Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“Uh, I need to get this call. Hold on,” I told Jellie, not waiting for her response before clicking Answer.
“Hello?” My voice sounded as uncertain as I was about this.
I normally sent these calls to voicemail, but I was grasping at any chance that Ransom would call me that I was willing to answer anything.
“Do you know where your fiancé is?” a voice that sounded automated, as if it were a computer speaking, asked.
“Um, no,” I replied cautiously. What was this? Who was it?
“You should ask.”
Frowning, I pulled the phone away and looked down at the screen again, as if it had answers to who this was. “Ask who?” I responded, putting the phone to my ear.
“You know who to ask.”
I opened my mouth to argue that when there was a click, and the line was dead.
What in the hell was that?
The word mob kept repeating in my brain, and I wondered if that theory was right. Had Arden gotten messed up in something illegal? I could ask Ransom his opinion on what to do … if he’d text me back.
Could I be in danger?
My hand tightened on the phone as I stared at the wall while different what-ifs began to run through my head. A writer’s imagination could be a bad thing at times. Like right now. A cold sweat broke out over my body, and I had to gasp for air when I realized I’d been holding my breath.
I was overreacting. That was all. My creative imagination was getting the best of me. This was nothing. Probably some stupid private investigator his parents had hired, trying to scare me into telling him what I knew. Which was nothing.
Clicking back to Jellie, I took a deep breath before speaking. I couldn’t tell her about this. If I was in danger, which was unlikely, I didn’t want her to also be in danger by association.
“Spam,” I said with a sigh before she could ask.
“You need to get that app I told you about! It blocks that shit.”
I had the app. It hadn’t blocked that caller though.
“I’ll do that today,” I lied.
Five
Noa
The door to the Wattses’ two-hundred-twenty-year-old historic Federal home opened, and Melinda Watts squealed with excitement at the sight of Jellie and me. Although it was almost nine at night, she was still dressed as if she were ready to entertain a house full of guests. Complete with heels. I had rarely seen this woman when she wasn’t fixed up.
“You’re here!” She beamed. “Come in.” She stepped back and waved a hand at us. “I have a Crock-Pot of cocoa in the kitchen with all the trimmings.”
Jellie let out a pleased sigh as she went inside first, carrying one simple Louis Vuitton duffel bag. “Perfect,” she said, then went into her mother’s open arms for an embrace.
“I know I saw you last week for lunch, but it’s just good to have you home,” Melinda told her as she squeezed her tight.
“I know. I brighten up your world,” Jellie replied teasingly, then released her mother and moved the rest of the way inside the foyer. “It smells like the holidays.”
Melinda turned to me and gave me a welcoming smile, then opened her arms for me. Going in for a hug, I felt a small trickle of emotion and fought back the tears. She was the closest thing I’d ever had to a mother. Something about seeing her made me want to break down about Ransom and tell her everything. I wouldn’t though. That was my secret.
“And you too. It wouldn’t be the holidays without you here,” she told me.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied.
She patted me back as she held me tightly before releasing me and moving to close the door. “Leave your luggage here. I’ll have one of the boys get it up to your rooms,” she told us.
“They’re here already?” Jellie asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course,” Melinda replied. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”
“But they live in Portsmouth. They have their own homes. They can just drive over in the morning,” Jellie said, then leaned close, lowering her voice. “Is that woman here already too?” she whispered, scrunching her nose.
I knew she was talking about Birch’s girlfriend, Ziva or Zeva or Zeda—I couldn’t remember. Jellie had not liked her when he brought her to Easter lunch. Honestly, I didn’t think any of us had. But then Birch had specific taste in females. He was a photographer and seemed to end up with the models from his photo shoots. I was sure there were nice ones out there, but he always found the arrogant, self-absorbed ones to date.
Melinda shook her head with an amused glint in her eyes. “No. They broke things off in September. She demanded an engagement ring before she left for two months to Italy, and when he said no, she broke up with him.”