturday, local law enforcement with the aid of federal and other local officers raided The Lion and The Lamb.”
She grabbed her pointer finger.
“Sunday, I hear word that this whole thing began because one of the women on that compound escaped and got far enough to ask someone for help, thus 911 was called. Considering I have a brain in my head and know the property to the south would not be where she was heading because it’s a good mile and a half away from that compound, I put two and two together and came up with the certainty that Mabel called 911. I reckon that was quite a fright for you, so I decided to give you the day to get over it.”
She grabbed her middle finger.
“And now it’s Monday.” Her eyes screwed up when she added, “Evening.”
She then went back to her thumb, to her index and again to the middle finger.
“One, two, three days you could have phoned me, and you did not.” She dropped her hand. “I clearly recall I instructed you, if you had any more problems with those people, you call.”
Tonks yodeled after this, and I didn’t know if my dog was agreeing with her or telling her off for telling me off.
Before I could say anything, Mrs. Matthews went on.
“I thought your man would do this.” She looked between Hutch and me. “Like I ever believed that ‘he’s just my dog trainer’ hogwash.” She returned her focus to me. “But since he clearly hasn’t, I will. You’re new to this area, and you lived in the nameless, faceless city before you got here. Allow me to educate you, we look after our own.” She threw up both hands and let loose. “I’ve been worried sick!”
Oh my God.
How sweet.
Weirdly confrontationally sweet.
But sweet.
“I wasn’t ever in any real danger, Mrs. Matthews,” I told her.
Her voice went up two octaves when she asked, “How was I supposed to know that, unless you called?”
Wait up.
Did she…
Like me?
We barely knew each other.
“You can see now she’s fine,” Hutch told her, coming to sling his arm around my shoulders. “And we’re making dinner. We got enough to stretch. You and your son wanna join us?”
Wait up.
Was he…
Inviting her to dinner?
Mrs. Matthews sniffed. “What are you having?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Hutch told her.
“Garlic bread?” she asked.
“Salad,” he answered.
She curled her lip.
Then she shouted, “Mark! We’re staying for dinner!”
Hutch went to open the door.
Mrs. Matthews swept off her hat and gloves and gave them to me like I was the butler, then turned her back to me so I’d help her with her coat.
Oh yeah.
She liked me.
And I liked her.
Hutch was welcoming Mark in as I took her coat and was beckoning her into the kitchen where the only coat hooks were, seeing as Hutch usually went in and out the back door.
“Wait until you see Hutch’s kitchen,” I told her.
“A kitchen’s a kitchen,” she repeated Hutch’s words.
Then she stopped dead when we hit the kitchen.