Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“On me? Veto and scheduling an urgent waxing appointment. On other women? You do you, boo. On a guy? It depends. Are we talking neat and cared for, or full-on, scraggly bird’s nest with lunch left buried in it?”
“The first, of course!” I answer with a laugh.
“Then no.” She grins, having gotten me good. “To be fair, it was a no either way. Why?”
“Oh,” I say sadly. “I have a friend who’s recently single and thought—”
She interrupts me, holding a palm up. “And veto that too. The last thing I need is to be set up on a blind date. Not only no, but Hell. No.”
It sounds like there might be bad history there, but either way, hearing her solid disinterest, I don’t press. Instead, I nod. “I get it. No worries.”
Chance sees the opening, though, and jokes, “I don’t know, Kayla. A blind date where they don’t know what they’re getting into might be the only way. Because a guy would have to have big, clanging, brass ones to approach you. You’re kinda intimidating, in case you didn’t know.”
Kayla blinks twice, feigning vacancy before delivering a death blow. “You are intimidate-ed. Men are intimidate-ed. That doesn’t mean I am intimidate-ing. It’s a failure on their part, not a weakness in mine.”
Samantha reaches across the table and high-fives Kayla. “Damn straight.”
Chance chuckles. “So big, brass ones is what you’re looking for, then? Noted.”
Kayla shrugs carelessly, laughing back. “If that’s what it takes.”
I think diamond-hard, boulder-sized balls of pure courage is more like it, but I keep that to myself, too impressed by—and maybe a bit scared of—Kayla to tease her. Instead, I give her an out of the conversation I unintentionally started. “Anybody want apple pie? It’s not Grandma Beth’s, but it’s her recipe,” I brag, placing my hand on Cole’s shoulder.
“You made apple pie? Grandma’s apple pie?” Kyle echoes incredulously. “Fuck yeah, I want some of that. Bring it on!” He picks up his fork and holds it at the ready, grinning at Cole with childlike excitement.
“You get the last piece,” Cole declares. “Otherwise, no one else’ll get any.”
“Fair enough,” Kyle agrees with no shame.
CHAPTER 24
COLE
I don’t answer my phone for many people. Not many people have this number because it’s not the one on my card, but rather my personal one. So when it rings, I know it’s actually worth my time.
“Hello.”
“I have an update for you on the Webster case,” Louisa clips out, her fingers clicking on a keyboard in the background. She’s always like this—no greeting, no niceties, straight to the point, which I appreciate.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve got the unknown woman’s current name and details, but no connection between her and Webster yet. Her social media doesn’t mention him by name or anything that suspiciously points to him. No overlap in friends, family, history, etc. But her history is sketchy at best.”
She pauses for a breath, and I ask, “Criminal?”
“No.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard and she reads, “Mother, deceased. Father, unlisted. Ward of the foster care system, starting at age five. There’s a list of homes before she was adopted at . . .” Click, click, click. “Fifteen.”
“That’s unusual,” I murmur. A cute five-year-old didn’t get adopted, but a fifteen-year-old with a hard life did? That’s not the norm, nor would it typically bode well for a teen in today’s system.
“Yeah. Ran away by sixteen, started using her mother’s last name again a couple of years ago, but legally, it’s still her adoptive parents’, which is why it took me so long. I’ll send her contact info to you now.” There’s a whoosh sound as the email leaves Louisa’s computer, and a moment later, my computer makes its little ding-ding of delivery.
“Thanks.” I go to hang up, but Louisa clears her throat.
“There’s more,” she says, and I can tell this is actually why she called. I’m quiet, waiting for her to share what she’s found. “Mr. Webster had a heart attack last week, died at St. Joseph’s. No signs of foul play, being treated as natural causes.”
“But . . .” I prompt. Suspicious timing, but if there’s no police investigation, it shouldn’t warrant that particular tone in Louisa’s voice.
“The wife, Mrs. Webster, is doing a quick run to settle the will. Considering there are significant assets, it seemed . . . interesting.”
I agree, it does. I told Mrs. Webster that I didn’t think the woman her husband met with was a marital threat, but maybe she knows something we don’t. It wouldn’t be the first time a client has done some digging of their own after I handed them a shovel and a prime dig spot.
“Thanks. I’ll follow up.”
We hang up, and I make a couple more phone calls. Tonight, Janey and I won’t be curled up on the couch for a cozy night and then move to her bed, which is admittedly more comfortable than mine.