Page 59 of Saving Wyatt

“Well, want to give me a hand with those? I’m checking out tomorrow, and there’s about fifty meals in there.”

I laughed out loud and rubbed my belly. “I’m afraid I’ve just had lunch, but thanks for offering.”

He shrugged. “Worth a try. It’d be a shame to throw it in the trash.”

“I’m sure the staff would gladly take it home.”

“Good idea. I’ll try that.”

“I should go. I’ve got patients waiting, I’m sure.” I stood up, and Kale did the same and walked me to his door.

“Thank you for stopping by,” he said, his mouth left open at the end of his sentence as if he wanted to say something more but was hesitating.

“Are you okay?”

He immediately shut his mouth and started chewing his lip. “Yeah, I…I just heard some rumors, but it’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“No, that’s okay. What rumors?” I asked.

“Someone…several someones mentioned Wyatt Goodman. That he was responsible for the fire. But that can’t be right. If he was, they’d have…arrested him. Surely.”

My insides flared in an instant, and I gritted my teeth before I snapped at the wrong person. Kale was an outsider and he didn’t know better. Though if we were being fair, the people of Mayberry Holm were also outsiders when it came to Wilson’s criminal empire.

“Don’t believe everything you hear. There’s a lot going on on this island that people don’t know about, and they just make assumptions. Bad assumptions.”

Kale frowned. “Do you? Know what’s going on?”

I bit my lip and cursed myself. I’d already said more than I should have. Just to be sure, I glanced around to make sure the corridor was empty and then reached for Kale’s hand.

“I wish I could say, but it wouldn’t be wise. Just know…people are wrong about Wyatt. He’s a good guy.”

Kale nodded, though if he believed me was another thing altogether. But I’d done my part. More than my part, in fact.

I just hoped what I said didn’t get Kale in trouble too.

TWENTY-ONE

WYATT

As soon as I got King’s call, I rushed to Elmwood Beach and to Blackstone Farms.

I must have missed news of the sale because the once-struggling farm was in full operation, the estate was alive and bustling with people, the parking lot full of cars.

With some trepidation, I got out of my Wrangler and walked to reception where a jovial young man with a headset over his head greeted me with a big white smile. His badge read Zane.

“How can I help?” he asked.

“I…I’m here to see…King? King Moore?”

“That’s right. Mr. Moore is in the manager’s office. Please go right ahead. Last door down the hall.”

Zane pointed to the hallway on the other side, and I gave him one last glance before I walked down the corridor and stopped a few feet short of the last door which read Nicholas Stone, Operations Manager.

I pulled my phone out and checked the address again. Maybe I had the wrong place. Maybe I read the message wrong. What was King doing at Blackstone Farms and what business did he have with the operations manager, a man I’d never heard of?

The text from King was clear as day. Blackstone Farms, Elmwood Beach.

Strange.