Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
TWENTY-EIGHT
CLOSE ENOUGH TO noon,” Lydia said as she hit the brakes. “ ‘Come back in two days.’ For God’s sake. It’s just stupid games, anyway.”
As she punched the P button on the Suburban’s dash, she looked out at Eastwind’s house and wondered why she was bothering to turn off the engine. The sheriff was toying with her, and besides, now they had Gus back and alive, right?
She thought of the footfalls she’d seen in the forest when she’d been in her wolven form.
“We need to play this out,” Daniel said as he opened his door.
“So he should pick up a phone and just call us,” she groused. “He’s a sheriff, not a king. What’s with the royal visit bullcrap.”
“In small towns, that’s the way it goes.”
Cursing under her breath, she got out and waited for Daniel to come around the hood of the SUV. Even after the tromp through the forest, he’d still left the cane behind, and she was relieved to see he was walking so much better. His color had improved, too—and not just because he was flushed from the chill in the gray morning.
“This won’t take long,” he said.
“It better not.”
As she faced the house, she was distracted by all her rank pissed-off—so it wasn’t until she was almost to the front door that an eerie tingle went through her spine. Stopping, she tilted to the side so she could look through the windows on the first floor. Everything was dark inside.
“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t… know.” Backing up, she leaned away so she could see upstairs. “There’s something off.”
Heading up to the entry, she had been prepared to pound with her fists—instead, she used the lion’s head knocker.
Bang, bang… bang.
Shaking her head, she murmured, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this—”
Right on cue, a white car made a quick jog onto the long drive and came racing down, dust kicking up behind its rear tires. As the sedan skidded to a halt, the driver’s side door, which was marked with a decal that read “Hanson & Honeywell Realtors,” was thrown open.
“I am so sorry I’m late.” The young woman tripped over an untied sneaker as she launched herself out from behind the wheel. “I’m Sarah—Gary Honeywell’s my dad? Oh, wait, the message said you’re not from around here so that doesn’t matter. I was about to teach a spin class when you texted. I do it downstairs at the church? Noon today. Peg’s taking over—”
She stopped. “I’m rambling. Sorry. I do that. But here, I’ll show you the house right now.”
As she hipped the car door closed, she patted at the messy brunette bun on top of her head. She was wearing blinding yellow Lululemon tights on the bottom, and for a split second, all Lydia could do was wonder what the top half was like. Fortunately, things were covered with a ski jacket.
Then she snapped back to attention. “See the house? We’re not here to—”
Daniel stepped forward and put out his hand. “We just got here ourselves, so don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, thank God.” Sarah-Gary’s-Daughter shook what was offered. “I really appreciate it. I just moved back to Walters. I went to SUNY Plattsburgh and I graduated this past June—well, I had to make up one class this summer—”
She stopped herself again. “I’m doing it some more, aren’t I. Okay, refocus, refocus—so come on in.” The girl smiled, flashing beautiful teeth. “You guys are the first to see this place, and I don’t know your situation, but if you’re serious about renting, I’d jump on it. There aren’t many houses in Walters like this one.
“Three bed, two and a half bath.” After fishing around in her pocket, she took out a key and unlocked the front door. “And there’s the barn in the back meadow as well as that detached garage over there.”
At this point, Lydia’s ears stopped working as she tried to look around the woman’s shoulders as things opened—and as soon as she was able to get into the living room, she didn’t pretend and play a role. She strode through the rooms—and knew Eastwind was gone. The sparse furniture was all in the same places, the beautiful Native American textiles hanging right where they’d been, the kitchen neat as a pin. But as she inhaled, there was no fresh scent of the sheriff.
He must have left in the middle of the night, soon after they did.
Even though the speed with which she surveyed the house wasn’t going to change anything, she hurried upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. She hit the big front bedroom first, the one with the en suite bathroom, and everything was tidy, the queen-sized bed made, the towels in the loo folded neatly over rods by the shower, a faint whiff of Windex and Pine-Sol lingering in the hot, dry air—