Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“We stick together.”
She stops. “We do?” An adorable confusion flitters across her expression.
“From now on we do.” I nod and give her wrist a squeeze before letting go. Turning back to the butler, I say, “I’ll catch up with you next. Don’t go far.” With that, I take May’s hand. “Lead on.” Her skin is warm against mine, and she doesn’t pull away.
“Mr. Blair, I’m a busy man. I can’t dawdle while–”
I turn back to him. He’s making a sad effort to look down his nose at me despite the fact I’m almost a foot taller than he is. “I said stay put. I’ll be back shortly.”
At my tone, he snaps his mouth shut, though his eyes flash with indignation. He simply folds his hands behind his back like a soldier taking up an ‘at ease’ stance.
“Let’s go.”
May’s gaze bounces back and forth from the snooty butler to me, but she seems to like the chance of escape, so she moves toward the main hallway where Mousey disappeared.
Once we’re out of earshot, she says, “I wish I could be like that.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“You know. Like gruff and scary.”
Oh, shit. My heart sinks and I pull her to a stop. “I scared you?”
Her brows knit together. “What?”
“You just said I was scary.”
“Oh, no. Not to me.” She smiles, and an invisible weight lifts from my chest. “You’re not scary at all. You’re like a Maine Coon. You have resting grumpy face, but really you’re a total sweetheart inside. Fiercely loyal to the ones you love. You’ll defend your family, fight fang and claw to keep them safe.”
“A Maine Coon?” My lips twitch into a smile.
She nods decisively. “And they’re big. Like, the biggest.” Her cheeks go a little pink. “Not that I think you’re–” She turns her head quickly. “Mousey’s in there. She wants to show us a window. Come on.”
She pulls me into a room, this one done in shades of purple with paintings of some sort of sad, droopy flower decorating the walls over and over again. “Mrs. Farrol has an obsession with repetition.”
I follow May to a window where Mousey sits licking her paw. She looks up at May.
May starts, then looks around the room again. “Are you serious?”
Mousey goes back to licking her paw.
“Oh my God, she’s serious.” May rubs her forehead.
“What?” I examine the window. “Something to do with this?” I can tell it’s a cantilever mechanism along the top of the bottom frame. Easy to open from the inside, but almost impossible from the outside. No one could’ve come through here without help. I eye Mousey. Help or a cat who can open the window and possibly leave it open on accident.
“I think I might be sick.” May leans against me.
Concern rushes through me like a blaring alarm bell. “What is it?” I steady her. “Are you okay?”
She gestures weakly to the nearest drooping flower, this one with some sort of curling black foliage around it. “Mousey said they’re Mrs. Farrol.”
“What?” I look at the painting, not understanding. “Mrs. Farrol painted it?”
She closes her eyes. “No. They’re all Mrs. Farrol.”
Mousey stares at me, her expression–if a cat can have an expression–slyly amused. I look at the painting again. It takes about half a second before realization sets in. They aren’t droopy flowers at all. And the curly black foliage isn’t foliage at all. It’s hair. The paintings are Mrs. Farrol’s droopy flower. Over and over again. My stomach lurches.
First a missing cat investigation and now a roomful of vaginas. Goddamn, rich people are so fucking weird.
8
MAY
“That’s a lot of pussy in one room,” Mousey deadpans, making me burst into laughter. I cover my face with my hands.
“What?” Carson questions why I'm laughing so hard. “What did she say?” I drop my hands from my face. “You’ve turned a pretty pink.” He brushes a piece of hair out of my face that escaped from my bun. I have more hair than I know what to do with. Though if I knew I would be meeting Cece, I might have dolled myself up a touch.
“She’s terrible.” I shake my head.
“Come on. Tell me.”
I understand what it's like to feel excluded. I don’t want to do the same to Carson, so I give. “She said it’s a lot of, ah”—I duck my head, my cheeks burning with heat—“pussy… in one room.”
A bark of laughter leaves Carson. The sound sends a tingly feeling through my body. I can’t help but giggle along with him. “We should get back to work.” I clear my throat, trying to get myself together. I still can’t believe I said ‘pussy’ out loud.
He schools his expression, though there’s still a twinkle in his eye. “If he went out the window, we should go search the grounds.”
“Do we go out the window?” It’s not too far off the ground, but I’m not a cat and know I won’t land on my feet. It doesn’t help that I’m kind of a klutz. Climbing out the window does not mesh well with that.