[Continued: To start at the beginning click here.]
“Can’t you? Why don’t you have a seat? Let’s talk about my business.”
His eyes sparkled wickedly and the disquiet burrowing in the pit of her stomach spread its wings and became full-fledged anxiety. He was here to ask questions about Reece if she’d read the scenario correctly.
Reece? What did you do?
She needed to get back to the kitchen and find out what the hell was going on before the detective mindmelded her with another of those soul-searching looks and she said something stupid.
Roxanne pinned another fake smile in place and said, “Of course, Detective—”
“Santo. You can call me Santo.”
Oh, I think not.
“Let me just check on things in the kitchen first,” she said carefully. “We’re about to close up for the night.”
He glanced at his watch as if to confirm it and nodded. “By all means. Put your affairs in order.”
A really weird way of saying do what you need to do that pinged her inner alarms. She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but she glanced up again and all other thoughts vanished as she sucked in a stunned breath.
In the time she’d been talking to him, the stain had spread to the edges of the ceiling. She could see it moving like a wave rushing the shore. The idea that it was alive and with purpose took root in some sequestered part of her psyche and began to grow. She imagined she could even smell it. Dank and sulfurous.
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