Setting the pencil down, I sigh, aggravated. “Let me ask you this. If Raven found out that we copied her key, break into her house regularly, and fix her stuff, what would you do?”
Knox blows out a breath, thinking his answer through. “Beg?”
Snorting, I shake my head and get back to the task at hand. When we’re done evening out the legs, we place everything back on the table the way we found it.
Standing back to admire our work, Knox peers at the arrangement. “Was the stack of napkins right there? Or was it over here?” He moves the pile over a few inches.
“No. It was here.” I move the stack to the other side of the table.
Knox picks up the napkins again and a few other items. “No. The file was right there.”
Scratching my head, I scrutinize the positioning. “Do you think she’ll even notice?”
Knox’s wish comes out more like a question. “Hopefully not?” He shrugs, tilting the folder in his hands, scattering its contents on the floor.
I gesture to the jumble all over the floor. “Nowthatshe’ll notice.”
Knox gets down on his knees and starts gathering the array of papers and pictures. “Aw, shit. Help me pick this up.”
“Fine,” I groan.
The pictures I’m loading up catch my eye, and I peer closer.
Knox gives me a scolding look. “Hey! Don’t dally. We gotta finish this up so we can head over to the bar.”
I flip the image around, showing Knox. “Why does Raven have a surveillance photo of Lewis Whitlock?”
Knox’s eyebrows drop over his eyes, and he studies the picture closely. Then he digs through his own pile. “They’re all of Lewis. What is Raven doing following Lewis around?”
Examining the photos, I catalog each one in my mind. Lewis at the grocery store, Lewis shaking hands with Frank LeBlanc, Lewis walking into the psychiatric hospital.
My head drops to a concerned angle. “I don’t know, but I sure as hell am going to find out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RAVEN
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I mutter to myself as I practically sprint across the parking lot to Mystic River Elementary next door.
Yesterday, when I picked up Noah from school, he handed me a flier from the PTO. They’re in need of volunteers for their annual Halloween carnival. I figured that getting more involved at his school might help with the issues he’s been having, so I texted the number on the flier saying I was excited to help.
I may have been a bit overly enthusiastic in the text, and to be honest, I’m nervous as hell. A room full of moms? That’s a hard pass.
But I’ll do anything for Noah. Sitting through a meeting and helping out on Halloween is hardly cause for suffering.
Approaching the main doors, I slow to a fast-paced walk, and fuss over my hair and clothing, making sure everything is in place.
The woman sitting behind the welcome desk is typing away on her computer. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, and her frosty short hair lies flat. Her buttoned-up blouse and fitted sweater add to the haughty air around her.
“Hi, I’m here for the PTO meeting,” I say with a smile, and sound slightly out of breath.
Without turning from her screen, her eyes give me a quick once-over. She sighs as if actually having to speak and do her damn job is the worst. I can commiserate, but seriously?
“Sign in on the clipboard and grab a visitor’s badge. The meeting is down the hall that way in the cafeteria.”
Her monotone greeting is full of school spirit…not really.
Doing as she says, I sign in, grab a badge, and hope to the good man upstairs that I keep my cool and don’t punch the old lady square in the nose. Damn this stuck-up small town and all the prejudiced people who live here.
