Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
BERLIN: Lunch? Got a table at Cabo Sol . . .
She follows up with a picture—a cheesy selfie of her sitting solo at a checkered-tablecloth table, making an egregious kissy face.
I type back a thumbs-up emoji and slide my phone away before ringing the doorbell.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” Lynnette answers a minute later, surrounded by a fog of stale smoke and sprightly perfume.
“Lachlan asked me to drop these off for Bryce.” I hand them over.
“How nice of you to do his bidding,” she says with a wink. “How’s the house coming? You want to come in for a bit and chat?”
“Aw, I’d love to, but I actually promised Berlin I’d meet her for lunch,” I say, shrinking. “She’s already at the restaurant . . .”
“Berlin?” The expression on Lynnette’s face turns sour. “So you forgave her?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Bryce said he ran into Lachlan yesterday at the bank . . .”
I had no idea he went to the bank yesterday. He must have forgotten to mention that when I asked how his day was . . .
A cold sweat blankets my forehead, and the back of my neck grows hot from the midday sun beating down from above.
“Did something happen with Lachlan and Berlin?” I ask.
She spreads a petite hand across her chest, her mouth forming a small circle. “Oh my goodness, honey, no. Not Lachlan. Donovan.”
“What about Donovan?” I ask. “I know they dated a long time ago . . .”
She rests her palm across her forehead, staring down at an overgrown bush to the right of the front stoop.
“I’ve said too much,” she finally says. “You should ask Lachlan about it.”
My knees weaken.
Is this why he was acting so strange yesterday? Because he knew something and didn’t want to tell me? When he gave me the impression that everything was fine . . . was it not?
“Please, Lynnette, tell me,” I say, my hands turning to fists at my stomach, but only to keep it from turning inside out. “What’s happened with Berlin?”
The corners of her mouth dip down, and she leans against the doorjamb, arms folded, looking every bit the part of a person about to deliver life-altering news.
“Berlin was sleeping with Donovan the night he died,” Lynnette says, her delivery soft and apologetic.
I wrinkle my nose, refusing to believe. “There’s no way. She told me they hadn’t spoken in years.”
“Then she’s lying to you, sweetheart. She and my son were dating last fall. Berlin broke things off with Bryce because she was getting back with Donovan.” She rolls her eyes. “Apparently he was telling her he was getting a few things in order and then they could finally be together again.”
“It doesn’t make sense . . .”
“What? That Donovan was messing around?”
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t make sense that Berlin lied to me.”
“I believe my son,” she says. “But maybe you should talk to her yourself, get some answers?”
Tears blur my vision, and I thank Lynnette for sharing that with me before jogging to my car. I can’t get out of there quickly enough. But I also can’t go meet up with Berlin, not like this. I swipe my tears away long enough to compose a text to her, canceling lunch. She asks if everything’s okay, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I leave her on read.
After hightailing it home, I’m both disappointed and relieved to find Lachlan’s truck there. Heading inside, I search the quiet house, ending up in his room last. Only he isn’t there. On my way out, a stack of papers on his dresser catches my eye.
More specifically—the logo catches my eye.
Arcadia Grove Savings and Loan.
Biting my lip, I try to talk myself out of looking. I tell myself perhaps he was there to open his own personal account yesterday? If that’s the case, of course he wouldn’t be obligated to share that with me.
But a cocktail of impatience and desperate curiosity gets the better of me, and I scan the top sheet until my frantic gaze finds the words: ACCOUNT STATEMENT FOR DONOVAN N. BYRNE. I pore over the credits and debits, most of which are cash withdrawals mixed with a handful of renovation purchases. I flip through the first few pages before settling on the final page, which declares an account balance of twenty-seven dollars and twenty-three cents.
It’s gone.
All of it.
Lachlan knew this yesterday and didn’t tell me.
He also knew the Berlin-Donovan connection and withheld that as well.
When I asked him if everything was okay, he lied.
“Hey, what are you doing home so early? I thought you were running errands?” Lachlan’s presence fills the doorway, and his gaze darts to the papers in my hand.
“When were you going to tell me about this?” I ask.
“Today, actually.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth,” he says.
“Interesting choice of words coming from someone who lied to me yesterday.”