I’m not even sure what I’m asking. This whole conversation has me entirely baffled.
“Who’s with her?” I ask, but really, I know before he even answers.
There’s only one person who could’ve led this charge, and my bet is on Corinne Moradi. That woman has been nothing but trouble since landing in Alyssa’s path.
“The culprit appears to be Lanie Anderson.”
“That’s also not surprising.” I groan. “What’s this about a scarecrow?”
“I’m going to let you talk to Alyssa,” he says, and I hear some muffled voices on the other end.
“Hi, Nick.”
Her bubbly voice despite the situation has me smothering a chuckle.
“Alyssa,” I drawl, allowing her name to hang in the air.
“Nick, listen, don’t be mad. I can explain,” she rushes out, not taking a breath between words. I can tell she’s had a bit to drink based on the semi-slurred words. “It’s just…I don’t think we should do this over the phone. Wait…” Her words trail off, and I’m about to speak when I hear the incoming request to switch to a video call.
Despite my better judgment, I accept the call and wait for amoment while the phone switches modes and Alyssa’s face pops up on the screen.
“Can I take this over there?” she asks Malone, but he’s too busy flirting with someone just out of my view to bother answering.
She walks out of earshot and takes a deep breath.
“What are you doing at the cemetery, Lyss? It’s midnight,” I say, shaking my head in exasperation.
“New Year rituals,” she says, as if that explains it. “Lanie had a dream. It’s a long story.”
I grunt, not at all surprised that a dream would have Lanie trespassing. “She could’ve gotten you arrested. You realize that, right?”
She nods her head. “It’s not Lanie’s fault entirely. I came freely of my own will.”
I smother a laugh, tilting my head. “Are you drunk?”
Her eyes widen, and her hand flies to cover her mouth. “No. I mean…I’ve had some champagne.”
My head falls back as I groan. “Alyssa. Not only is that trespassing, but it would also be drunk and disorderly.”
“Nick…there’s more, and you’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” she starts, and my eyes close.
“Go on. It’s been a long night.” I pull the phone away to hide a yawn.
I’m exhausted and in over my head with Chelsea’s investigation, with no leads to go on.
“Isla put your wedding ring in my purse so that she could attach herself to me.”
The blood rushes to my ears, and my head spins.
“She attached herself to you? With my ring?” I rub at my forehead.
“Yes, and she wanted me to take her to her grave to see if she could move on.”
I catch about every three words.
Isla.
Ring.
