Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You got too many thoughts going in that head of yours. Come here.” He pointed to the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “I’ll fix you some jambalaya.”
I shook my head. “I’m good. I’m just tired.”
“You slept all morning. It’s noon. Time to eat.”
I’d flown through the night. You’d think the man would cut me some slack, but he was acting as if I was the laziest person alive. “I only got four or five hours of sleep.”
He clicked his tongue. “Pauve ti bite. Poor little thing.”
I flopped down on his sofa, and it shifted from the impact. I stared up at his ceiling and noticed the dust on his ceiling-fan blades. The guy needed to learn how to use a paper towel and some 409. He thought I was lazy? I had opened his fridge last night and saw milk that expired two weeks ago.
“You starve to death, Dario’s going to be real mad at me.”
“I’m not going to starve to death.” I turned my head and looked at him. “Is there a plan? How long am I supposed to be here?”
He shrugged as if unconcerned, but he couldn’t be pleased to have a sudden and sullen houseguest. I kicked my foot up on the arm of the ancient leather sofa and noticed I was still wearing his socks—mine had gotten wet when I stepped into a puddle between Laurent’s truck and his house—a wool pair that was way too big for me, the heels of them bulging out from my ankle in an odd fashion.
I tugged on the bottom of my shirt, the same one from last night. I could have died in this shirt. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow? Or can we go buy some?”
He looked up, eyeing me as if gauging my size. “My sistah is too big, but she could loan you something.”
His sister. I tried to imagine the sister to this huge and hulking behemoth. I glanced around the room. “Don’t you have a girlfriend or ex? Someone who’s left clothes here at some point?”
He looked at me as if I was crazy, as if we didn’t leave clothes behind like property markers claiming territories.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. And you asked ‘bout a plan.” He brought over a plate of steaming jambalaya and set it down on the coffee table. I sat up, my stomach growling out of habit. “The plan is, we wait for the boss man to tell us what da plan is.”
That sounded like a stupid plan. In movies, that sort of plan always caused the sitting ducks to be killed. I voiced my opinion and he chuckled.
“Nobody being kilt on my watch. I keep Dario alive for twenty-five years in that crazy city of his. You on Benoit land here. Nobody going to come o’er here and kill you. Trust me on dat.”
I did trust him. It seemed reasonable to feel safe in the middle of the swamp with a man who seemed capable of breaking an alligator in two.
He pushed the plate toward me. “Here. Eat. After that, we can get you some clothes.”
I eyed the plate for a long moment, then reluctantly picked up a fork and began to eat.
Five
DARIO
The study, which had felt crowded with Hawk and his two men—was now quickly filled with police officers. “Mr. Capece, if you could come with us.” One of the policemen stepped forward and put a hand on Dario’s shoulder before cuffing his hands behind him.
Robert Hawk straightened to his full height. “Why are you arresting him?”
“May we speak to you in private, Mr. Hawk? I’m afraid we have some news to share with you.”
Hawk’s gaze popped from Dario to the detective, and indecision broke the rigidity of his features.
“It’s about your daughter.”
The knot in the middle of Hawk’s throat bobbed, and Dario watched as he ran both hands over the top of his hair, smoothing down the thick silver strands. “Go on.”
“Mr. Capece?” The second uniform gestured to the door, and Dario flexed his hands, not appreciating the feel of the handcuffs, biting into the muscle of his wrists. It had been a long time since he had been in handcuffs. The last time had been twenty years ago, when he had been caught crawling in Mandi Breitlen’s bedroom window. Her father had chosen to call the authorities rather than face the fact that his daughter wasn’t the angel he thought she was.
“Let’s go. We’ll read you your rights outside.”
Dario followed the man through the door. He stepped out of the house, his eyes drifting over the trio of police cars. They’d certainly cut things close. Another thirty seconds, and he’d be dead. He was brought to a stop next to one of Hawk’s men.
“Dario Capece, you are being arrested for the murder of Gwen Capece. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can…”