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“Go sit down while I grab you some,” she ordered.
I did as she asked, taking a seat clear across the room from where my wayward neighbor sat, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I was halfway through an email asking for information—my contacts were quickly learning that I was out and wanting my expertise—when my grandmother set a large glass of milk by my side and walked away.
“Thank you,” I called to her back.
She lifted a hand and went back to her station behind the counter, only this time with her back turned to the door as she got some cupcakes decorated.
My lips twitched and I went back to the email requesting help.
It was from an old friend on the department, and it had to do with a case we’d worked a long time ago.
The case was about a serial rapist. A slew of women had turned up within a two-week time period reporting their rapes. And all of them from different walks of life.
Each case had other things similar, though. Such as their location—always a house or apartment, and they always lived with a roommate who just so happened not to be there that day.
Which might’ve been what got me about Harleigh’s predicament. The similarities to the ones I’d been working right before I’d been sent to prison.
The ones that I’d been working on with Vanessa.
Anyway, long story short, the rapist was caught and sent to jail—though not my jail, unfortunately. According to the email I’d gotten from Logan, who’d been a rookie cop working on his first couple of cases, the rapist had gotten out of jail three years ago and hadn’t been heard from since.
The reason for his email, however, was a very similar case had popped up just a few towns over from us in Uncertain, Texas and Logan wanted me to know about it. Evidently, he found quite a few similarities in the case, and felt that I might be able to look into it or find someone else that could look into it for him.
Which I could.
And would.
Finishing off my last cookie, I fired off an email that I would take a look at it, then stood up.
That was when I saw him.
Charles.
An ex-best friend who I hadn’t seen in a really long time.
Since before jail at least.
I gave him a chin lift and said, “How’s it going?”
Charles narrowed his eyes, lips thinning, and shrugged. “Good. Nice seeing you.”
He didn’t act like it was nice seeing me.
“How’s work?” I asked.
Charles’ hand fisted at his side, but he still smiled at me like it didn’t pain him to be in my presence. “Fine. Moved to the sheriff’s department just last year. I don’t work for BBPD anymore.”
Bummer.
Not.
I actually liked that he didn’t work in the same town that I did.
It would make seeing him less of a possibility.
“How’s life treating you?” I asked.
His jaw ticked. “Ummm, okay.”
He suddenly looked hostile.
“You okay?” I asked.
I wish I knew what the hell I’d done to him to make him hate me so much.
“Fine,” he shrugged. “See you around.”
I doubted it.
Now that he knew that I was in this place, he’d probably never come back.
But he had to have known that it would happen sooner or later. I mean, he knew that my grandmother owned the place.
When the door slammed behind him, I sighed and looked behind the case for my grandmother but didn’t see her.
Shrugging, I walked around the display case, did a quick wash of my hands because my grandmother would lose her shit if I didn’t, and started helping myself to another cookie, this time in a different flavor.
“Ummm,” I heard from the other side. “But what the fuck? You can’t just go behind there and help yourself. Not only is that not allowed, but it’s also unsanitary.”
“I washed my hands at the sink.” I gestured to the sink that was practically hidden from view thanks to the tall display cases. “And what’s it to you what I do?”
“This is my favorite bakery,” she countered. “What’s it to me is that I don’t want that sweet old lady fucked over by someone like you.”
Someone like you being a convict.
My brows rose.
“Someone like me?” I asked sweetly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Someone mean, and a rule breaker. Listen, just get out from behind the counter, or I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”
I reached into the case for another cookie, then pulled out a cinnamon twist in the case lower than that. Once I had both onto my plate, I walked over to the coffee pot and helped myself there, too.
I told myself I wasn’t taking my time just to see what she would do, but I was.
Getting her riled up, and watching her getting riled up, was making me want to laugh.
Each step I took not in the direction she wanted me to, made her eyes narrow farther and farther.
