“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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