“Easton,” Valencia warns.
Even Marcus lightly bats his arm with the back of his hand. “Knock it off.”
Easton shrugs. “What? He’s been missing for years and he spends most of his time now with Gramma.”
“Miles,” I say, nodding in the direction of his house.
“Then ask him what his stupid dog is barking at.” Easton glances out the window.
“Probably lawn day tomorrow,” I say, giving no other context. I tell them I’ll be right back, and Valencia says okay without asking me where I’m going or telling me when to get home.
Almost like she trusts me.
I go out the back door and, sure enough, Miles is in his backyard, headlamp on, pooper-scooper in hand. Chardonnay barks and he quietly curses at her and tells her to knock it off. I watch for a few seconds before calling out.
“I really think that would be easier during the daytime.”
Miles startles, then shakes the pooper-scooper in my direction. “Stop doing that!”
“Stop scooping up Chardonnay’s poop at night and I will.” Chardonnay hops up on the fence for pets while Miles walks over to me, head down so the light guides his way past any land mines. Once safely at the fence, he slides the headlamp to the top of his head so it’s not pointed right at me.
“So I’ve been thinking about our last conversation.” He glances over my shoulder toward the house to make sure no one is sitting on the deck, then when he sees the coast is clear, he bites his lip. He does that a lot when he’s thinking. “I think maybe we should hold off a little longer before you make your grand escape.”
Oh, right. I forgot I told him I needed to get out of here ASAP.Talking with Valencia last night did calm me. Of course the hydrangea massacre brought my alert level back up again. But being out with Gramma Sharon helped bring it right back down. And I realized something while we were in one of those tchotchke shops looking at wooden ornaments and plastic knickknacks.
Whoever is doing all this isn’t trying to hurt me. They’re causing havoc and inconvenience. It’s a game to them. Maybe it’s someone trying to scare me off, or it really could be one awful coincidence after another. Am I being delusional? Maybe. Even Marcus is being less antagonistic despite everything. And Valencia genuinely seems to want to keep me safe. Like she’s keeping her eye on me, but not smothering. Marcus wouldn’t try to hurt me while she’s being so protective.
Or maybe she told him about finding the duffel bag last night and now he’s realizing it’s a matter of time before I’m gone. Either way, it changes things—I don’t feel like I’m in imminent danger anymore.
Like a truce. I’ll leave a note saying I was never Nate so he doesn’t need to pay back the life insurance payment, and he won’t kill me to cover up his past murder. It’s win-win! Until Miles finally gets the police involved to tell them what we found.
“No, I agree,” I say. Miles looks surprised but doesn’t ask me for information. “You were right, I was freaking out. If I left now it would be suspicious.”
But I don’t tell him about Valencia and how her protective nature feels like a drug I need more of. How I like spending time with Gramma Sharon. And, yes, even how I lay awake last night thinking about making this my real life.
I told you it was like a drug.
“I came out to ask if you’d like to come to a family barbecue this Sunday.”
His eyebrows shoot up and he nods. “Okay, good idea. I show up and casually ask a few questions about life insurance. Gauge their reactions.”
I laugh. “Sure. But I meant for fun.”
Miles seems confused. “Pardon?”
“Not everything needs to be about the investigation. I mean, we can hang out. Take a break from the podcast.”
Miles’s confusion changes to surprise. “Oh. Ye—”
“Hey.”
We both jump and Miles’s headlamp slips back down to his forehead. As I step back, Easton holds up a hand, blocking the light from his eyes. Glass bottles and cans clank against each other in the blue recycling bin he holds with his other hand.
“What is this, a family trait or something?” Miles asks, putting his hand to his heart.
Easton squints as he looks at me. “Gramma Sharon is leaving, Mom says to go say good night.”
“Okay, thanks.” I turn back to Miles. “So? You in?”
