Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Oh, sure. And you won’t put it on the shelves, right?” she asked, slamming the box’s lid to silence the grating music, then reaching for her pen.
“No. I keep this kind of thing behind the counter or in the back storage room. For the time we agree on. After that, all bets are off, though.”
“Got it. That won’t, uh—” She trailed off, jumping as the shadow of someone fell over the countertop. It was just a man pausing to look at the display in the window before walking away. But everything about Robin had tightened. I could practically see her pulse fluttering in her throat.
She tried to blow it off, running a hand through her hair, rolling her shoulders. But I knew what I’d seen. Again, though, I chalked it up to an issue with a boyfriend or something like that. Maybe even a street harasser.
“That won’t be a problem,” she said, rushing through the paperwork, passing it to me, then pushing the box closer to me. “Please, just keep it safe for me.”
With that, she tried to go to the door.
“Wait,” I called, making her jump. “Your money,” I said, getting the forty bucks out and handing it to her.
“Oh, right. Of course.”
She took it and shoved it down into her purse.
And it was as she was walking out the door that something nagged at me. It took a second to place it.
But it had been right there in front of me.
Her hand with her expensive gel manicure. The rings on her long fingers. The bracelet. The designer label on her bag. The fact that her pants were those pricey leggings all the Pilates girls wore.
Everything about her said she had money.
And more expensive things to hock than a silly little music box.
At the time, though, I shrugged it off. People could be strange. And maybe she needed quick cash to get a fix. Addiction could hit anyone, even girls with nice manicures and expensive running shoes.
I tried not to judge.
So I just did what I’d agreed to.
I tucked the box away.
I kept it safe.
Then I pretty much forgot about it. Because with only forty bucks on the line, it wasn’t something I felt the need to think about.
I probably wouldn’t have given it another thought until I did something like inventory and came across it.
Until Robin Moody’s pretty face flashed on my television. Because she was dead. Murdered.
My first thought was along the lines of, Well, I guess she’s never coming back for the box.
It took a minute for the other thoughts to surface.
For the pieces to start to fall together.
A nervous woman with a weird request.
A box in my care for safekeeping.
Two sketchy men in my store, looking for something.
A messed-up camera.
An open gate.
A broken lock.
What the hell was in that box?
That was worth killing a woman over?
That was worth risking the wrath of the Costa Family to look for when everyone knew most of the establishments on the street were under their protection?
I rushed around my apartment, blowing out candles, then grabbing my purse, shoving a kitchen knife inside of it, and making my way to the door.
Only for Tuna to follow me.
“Really? Now?” But I was already reaching for the leash.
He was annoyingly leisurely about sniffing around for a spot to do his business. Then he insisted on stopping by every tree to lift his leg, even when he ran out of pee to mark with.
It was like he sensed my urgency and was doing everything in his power to slow me down.
My mind was racing as I moved past the apartment building, the police tape down, the police presence gone for the day.
What was in the box? Was there a secret compartment with cash or jewels inside? Stolen goods, maybe?
Whatever it was, it was mine now.
Robin wasn’t going to be coming back for it.
Those guys, though?
Who knew.
All the more reason to hurry up, get in there, find the box and what was hidden inside, then figure out what I was going to do about it.
“Seriously?” I grumbled when Tuna stopped to sniff a piece of paper stuck to the sidewalk.
Impatient, I was leaning down to scoop him up when he stiffened, then lurched away from me.
My hold on the leash was loose at best, since I didn’t have to worry about Tuna being aggressive. So when he ran, the leash slipped right out of my hold.
“No!” I shrieked.
Sure, he was moody and demanding, and he barely tolerated me. But he was my little dude. I loved him.
“Tuna!” I yelled, making a few passersby shoot me a weird look before carrying on.
I’d just straightened when I noticed Tuna had stopped running. Because he was busy jumping up on a pair of skinny, jean-clad legs.
My gaze tracked upward.
And there he was.
The only person in the world my dog loved.