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He darts stunned eyes my way. “Twenty-one?”
“Yes, twenty-one.”
“How do you know she’s twenty-one?
“Because Beau told me she’s twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one,” he murmurs, settling, staring down at the blankets. “That’s—”
“Twenty-one,” I say, confirming it, as if I need to.
“Quite young.”
“Thirteen years younger than you. Nearly fourteen.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that.”
Oh fuck.“Brad,” I say slowly. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck, what?”
“Oh shit.”
“Where’s my damn tea with sugar?”
“I’ll let you ask Esther in that exact tone.”
“Yeah...” He scowls, and it’s fucking fierce. “No.”
I settle in my chair, watching him falling into thought. I’m no woman, but I’m so fucking curious what those thoughts are. I pull out my mobile and send a text to the girls, asking them what they know about Pearl, and, as I should have expected, I get a one-word answer from both of them.
Why?
Why? Yes, why? Why can’t women ever just answer a question without a fucking question?
“Who are you texting?” Brad asks.
“No one.” My thumb darts across the screen, explaining why I’m asking.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Shut up. You’re like a woman sometimes.”
“Fuck y—”
The door flies open, and Otto fills the doorway with his laptop resting on a palm. I don’t like the look in his eyes. The glimmer of threat tells me he’s just discovered something I’m not going to like. “Cartwright’s turned up.”
“Where?”
“At the beach.”
I’ll ask, but I know I don’t need to. “And what was he doing at the beach?”
“Being dead.”
I slam my phone into the arm of the chair. “Fuck!” This is going to add fuel to Beau’s fire, and the flames will be justified. Something very fucking dodgy is going on.
Otto paces toward me and crouches down, showing me the screen of my laptop. “Bud just sent me this.”
