Page 23 of Ophelia (Hamlet 2)


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Right?

Maria couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing.

She thought of the white pill he pressed her to take and how it knocked her out. She thought about how it was so obvious that Lucas hadn’t slept at all. And she thought about the two-hour gap between when she first buzzed him and he showed up at Ophelia.

What would she do if she caught the smallest lift of his left eyebrow?

Maria shook her head. “Never mind, Luc. Go. Take care of that. We’ll talk later.”

“About locks,” he said decisively. “And Ophelia.”

But not Mack Turner.

“Si.”

9

Present Day

With a flick of her wrist, Maria laid the dough on top of her individual pot pies. A quick and practiced pinch along the edge, plus a stab in the middle with her fork to let the steam vent.

There, she thought, satisfied. Saturday dinner prepped and ready. All the homey dish needed was forty minutes in the oven and she’d have her favorite comfort food for supper.

Just like every Saturday.

Maria stifled a sigh as she wiped her flour-dusted hands with the dish towel.

Every Saturday.

Nothing ever changed in Hamlet.

She was grateful for the sameness, the routine, the way she knew what to expect of tomorrow because it was almost exactly the same as yesterday. Honest, she was. That one night, more than a year ago, was the pinnacle of excitement for her—and she’d take a hundred Saturdays locked up tight in Ophelia with a glass of milk and a chicken pot pie before she lived through discovering another man sneaking into her bed.

Her lips curved. Unless, of course, that man was Sly.

Just thinking of the deputy was enough to have Maria humming a meaningless tune under her breath as she cleaned up her kitchen. Her tan complexion, no doubt, went ruddy with the red of a giddy blush. Her Sly.

She would have to tell Lucas eventually. Part of her was kind of surprised that he didn’t already know, though she had to admit that that was probably because most of the gossip that spread like wildfire usually burned right through Ophelia. Without Maria to pass—or, well, start—the rumor, it fizzled and died until no one knew that the doctor’s sister was in love with an outsider turned deputy.

No one knew, actually, because she hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to tell Sly how she felt about him. That was something else she would have to do. Sly was patient, but she wasn’t sure he would wait forever.

Shrugging off the weight of his expectations, Maria grabbed the sheet tray holding the pot pies she spent the morning prepping. Just as she opened her fridge and slipped the tray inside until she was ready to bake them, a loud buzzing screech filled the kitchen, causing her to jump.

If she dropped that tray, she would’ve killed her brother.

She knew that call. That buzz. Lucas thought he was funny, figuring out how to make the most obnoxious, high-pitched scream of a ring for his channel. It was her fault, too. Maria recently tried to pretend that she hadn’t heard it and he just looked at her in that knowing way he had. And then he made it louder.

It was her habit to leave her radio in her bedroom. That way, if she needed it, she knew where to find it. That buzz was certainly loud enough for her to hear halfway across the house. For once, though, she had carried it into the kitchen with her.

Of course she had.

Twisting the knob to set the right channel, she answered the call by pressing her thumb against the receiver button on the side. “Ciao.”

A rush of static came through the radio. Someone on the other end must have held down their own button to allow the sound to filter into her kitchen. A second later, she heard the muffled sounds of an argument. There was a fight going on over the radio.

Maria waited. She knew exactly who was calling.

The pair of idiots divorced three years ago and they still managed to bicker like an old married couple.

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