“Still drinking café au lait?”
“Yep.” He followed her into Sweet Art’s retail space. “Still drinking cappuccino?”
“Yep.” She went to the espresso machine. “This is the first time you’ve been back in the States since your book released. Did you see it in the airport in Vancouver?”
“I did, actually.”
“It’s everywhere. Wal-Mart, Target, the grocery store. Every time I spot it, I want to grab it off the shelf and shove it at all the strangers in the store. I’m ridiculously proud of it, even though I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You did have something to do with it.” He hooked his thumbs around his belt loops, a habit he’d long had. “When I told you I was thinking about writing a book, you’re the one who convinced me I could. When I was working on the rough draft, you talked me out of quitting at least five times.”
“Because you’re my friend, but also because I knew the book was going to be a success. I was right.”
A lone dimple sunk into his cheek. “Do you know of any stocks destined for success?”
“You’re not going to need to invest in stocks. You’re going to earn plenty of money and then some through your writing career.”
Three years earlier, Zander had begun writing a thriller aptly titledGeniuses, about a genius enlisted by the FBI to outsmart and catch an evil genius. It was dark, smart, and filled with twists. A handful of publishers had entered a bidding war over the manuscript,which had then been heavily backed by the winning publisher. The advance Zander received had enabled him to quit the tech job he’d had here in Merryweather, pack his laptop into his carry-on, and write while traveling abroad.
Geniuseshad released nine months ago and raced to the top of theNew York Timesbestseller list, where it still sat.
Britt plucked two mugs from the cupboard. When he leaned over and closed the cupboard for her, she swallowed a rush of affection because his compulsion to close doors and drawers was another of his old habits.
They sat at the bar that ran the length of one wall, contentment warming her like a sunrise. She liked feeding chocolate and coffee to strangers. But shelovedfeeding chocolate and coffee to Zander. Especially now, when he needed comfort in the wake of his uncle’s death.
She blew on her cappuccino. She had a large family and a wide network of friends. Zander had only his brother, Frank, Carolyn, and herself. When Frank had died, Zander had lost one of his inner four, and she’d do just about anything she could to help him. “Nikki heard that Frank left work Friday afternoon and wasn’t seen again until he was discovered in his truck the next morning.”
“Right. Carolyn thinks he must have had the heart attack on his way home from work on Friday.”
“Why wasn’t he found until the next day?”
Zander hefted one shoulder. “He parked his truck perfectly on the side of the road. It wasn’t until the next day that someone got suspicious and called it in.”
“He was found on Shadow Mountain Road?”
“He was.”
“Which isn’t on his way home.”
“No, it isn’t. Carolyn’s best guess is that he was running an errand when he had the heart attack.”
“Poor Frank,” Britt said. “Poor Carolyn.”
“The suddenness of Frank’s death is bad enough, but the fact that Carolyn wasn’t with him at the end makes it even worse.”
“Friday night must have been terrible for her.”
“It was. She was up all night panicking, trying to reach him on his cell phone.”
“That’s awful.”
“I’m going to the police station with her in the morning. They’ll give us the preliminary autopsy report then.”
Zander’s journal entry, four years ago:
Britt’s the closest person to me, yet we’re not close enough. “Not close enough” is starting to feel like a chain. It’s keeping me inside a room when I know there are mountains and oceans outside the room. I can’t get to them, though.
I’m chained up.
