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I tucked the device back into my pocket and let out a sigh. I had no idea what was going on with Dorothy and Imogen, but I seemed to be about fifteen minutes away from finding out.
Chapter Eight
Dorothy
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I must be out of my mind.
The words echoed in my head as I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white with tension.
As I navigated the familiar streets of Jackson, my mind raced with doubts and second-guesses. What was I thinking? What if Rocco thought I was crazy? What if he didn’t want to talk to me at all? I mean, he had told me to come over, well, maybe he hadn’t even done that. I might have invited myself over.
But, whatever!
I knew I had to do this, though. I had to talk to Rocco before he talked to Imogen. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that there was more to his message than met the eye. And if Rocco was about to drop a bombshell on Imogen, I needed to know about it before it was too late.
I also felt guilty about possibly being the reason Imogen was so worried about our meeting tomorrow. I had initially freaked out when Rocco had first shown up at the funeral home, and that had to be in the back of Imogen’s mind.
It only took me a few minutes to reach Rocco’s house, but it felt like an eternity. I had never been inside Mr. Brooks’ house before, and now it was Rocco’s house. It was one of the oldest houses in Jackson, and as I pulled up in front of it, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at its grandeur.
The house was a stunning example of Victorian architecture, with its intricate detailing and ornate trimmings. It was painted in standard colors for Victorian houses—soft shades of blues with accents of deep burgundy and forest green. The wraparound porch was adorned with delicate wrought iron railings, and the windows were framed by intricately carved shutters.
“Gosh darn,” I sighed as I looked up at the imposing house. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t deny that the house was absolutely beautiful. It was the kind of house you read about in novels, the kind of house that whispered stories of generations past.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of my car and made my way up the front steps. The wooden boards creaked beneath my feet as I reached out and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the house.
Seconds felt like hours as I waited for someone to answer the door.
But just as I was about to turn and leave, the door swung open, revealing Rocco standing on the threshold. He looked surprised, even though he knew that I was coming over.
“Uh, hey,” I called.
Rocco greeted me with a warm smile as he opened the door wide to let me in. I stepped inside, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling in my stomach. This was it—I was about to ask Rocco just what he wanted from me and Imogen.
He led me into the kitchen, and we settled onto stools under the island. The awkwardness hung heavy in the air, and neither of us was quite sure how to break the tension.
“So, uh, how’s your day been?” Rocco asked, his voice hesitant.
I forced a small smile, grateful for the attempt at small talk. “Oh, you know, same old, same old. Just waiting for the next dead body. How about you?”
Rocco shrugged, a hint of unease flickering across his features. “Yeah, not too bad. Just... busy. I’ve been working on getting the house cleaned and decluttered. Uncle Donald had a lot of… things.”
“I guess that happens when you’re ninety-seven,” I laughed.
We lapsed into silence. I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to say what I came here to say.
Finally, I took a deep breath and blurted out what was on my mind. “Rocco, if you’re going to fire Imogen and me, just know that you can’t. We’re in Mr. Brooks’ will, and we have a job there for as long as we want it.”
I paused, the words hanging in the air between us. I waited for Rocco’s response, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then he said it. “Okay.”
Yeah, he just said okay.
“Okay?” I repeated, my voice tinged with disbelief.
Rocco nodded, his expression surprisingly calm. “Yeah. I have no intention of firing you and Imogen. You guys did amazing with my uncle’s funeral. I assume you might have been putting me on a bit since I was watching you, but there’s no way you guys bamboozled me that much.”
I blinked slowly, trying to process his words. “Then why did you call a scary meeting with Imogen and me tomorrow?”
