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“He kicked her?” I ask, my heart hurting. I reach down to where she settled at my feet, and she licks my hand.
“He did,” Mrs. Longhorn says disapprovingly. “It takes a cowardly man to kick a dog.” She waves a finger at me, as if remembering she disapproves of me in addition to the coward. “You haven’t come to see me the way I asked.”
“I’ve been…busy,” I say, my hand still petting Flower, looking for hurts.
“Oh, I know what’s been keeping you so busy. It’s that big strong man. He may not be able to hold his water, but he’s no harm to the eyes.”
Nicole chuckles. I do not, because the reminder makes me ache for Shane.
“I’ve been busy with trying to relaunch my bookmobile, Mrs. Longhorn, but someone vandalized my van today.”
Nicole gives me a look people reserve for idiots, which surprises me because she just got done telling me she doesn’t see Mrs. Longhorn as a feasible suspect. I guess she probably goes through life thinking everyone is a feasible suspect until they prove otherwise.It sounds exhausting.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Longhorn says, lifting her fingers to her lips. I’m surprised by how genuinely upset she appears, because most of the time it seems she loves nothing better than seeing me fail. I’m tempted to say so. Instead, I give in and take a sip of the bourbon. It settles warm and deep in my stomach.
“Ruthie, that bookmobile was why I wanted to speak with you,” Mrs. Longhorn says. “I used to work in a bookstore, back in the day, and it went out of business. I couldn’t bear to see them throw out books, so I brought most of them home with me. I have hundreds. Thousands. They’re all on shelves in the spare bedroom.”
“You’d sell them to me?” I ask in surprise.
That surprise turns to shock when she frowns at me, her whole face creasing into familiar lines, and says, “Why in tarnation would I do that? They’re in there gathering dust and not being read, which is the one thing that’s supposed to happen with a book. I’m telling you to take them, girl. I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks.”
For a second, I can’t find any words. She has never once shown the slightest interest in helping me, or in the van, or in books in general. Not around me. But I realize now, sitting here on her claw-footed couch, that I never gave her the chance. I formed my impression early on, and everything she’s said and done has fed into that impression.
I did the same thing to Shane.
What an awful thing, to think the worst of someone and be wrong.
“Thank you,” I choke out through the tears in my eyes. I didn’t used to be a crier, but lately I’m the mother who turns on the waterworks over Hallmark commercials. “Thank you, Mrs. Longhorn. You know, today I found out Shane’s the one who’s been buying my wishlist packages. You know, the ones you thought random men were getting for me? He’s been doing it all along. I believed he hated me. I believed you hated me. But you’ve both been helping me all this time, and I—”
She starts laughing and lifts a hand to her mouth again. “No wonder that fool boy didn’t seem bothered when I told him you were getting presents from other men.”
“Yeah, he’s got this sexy stalker thing going on,” Nicole says reflectively. “I don’t hate it for you. Now, Mrs. Neighbor, can you give me a description of the jackass who got bitten and the guy with the Amazon package? As detailed as you can. I have a friend of a friend who’s a sketch artist.”
She makes a dismissive sound. “What’s the point of those cameras if you’re depending on my memory?”
“If he was wearing a hat, I’m guessing he knew he was being recorded. Maybe his buddy showed up the other day to check things out. It’s possible he knew where to stand and where not to as well. We need all the information we can get, and you’re the woman who can give it to us.”
Mrs. Longhorn has that I just orgasmed look again.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Shane
“Iwant Ruthie and Izzy to come stay with me,” I tell Danny as I load another collapsible bookcase into the shopping cart. Michael volunteered to go pick up floor pillows in another section of the store, because two of Ruthie’s were slashed and defaced with spray paint.
I’m painfully aware that I’m giving Josie what she wants, or what she predicted anyway. Could it really be a coincidence? I made some calls to look into her boyfriend’s whereabouts this morning. She was telling the truth, which doesn’t mean she couldn’t have hired someone to trash Ruthie’s van. But why would she bother? I don’t know, but I did mention her to the police officers before they left. They were so interested they didn’t bother making a record of the information.
I sigh internally, then add, “It’s not safe for them to be at the apartment until we have a better idea of what’s going on.”
“And the little dog, too?” Danny quips, raising an eyebrow.
I sigh as I nod. “Yes, the little dog too.” Flower will probably wreak terror on my house and look adorable doing it, but I’m a resigned man. Ruthie and Izzy need to be safe. They need to be with me.
Danny claps me on the back. “It’s not me you have to convince.”
But it is, or at least it was. This past week has been half excruciating, half exultant—because I had her, but I’d lost him.
“You’re not pissed anymore?”
