Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I grit my teeth. “You have to scan the actual barcode.”
“Ohh,” he hums, finally spinning the bouquet around and turning it over to run the plastic wrapping across the scanner.
It’s going to be a miracle if I don’t walk out of here with three bouquets that are just petal-less stems. I suck my lips into my mouth and clench my fists as he continues to struggle with the other two, petals falling onto the conveyor belt as he does, before finally getting it and granting me a total on the screen.
I pull out my card to pay, and he questions me immediately. “No cash?”
“No,” I say, incredibly suspicious. Lance is…interesting. He’s young and a little—okay, a lot—lazy, and if there’s a scheme to be had, I’m pretty sure he’ll figure it out. Without Earl on the premises, I can only imagine he’s hoping to pocket some cash sales for himself. “I don’t have cash on me, and I’m well above the limit for using a card.”
“Whoa, lady, relax.” Lance’s hands both go up defensively. “I’m just asking. No need to call the cops.”
I roll my eyes and finish the transaction, and I then snatch up the bouquets and head out the door without another word. I’m so beyond being in the mood to be given crap right now, I don’t have the energy to do anything else but get the hell out of the grocery store.
I climb back into my SUV and set the flowers and my purse on the passenger seat, pulling my phone out of my bag and dropping it into my cupholder.
When I glance at the screen, I’m surprised to see two messages stacked on each other. I didn’t feel it vibrate, but I’m notorious for forgetting to turn on the ringer and not feeling the buzz at all.
It’s an unknown number, and I click open the first message to see what it says.
I guess your toxic influence finally sank into your sister. If I find out you were behind all this, I’ll make sure you pay.
Well, then. I guess the sender isn’t unknown anymore.
No one, and I mean no one, does vapid nastiness like my mother. The second message, I know, will be more of the same, and I don’t even bother reading it before hitting delete.
But one thing is certain—Norah is going to have to start talking soon before things get completely out of control.
Because there’s one thing I’ve always known about Eleanor Ellis—no matter who gets hurt or who she has to kill to get them out of the way, she won’t stop until she gets whatever she wants.
18
Clay
Sunday, August 1st
One minute, I’m just minding my own business, heading toward the back parking lot of Earl’s to grab some essentials, and the next, I’m watching Josie walk out of the automatic doors, her eyes fixated on her feet and a bunch of bouquets of flowers in her hands.
She climbs into her SUV, and I don’t know what possesses me to forgo my grocery shopping plans entirely, but I find myself pulling out after her and following her from a distance.
I’m hoping if I’m asked in a formal—you know, police-like—setting, I’ll be able to spin it as something other than stalking.
“I swear, Sheriff Peeler, I pulled into the back of the parking lot while she was pulling out of the front, and next thing I knew, I wasn’t pulling into a spot and parking, but instead, I was still moving, and I was doing it in the same direction as her.”
Completely reasonable. Completely innocent.
Right?
God almighty, I have lost my freaking mind. And not only that, I show absolutely no signs of finding it anytime soon.
I put the truck in park just behind a cropping of trees on the far end of the cemetery as Josie drives into the parking lot and pulls into a spot. It’s a tense minute or two before she gets out, and I spend the time calling myself every name in the book and even a few that didn’t make the traditional insult cut.
Festering knob.
Desperate prick.
Sneaking snake.
Much more of this and I’m going to have to break down and have myself committed—
Every part of me freezes, my breath catching in my chest. She climbs out of her red Chevy Acadia, and I can’t pull my eyes away from her.
She looks beautiful as always, her wild hair down around her shoulders, and her soft yellow sundress hugs her petite body just right. Her Jezebelle of the Fiery Eyes, the tattoo she broke down and told me one night when we were still together that she’d gotten for her late sister, and the Venus flytrap etched beside it stand out in the bright sunlight, and her cowboy boots are well-appointed for stomping all over my ragged heart.
She’s perfect. Just like she’s always been.
And if I look close enough, I can even spot the necklace she always wears. The sun glimmers off the gold letter J that sits at the base of her neck, another poignant reminder she keeps of her sister Jezzy. One that I know she never takes off, not even to shower.