Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
It came out that Hailey also slept with Peter the Valet and Lewis the Golf Instructor before Halloween.
Her reputation as being an “easy lay” has been cemented.
There’s nothing wrong with one-night stands or wanting to keep things casual. It’s basically the grifter norm. Nothing serious. Sex only.
But the staff have taken Erik’s side and branded my best friend with a scarlet A. I feel at fault. Like if I didn’t provoke Erik, he wouldn’t have spiraled. (He also is majorly to blame, too.)
Hailey said she doesn’t care about him or the gossip, but I think she’s been too invested elsewhere and hasn’t seriously contemplated what this means.
The longer we stay in this town, the more we have to deal with the consequences of our actions and the ruin we leave behind. We’re not just kicking up dust. We’re supposed to be here when it settles.
That time…is not now, but I hope peace isn’t an illusion. I hope it’s a real outcome we’re working toward.
My phone buzzes.
Jake: She did explain The Hunt to you?
I sigh and send him a quick yes.
This annual event isn’t like The Hunger Games or The Purge. Citizens aren’t armed to shoot the weak and poor. Packs of men aren’t tracking Bambi with rifles slung on their backs either.
It’s a scavenger hunt.
An innocent, simple, fun time where locals gather together and act like sleuths for the day.
Or so I thought.
“You’re Clue Girls,” Katherine told us when we were one foot into the country club. I thought we’d be assigned to a refreshment table. Serve nonalcoholic beverages, maybe the occasional Bloody Mary. Or we’d pass out VCC pamphlets, enticing locals to join and pay the astronomical club dues.
But no.
We’re Clue Girls.
It has nothing to do with the board game Clue. I already asked.
Katherine Rhodes and her clipboard make their rounds in the country club’s atrium garden. Wearing the tightest, most unwalkable pencil skirt—that she somehow manages to move in—she appraises me and twenty other “handpicked” girls.
Some are servers.
Others are rich caufers and locals.
No one is older than mid-thirties.
We stand among the boxed greenery and sticky humidity. “Why are we doing this again?” I whisper to Hailey, who snaps off a honeysuckle flower and slips it behind her ear. There is most definitely a rule about not picking the foliage.
She’s humming to herself, then stops to say, “It’d be a crime to live here and skip the annual scavenger hunt.”
I raise my brows. “Call me a criminal—”
“Never.” She untucks a rolled newspaper from the waistband of her cargo pants. Her black long-sleeved shirt says Big Witch Energy, but the words are slightly hidden behind a brown tartan sash with Clue Girl embroidered in gold thread.
The same sash accompanies my baby-blue sweater, which has ruffled sleeves.
“And you know it’s going to be fun. I’ve always wanted to be a Clue Girl.” She opens the paper, beginning to speed-read.
I give her a look. “You learned what a Clue Girl is twenty minutes ago.” The same time Katherine roped us into this tradition.
Hailey smiles deviously with her eyes still glued to the newspaper.
She’s been reading the local paper religiously for the past three months. I’m not sure how she doesn’t fall asleep.
I’ve glazed over the paper, and it’s mostly posturing from local city council. New trees planted in the square! Great turnout for the 10K! Sign up for the weekly handmade market! And don’t forget the advertisements in the back for the gutter-repair and window-cleaning companies. Truly riveting material.
I glance around the atrium and notice three more girls reading Victoria Weekly. My brain physically record-scratches. There isn’t any way I’m seeing what I’m seeing.
“Did they put smut in the Weekly?” I ask Hailey.
She frowns. “What?”
I wave a hand toward Julia Kelsey, who has her nose glued to the newspaper. Her friend reads over her shoulder, and they’re whispering like they’ve somehow acquired Regina George’s Burn Book.
To Hailey, I say, “Because if there’s some spicy articles in this paper, I’m kind of pissed you wouldn’t tell me.” I’m not a voracious reader like Hailey, but I will devour a good fanfic. “You know how much I love Underworld smut.”
She glances at me like I’m out of my mind. “You think they would print vampire fanfic in the town’s newspaper?”
I stand my ground. “We’re about to go on a scavenger hunt, Hails. Dressed like we’re starring in a crossover of Clue and Troop Beverly Hills. Anything is possible.”
She takes this in for a second before nodding. “Valid.” She flips another page. “And it’s not smut. It’s a new column about the happenings around town.”
My brain buzzes like a fly trapped underneath a glass. “Happenings?” I let out a sudden gasp. “Hailey Thornhall, are you reading gossip?” She hates tabloids.
“These are facts, Phoebe Smith.”
“Some gossip is factual,” I point out.
She smiles, but it’s stolen too fast by her hyperfixation. She’s consumed by the Weekly. I try to read over her shoulder, but she flips another page.