Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I blink. “What?”
“The blue Lexus? It’s in the driveway.”
Momentarily, I’m at a loss.
Even though I’m sure she’s telling the truth, I go to the door and peek out to see for myself. Sure enough, the car he lent me is sitting in our driveway.
Frowning, I turn back to her. “Did he drop it off? I don’t have the key.”
“Is that the key?” she asks, pointing toward the table.
“Oh.” The key to the Lexus is, in fact, on the table. He must have dropped it off while I was sleeping, knowing I would need it. “Never mind, then. I guess I don’t need a ride.”
“Why don’t you leave a little early and go get me a lasagna pan? I need it for dinner, and that way I can get the meat started.”
I guess I could do that.
I go back to my room and grab my purse and phone. I need to go now so I have time to come home and change into my uniform. No matter how many times I wash it, my uniform from Chuck’s Chicken Shack always smells like grease, so I don’t want to wear it in Tor’s car any longer than necessary.
On the way into town today, I notice things that weren’t there yesterday. The church I drive past has changed the quote to one about grief and loss. Walker’s Print Shop is no longer advertising a sale. Now the sign reads “Rest easy #87” and I get a sinking feeling because that was Tim’s jersey number when he played football.
Gonna guess that’s not a coincidence.
By the time I reach the grocery store, I’m pretty annoyed. I passed several businesses with tributes to Tim on their signs, and I don’t know why I’m still surprised at this point, but I am.
Then I walk into the grocery store, and right there on the bulletin board in the cart pavilion is a picture of Tim printed out on a flyer inviting everyone to the football field Friday night to pay their respects.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter to myself as the automatic doors open to let me into the store.
I am heated, so I move quickly down the appropriate aisle to find the damn lasagna pan so I can pay for it and get out of here.
But when I get to the register, the already fraying thread holding my sanity together snaps when the cashier hands me a blue armband that says, “I am 87” on it.
“What the hell is this?” I ask her, fresh out of patience.
Taken off guard by my hostility, her eyes widen. “It’s for the vigil Friday night in honor of Tim—”
“This fucking town.” I throw the goddamn armband at her. “You can keep your rapist armband, thank you very much. I’ll just take the pan.” I snatch the bag out of her hand. “Have a great day.”
Her jaw is hanging open as I storm out, but I don’t care anymore. I’m so goddamn sick of this town and all the lunatics who live in it. When I get cleared of this murder, I should just pack a suitcase and get the hell out of here. I’ve already tanked my future, so it’s not like I have anything to stick around and plan for. The only thing stopping me is a lack of funds at this point. And maybe I don’t care. I’d rather sleep in my car somewhere else than have to face these thoughtless assholes every day of my life.
CHAPTER 16
CASSIE
I’ve calmed down a bit by the time I have to leave for work, but I’m taking bets with myself on whether I’ll have a job here in a few minutes, because if I pull into Chuck’s Chicken Shack and they have a tribute sign to Tim Walters or they’re passing out those bullshit armbands, I’m quitting on the spot.
My hackles go down a little when the sign comes into view and it’s just an ad for the family bucket we have on sale right now, but I won’t feel completely safe until I go inside.
My tummy flutters with nerves as I yank open the door, and the smell of the greasy chicken cooking in the back assaults my nostrils.
I wait for the assault on my sanity, but I see Josh working the front counter, and I don’t see a stack of blue armbands like that one I saw at the grocery store. Once I’m through the employee door and behind the counter myself, I still look underneath to make sure they’re not hiding there.
“What are you doing?” Josh asks, looking at me funny.
“Looking for armbands.”
I don’t expect him to know what I’m talking about. Maybe it was just the grocery store doing it. The owner of the store was a sponsor for Tim’s little league baseball team when we were eight years old—but at the mention of the blue armbands, his expression changes.