Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Everything okay for now?” I ask, turning to Mom’s business. “Nothing new with Jed Ford, is there? Or the development?”
Moms shrugs. “Nothing new, just the same people saying the same things. He’s lying through those fake white teeth of his, reassuring us all that the development’s going to be beautiful and bring new blood to our stores. And the whole town is threatening to hang him at sundown for betraying Cold Springs by selling out to people who don’t care about our town and its traditions.”
There’s that word again . . . tradition. It’s the biggest battle around here—the townsfolk desire to honor it, respect it, and keep things the same as they’ve been. And Jed’s desire for progress, not for a noble reason like growth, or to keep Cold Springs vibrant and alive, but for the oldest reason in the books: money.
“Well, if anything changes, or there’s going to be riots in the streets, let me know so I can get my ass-kicking boots on, ’kay?”
Mom laughs, reasonably sure that I’m kidding.
To be honest, though, I’m not. Jed Ford scares the bejesus out of me, not because of the man himself, but because of the power he holds. My mom, aunt, brother, and me all live and breathe Cold Springs, and if Jed fucks that up, we’re done for.
The same as so many others.
“As for Winston and Avery, if he does hurt her, I’m going to need to borrow your freezer and have you give me an alibi.”
I smile when I say it, pretending I’m joking.
Plausible deniability, you know.
Mom frowns slightly, knowing I’m not. “You can’t put the bodies in the freezer, baby. They always get found there. Now the old, dried-up well behind your place . . .”
Dark humor for sure, but we both laugh, all the while hoping it never comes to that.
Chapter 7
WYATT
“Where is everyone?” I ask Maria as I finish the breakfast taco she made for me this morning. It’s not my usual start to a day—I’m normally a simple eggs-and-coffee type of man. But I would never turn down anything Maria makes, both because it’s always delicious and because I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Waiting for you,” she says quietly. She jerks her chin toward the hallway that leads to Dad’s office, and her eyes deliberately cut to the left and then back, so quick I almost think I imagined it. “Be careful, mijo. You’ve been gone a long time. Things are different now.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper, following her lead. Maria is an incredibly wise woman, and more than once growing up, I trusted her advice more than that of my own parents.
She shrugs as she scrubs a nonexistent spot on the island. “Mr. Bill . . . he is worried all the time.”
I remember Dad’s midafternoon drunken stupor earlier this week. I don’t know if worried is the word I’d use to describe it. Out of control, maybe? But I don’t want to argue semantics, so instead I say, “About what?”
“Mmm,” she hums. “Mostly about Mr. Jed. He is . . .” She pauses as though searching for a word to describe my uncle.
“A pendejo?” I suggest.
“No, you awful boy,” she scolds playfully, swinging the towel at me. I laugh and duck away, and she smiles softly. I’ve missed her. Always taking care of us and kind, but also firm when a situation calls for it, especially with us “kids.” “He is not well liked in this town. That’s what worries Mr. Bill.”
“I think ‘not well liked’ is your sweet soul speaking. He’s downright hated from what I can tell, and that’s going by the signs around town.”
Her dark eyes pierce deeply into mine, saying so much that she won’t let pass her lips. After a moment, she resumes wiping the counter. “You want another taco? I’ve got enough for one more.”
She’s told me all she’s going to, and though I’d like to push for more, I won’t do it with Maria. When she shuts her mouth, it’s sealed tighter than a bank vault. It’s time to find out what’s going on from the source. “No, thanks. This was delicious, but I’m stuffed.”
I get up and automatically rinse my plate before putting it in the dishwasher. It’s a new habit, one that’s developed since I left Cold Springs, and doesn’t go unnoticed. Maria leans back on the counter, her arms crossed over her middle. “Ah, mijo. You are different too. Living on your own has been good for you.”
I chuckle, and though my cheeks flush, I wink at her teasingly. “Growing up has been good for me. If I stayed here, I think I would’ve only grown out.” I pat my belly, full of her good food. “And then what?”
She laughs happily, enjoying the compliment. “You’d best get in there,” she says, glancing toward Dad’s office once more. “Just remember . . . tranquilo.”