A look passed between the two men.
“Take this,” Holt said, walking over to the box that held keys. He pulled one off the hook and brought it over to Simon.
“You sure?” Simon asked.
“Yeah.”
Travis narrowed his eyes on Holt. “Sure about what?”
“Simon can fill you in.”
He had yet to decide how he felt about Holt Callahan. Their first official meeting was a sit-down that Travis interrupted between the fiction writer and the sheriff. To say his first impression was biased was an understatement. Holt had taken it upon himself to dig into Travis’s personal life and then had the audacity to enlighten him about what he’d found as though Travis had no fucking clue.
Never mind the fact he’d hadno fucking clue. That wasn’t the point.
Or maybe it was.
Regardless, Travis didn’t care for busybodies.
“You mind walkin’?” Simon asked, opening the door and stepping out on the porch.
“Depends on where we’re goin’.”
Simon pointed toward the downtown businesses on the other side of the park.
Travis swallowed hard, coming to a stop before descending the steps. Since his wife’s death, Travis found it nearly impossible to be on that street. Whenever he was there, all he saw was the carnage left behind after Juliet Prince ran down Kylie.
“I’d prefer a different direction.”
Simon looked across the way and then back. “We won’t be over there long. I wanna show you somethin’ in the apartment on the second floor.”
Travis took a deep breath.
“I think you’ll want to see it, Travis.”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
“I guess I should ask why you came to see me,” Simon stated.
“I need answers.”
“About?”
“Every goddamn thing.”
Simon didn’t respond and Travis was grateful. His anger was at himself, yet for the past year and a half, he’d been taking it out on others. They didn’t deserve his wrath, his indifference, or his desire to shut the entire world out. He’d been spinning uncontrollably since Kylie’s death. He knew that. Yet, he pretended otherwise and expected his family and friends to let him be.
“What’s up here?” Travis asked when they were walking up the back stairs leading to the second floor.
“After Rafe moved in with them, Holt took over the lease. He uses it so he can write when he needs quiet.”
There was only one business that had space up here. His cousin Violet owned this building—a deal she made with Travis’s father back when she was looking to open a bookstore—and she leased it out as a means to make money. The real estate office leased part of it, she’d converted another section into an apartment, one section was used as storage, and the other was empty. Or maybe it was used for storage, too. If she were smart, she’d invest her money in fixing that one up, too. Passive income was never a bad thing.
“And why would I be interested in his writing space?”
“He’s been doin’ research.”
Travis didn’t need Simon to clarify what Holt had been researching. It was obvious it pertained to whatever theory the man believed tied his wife’s mother to the mafia.
