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“I’ll try,” I promise.
I’m lower than a gum wrapper right now. I’m such a coward.
But I can’t tell her.
What if I say something that screws up the investigation? Everything Lucas and his men are trying to do to get real justice for Emma.
He was right to keep it a secret, I realize with a sickening weight in my belly.
I never should have called.
But the bell rings, trilling through the whole school and telling me I’m out of time.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I have to go. Thanks for your time today.”
“Just bring her home.” The urgent way she speaks feels like she’s reaching through the phone to grasp my hands, holding tight, pleading. “Please, Miss Scotch. Bring my Emma home.”
“I will, Mrs. Santos,” I whisper, fighting the jagged lump in my throat. “I’ll do everything I can to find out what happened to your daughter.”
That, at least, is the only truth I can offer her.
By the time class lets out, my head is spinning—and the very last person I want to see is anyone named Arrendell.
Guess who’s waiting when I step outside and head to my Kia.
Ulysses leans against a gleaming, brand-new BMW—what happened to the Benz? Already bored with it?—with his hands ever so casually tucked into his slacks. He’s practically striking a dramatic GQ pose that’s too deliberately accidental to be real.
Ugh.
I hope my expression doesn’t give me away when I’m so not in the mood for this.
I flash him a swift smile and quickstep past like I’m assuming he’s there for someone else. As if I can even look at him without feeling a ring of fire around my wrist.
That bracelet is branding, a ghostly echo of Emma’s fingers around my arm, tugging me impatiently toward answers.
“Hey, Delilah!” he calls.
I suppress a flinch when he lifts a hand, hailing me.
Okay.
Act natural.
Don’t act like you suspect his father of cold-blooded murder.
I throw on my brightest smile, turning to face him as he jogs toward me. “Ulysses, hi. Here for another boring meeting?”
“Meeting ended twenty minutes ago, actually. The principal’s fishing for a bigger budget for ‘grounds beautification,’ but what he really wanted was a new HVAC system since his office gets beastly hot. No idea why he had to beat around the bush. He could have just asked.” He stops in front of me with a wide smile. “Just like I should ask you—would you come up to the house?”
I blink. “Um, the house? Why?”
“I should have started with that first.” Laughing, he offers me his arm. “Walk with me. Let’s have a coffee.”
Jesus, no.
I don’t want to touch him.
I don’t want to go anywhere with this skeezy man.
But I also don’t want to give myself away or make him suspicious. I also don’t fancy getting fired for insulting my boss’ boss after everything I’ve already suffered to keep this job.
“Sure,” I clip.
My smile feels like a frozen grimace as I slip my arm into his.
The coffee shop is just up the street from the school.
As we walk, he fusses over me, attentive and always seeming to know just a little too much about what’s going on in my life. When I ask how, he chalks it up to the town gossip vine.
But he knows all about Roger and how I’m staying at The Rookery.
He’s oh-so-worried about all the terrible death I’ve witnessed, too, and please don’t let it ruin my impression of the town.
It’s not Redhaven giving me a bad impression, despite everything.
I also don’t know what to say about Roger.
I’ve hated him for so long that I haven’t figured out how to parse my feelings about his shocking death, or the guilt I feel for it, so I’m just—not parsing right now.
Not processing at all.
Shoving it all aside, I try to talk as normally as possible. Ulysses is happy to treat me like I’m a wilting damsel, two seconds away from collapsing on the pavement in grief.
I’ve had enough by the time we place our coffee orders and settle in at a little table outside the café.
“So, what was that about coming up to the house? Are there little Arrendells in need of tutoring?” I flash a smile and change the subject.
“No, no. If I could, I’d keep you for that, but we boys are all degenerate rakes who won’t give our darling mother any grandchildren.” He flashes me a bone-white smile over his Cortado. “Do you remember I said my brothers were coming home, and we were throwing a big welcome bash? It’s a charity gala, really, but my brothers love stealing the spotlight. My father thought perhaps a night out under the lights with good music and five-star food might take your woes away. He sees himself as the protector of this town. Go figure. He’s pretty chagrined over what a time you’ve had ever since you moved here.” He leans closer, almost conspiratorial. “Just between you and me, I think he wants to make a good impression.”
