17
Wolf
The morning at the library settled into a strange rhythm.
Nora worked.
The Magnolia Ladies fussed.
And I watched.
I stayed near the front windows, where I could see Main Street, the sidewalk, and every car that slowed a little too long. Saint and Havoc were posted a few buildings down, pretending to help Trigger paint something on the tavern door.
They were terrible at pretending.
“Wyatt?” Agnes called sweetly from the reading table. “You want a muffin? Or six? You look like you haven’t eaten since the war.”
“Which one?” June muttered.
Mabel smacked her arm. “Don’t tease the man when he’s busy glaring at the glass.”
“I’m good,” I said, eyes on the street.
Nora glanced up from her computer, lips twitching. “You’re making the regulars nervous.”
“Good,” I said.
She shook her head and went back to her cataloging, but every so often her gaze slid to me, like she needed to confirm I was still there.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
SHERIFF TATElit up the screen.
My gut tightened. “I need to take this,” I murmured to Nora.
She went still. “It’s him?”
“Yeah.”
I stepped outside to the sidewalk, putting the building between my voice and the Magnolia Ladies’ ears. Saint looked over immediately from across the street, tracking my expression.
I answered. “Sheriff.”
“Wyatt.” Tate’s voice was rougher than usual. “You at the library?”
“Yeah. She’s working. I’m here.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” Paper rustled on his end. “I ran that coin. Called in a favor or two.”
“And?”
He hesitated.
My hand curled around the phone tighter. “Sheriff.”
“It matches,” he finally said. “A symbol from a cold case in Ridgemont County. About forty-five minutes south.”
Ridgemont.
