But when I turned off the ignition, there was no smoke, no fury. Only a crooked, white smile waited for me.
Dread skated across my skin.
Something wasn’t right.
Harry hopped out of the truck first. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and smothered Ruth in a hug. Her laughter swirledas he spun her around before dropping her safely back to her feet.
He took a step back. “Look at you all dressed up, Miss Ruthie.” He let out a low whistle. “Show me more of this outfit.”
“You like?” A little unsteady on her bad leg, she twirled to show off a yellow…dress…thing. What did I know about dresses? It was floaty and way too fancy for a night at the bar. “It’s new. What about the hair?” She twisted her neck and fluffed at the dark lump to give Harry a look at the back.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Ten outta ten.”
I slammed the car door shut, suspicious eyes narrowing on Ruth’s fashion show. New dress. Hair done up. Enough gold jewellery stacked on her wrists to rival a pirate’s stolen treasures. She was dolled up like we were going to be the guests of honour at a royal wedding instead of heading out for a drink.
She wasdefinitelyup to something—and I’d fallen right into her honey trap.
Once, I’d fallen into her web and taken the fall for a bottle of whisky stashed under the front seat of my parents’ car. Another time, she’d tricked me into finding her engagement ring the week before Matthew had planned to propose. The last time was when she’d pulled me into the spare room at her old place and asked about converting it into a nursery. They’d been thinking about trying for a baby. Before the divorce. Before the accident.
A sting of salt blinded my eyes. I dragged my palm down my face, begging those buried memories to disappear into the oblivion of my mind where they belonged. Tonight wasn’t the night to get lost in the past. I could hold it together.
I stomped up the stairs to the porch.
Ruth’s smile vanished. “And just what do you think you’re wearing?”
“Clothes.”
“Did you readanyof my messages?”
Some of them. Lots of exclamation marks. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” she scoffed. “I distinctly remember telling you to wear somethingnice. And this”—she pointed an accusing finger at my shirt—“is not nice.”
“Told you,” Harry muttered.
My brows furrowed. I tugged at the black Henley to get a closer look. No stains. Fit good. Nicer than the plaid flannel and jeans I usually wore to the bar. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Ruth ignored my question and turned to Harry. “I knew he’d do this.” Her frustrated huff blew wisps of dark hair off her forehead.
He indulged her with a mournful look and pouted. “We can’t take him anywhere, can we, Miss Ruthie?”
“Oh, for fu—” I took a deep breath, saving myself at the last second from ruining Ruth’s special night. “We’re going to the bar. We’re not traipsing down the damn red carpet.”
Ruth’s cane poked me in my shin. “You won’t be going anywhere until you march yourself inside and change.”
“Ruth,” I pleaded.
“Get marching, mister!” She jabbed her cane at me again. “Tonight’s important. This is my first night out in a year!”
I sighed. Thatwasa big deal. She’d been cooped up too long. “Okay.” I turned to head down the stairs. “I’ve got some clean clothes in the truck—”
Her cane whipped out and blocked my path. I wasn’t taking another step. “And those rags willstayin the truck,” she said. “I have what you need. Inside. Go, go, go!”
I flicked a desperate look to Harry. Grinning, he flopped onto the porch swing. “Tootles!” he laughed, waving me off as he put his phone to his ear to call his mum.
That little…
Some friend. Zero help. I was marching into the bowels of hell on my own with the smiling devil whipping her stick at my heels. Two steps inside, I spotted my punishment on the dining table. A postage satchel with the logo of some high-end men’s store sat torn open.
