Page 24 of Promise of Punishment

“Fuck it.” I text Felix the information and flip through my playlist, skipping song after song, unable to find anything that grips my attention.

The rain slows to a drizzle.

My phone rings. “Yes?” I answer instead of hello.

“Fable Fisher is a part-time server at night,” Felix says, getting to the point like I prefer. “She started working there four weeks ago when she moved here after leaving a good position with the Winthrop family in Vermont. She lives⁠—”

“I have her previous work history,” I interrupt to save him from repeating what I already know. “I need you to do a run on one other person.”

“What’s the name?”

“William Clarke. Send me what you find.”

“Got it.”

We end the call without another word.

Something isn’t right with this situation, and my father is usually the cause. Even with him dead, I can’t rule out any business he handled before his passing. The bastard was thorough.

Fable

The wall dryer in the bathroom chills me to the bone as I use it to dry myself. If only it blew hot air. It takes me ten minutes to reach a dampness that’s bearable. I’m shivering and can’t take any more of the cold air though. Last time I was here, the storage closet had a chair with a broken back. I can use it to do my work without risking Oliver’s leather prized possession. The schedule is a mess. One of the bar managers keeps trying to do it, and he’s causing more work for me. It takes me longer than usual to sort it out. Then I move on to the inventory for the week, yawning so much it’s annoying. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted. I still have to get gas and then be at work by 6 A.M. That’ll give me about four hours of sleep by the time I get home.

I check my phone, having put it on silent while I worked. I have a text.

Noah: Girl, I need you here. Please reconsider for me. You won’t regret the money. All you have to bring is yourself. I’ll provide the clothes and mask and everything else.

Damn. Noah wouldn’t push this if she weren’t stuck. That guilt resurfaces for how much I owe her and her mom for helping me, especially after my mom was murdered. I was such a wreck, and Amara took care of everything.

I text her back.

Me: What about Bear? I can’t leave him.

Noah: He’ll be fine for a weekend. Leave him extra food.

Me: I’m sure people do that, but Bear is special. He needs medicine.

I also can’t imagine leaving him without fresh water.

Noah: Let me check something.

I leave the pub and am pumping gas when she texts back.

Noah: Bring the cat. You’ll have your own room, just don’t let him escape and keep it clean.

Noah: Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to. That room will be spotless.

Me: Two days?

Noah: Friday night and Saturday night. You leave Sunday.

It’s doable. Assistants don’t work on the weekends unless the owners are hosting an event. I usually spend more time volunteering at the kennel, giving Bear the attention he deserves, taking pictures for my Insta, and filling in at the pub if someone is out sick. As of right now, my schedule is open.

The smart thing would be to take the job. I’ll make much-needed extra money, and if I do well, I might be able to work there full-time, if need be. I still don’t know how much longer I’ll have a job with the Ashfords.

When I get in my car, I notice a glossy black McLaren P1 parked to the side of the gas station. That doesn’t mean it’s the same car I thought was following me, but it’s suspicious. I know this car too. Dad used to have a green one before he married Mom. He had a picture of it in his office, although this looks newer. The darkly tinted windshield blocks out all the light. To be safe, I pull forward and park in front of the entrance door to the gas station. The last thing I want is to lead this person, if they are following me, to my home.

My phone chimes. I jolt at the sound.