Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
The featherlight brush of her breath, the faint scent of blueberries. Her headier perfume, something floral and sweet.
“Listen, I’ve seen enough shit in my life to handle a little mouse. What I can’t tolerate are people who lie to me.”
She rocks back like I just slapped her.
The distance is good.
I need her to understand whatever game she’s playing won’t fly, and I’ve had enough dishonesty for this lifetime.
It was bad enough with Daria and the way everything imploded after her affair started.
Margot swallows a few times, like she’s suppressing whatever emotion I just drew out of her, and she takes another step back.
“I’m really sorry again,” she says one more time, her soft voice a little flat. “I won’t come creeping a second time.”
“Or the kids’ rooms,” I warn.
“No.” The way she shakes her head seems a little mechanical, but I detect a trace of indignation before she squashes it. “This was my mistake.”
Her gaze flicks to my tattoo again, my sleeve still pushed up.
The intimidation factor suddenly doesn’t make me feel as good as before.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not great at this landlord thing. That’s why I had Mrs. Griffith.” She moves past me to the door. “I read you loud and clear, though. No more surprises. No sign of mice yet either, so just… yeah, just enjoy your day.”
I can feel the burning intensity in my eyes as I watch her go.
5
HAUNTED HOUSE (MARGOT)
You’re looking at the smoothest girl ever.
Ha.
That couldn’t have gone down worse if I’d decided to make a blueberry pie and whacked him square in the face with it.
I lean against the wall of my room, hand against my chest, heart still racing.
Honestly, it might’ve been better if I had pied him. It might’ve distracted him from finding me obviously creeping on his turf.
If he wasn’t suspicious before, he sure is now.
He was also a total domineering asshole, up in my face, angry tattoo bristling, but I can’t even blame him.
The man had Army written all over before he flashed his ink and storming testosterone. A riptide of violence in his eyes, like he’ll do anything to protect his kids.
Yes, I had it coming.
I should’ve waited until they left to go into town or something before sleuthing around. Getting caught was hilariously preventable, especially when I had an inkling of how he could react.
Very badly.
And again, completely justified.
I think he saw right through my little mice story.
There was a mouse problem here in the past. That just wasn’t the reason why I went poking around.
Ugh.
Why couldn’t PopPop have just told me what I’m supposed to be looking for?
Or at least hinted where it is.
Now, I’m shooting in the dark and missing every target.
I’ve retreated to my room with the fairy lights on and the fading sunlight streaming in.
I feel ridiculous for ever thinking there might be some trapdoor or secret passage in the house.
I mean, I wouldn’t put it past Gramps to make a big show of whatever he’s hiding. I still don’t know what kind of ‘priceless memento’ he left my little cousin Cleo. But I’m glad that’s her problem, considering how stressful this house is.
I slide down the wall and crouch on the floor, my hands in my hair.
God, if he was here right now, he’d laugh at me.
“Don’t give up so easy, May. Where’s your curiosity? It doesn’t kill the cat; it gives it a reason to live.”
Seriously. I can’t count the number of times he’d say that with the same warm rolling chuckle.
Always when Hattie and I were kids, and he’d send us on his big scavenger hunts out here or sometimes at the big house in Portland.
Back then, it was fun. The stakes were lower, and the prizes were candy or books or sometimes little silver lockets and bracelets.
Tromping around the gardens out back or the lakeshore never made me feel like a sneaky weirdo either.
No wonder Kane wishes I’d fall off the earth. It doesn’t excuse his assholery, but he has good reasons.
I hate that he had to forbid me from going into the kids’ rooms. That was a sucker punch, like I’d go snooping around for no good reason.
…but isn’t that what I did?
Shit, this is so pathetic.
I stand up and go sit on the bed.
Whatever, it’s fine.
I’ll just stay in my room guessing until the Saints aren’t here, hoping whatever that crafty old man hid isn’t perishable.
The rest of my day goes by about as well as my encounter with Kane.
Ethan doesn’t know anything about the lake house or any secrets Gramps hid here, and he’s also notoriously bad at texting me back.
But that’s what happens when your older brother’s too busy being all lovey with Hattie.
I can’t be mad.
At first, it was weird, but they’re such a good couple. When the chemistry hits right, there’s no stopping it.