“Old man Farris saw Marnie cut Stephen Hamilton’s brake lines.”
“Old man Farris had a heart attack.”
Trina’s brow rose. “Did he?”
Hmm? I couldn’t help but wonder how many other town tragedies were purposeful.
I stepped back and waved at Trina for her to enter. “Welcome to the devil’s den.”
She shot me a look, then waltzed in, and I slammed the door.
That action was a test.
I wanted to see how she would react to the resounding bang. People on edge or nervous might jerk or jump, while others would take it as an insult and glare back. None of which came from Trina.
She didn’t so much as twitch while running her hand over a cherrywood bookshelf. “You have a nice house.”
“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries.” Dropping my keys on a table by the door. “You don’t give a shit what my house looks like.”
Her eyes rolled. “Learn how to take a compliment.”
I was starting to regret letting her inside.
“I don’t want your compliments.” A drink, however, sounded like a fantastic idea.
She continued to walk around and annoy me by touching everything.
“You like the classics.”
And there was the idle chit-chat she liked to spout.
Sighing, I uncorked a bottle of whiskey. “Not really.”
“Then why do you have them?”
Why do you keep asking me meaningless questions?
“They came with the house.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered.
I could feel her eyes on me, watching as I poured the amber liquid into two glasses—one of which I held out for her.
“Preston Whitley,” she sang in a way that made me want to slap her. “Are you contributing to the delinquency of a minor?”
“Take the drink or don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” I set the glass on the small table in front of me. “But if you keep flirting with me, I’ll use your guts as fertilizer in my garden.”
That got to her. Trina’s strong demeanor broke for a second as a spark of fear flew across her face.
Her eyes dropped to the glass. “Is it poisoned?”
My shoulder lifted as I swallowed down a mouthful. “Maybe.”
It wasn’t, but that was her risk to take. Poison was so boring. There was no blood or tears, just vomit and mess. No one liked that shit.
Eventually, Trina sauntered over, scooped the glass, and took a tentative sip before smacking her lips together. “Is that cherry I taste?”
“I have no idea.” My old man was constantly coming up with new concoctions. I gave up trying to keep up with them.
