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)
“We think he’s going to be twenty-six,” she reminds me. “But it’s too big of a coincidence. That they were here when this happened. And where was my brother?”
My heart swells, hearing Hailey still call Rocky her brother. I know that’d mean something to him, too.
I think about Addison and Elizabeth. “Could they have been involved in taking down the Wolfes? Maybe Varrick hired them like Jake hired us?”
Hailey leans toward the dashboard and switches on the heat. “It is the same exact job—minus the deaths. Varrick has already inherited Emilia’s entire fortune.”
Flashes of lightning brighten the darkness of the car. Thunder rumbles around us, and I watch Hailey’s eyes ping back and forth in thought.
“But they implied a con went poorly here,” Hailey says, “and that’s why we shouldn’t be in Victoria. So if the job was getting Varrick to inherit the Wolfe fortune, how did that go bad? It could be that Varrick isn’t involved at all, but their con somehow got the Wolfes killed by accident.”
“But can we trust that a con went bad? It’s another thing they told us, and we know they’ve been lying.”
She narrows her eyes at the windowpane. Rain drips down the glass. “Facts,” she says. “We know they lied about our origins, and we know they won’t tell us about their time in Connecticut.”
“I wish we could just ask them to give us the fucking truth,” I groan angrily. But asking them will get us lies or the colloquial it’s better if you don’t know.
Hailey grimaces. “It’s like…I see the answer, but I don’t. It’s right there…I know it’s there…but all I have are theories, and without evidence, they’ll never be fact, Phoebe. Facts are real. Beliefs aren’t, and we know how easy those are to warp.”
I can’t imagine what that feels like—knowing you have the capability to solve a riddle, but being forever one letter off because you’re lacking one necessary hint.
I could be given a thousand hints, and there’s a good chance I still wouldn’t solve the riddle. It’s not my forte, which is why I’m not beating myself up over it. On the contrary, Hailey would spend eternity in front of a sphinx, if she had to.
I admire her too damn much, but I hope our desires to figure this out aren’t putting an enormous pressure on her, too.
“Maybe you’re thinking too hard,” I say. “It could be one of those things that will naturally smack you in the face the moment you stop obsessing over it.”
She shakes her head wildly. “No, no. I don’t have all the information yet, Phebs. That’s the problem. Once I get the right piece to the puzzle, I will crack it.” She twists one of her stud earrings on her ear. “And what if…what if my brothers and I are all tied to this town, too? What if…”
“You’re from here?”
“It’s wishful thinking, okay? But maybe…just maybe…” She rubs at her reddened eyes.
I squeeze her kneecap. “It’s not that far-fetched to me, given the dates of everything. And it’d make sense why they wouldn’t want us in Victoria if they were trying to hide your origins here.”
“I’ve been thinking about genetics,” Hailey says quietly. “Eye color, hair, chin dimples.” She looks at mine, which I share with my brothers. “Food preferences.”
I scrunch my brows. “What food preference is genetic?”
“Cilantro,” she says, and her face goes pale again. She whips open the door a second time. We go for round two on the puke-a-whirl, and this time, we’re both soaked from the rainstorm when she shuts the door.
“Sorry, Phebs.” She downs the rest of her Snapple, still ashen. I wring out my hair, creating puddles on the floor mat.
“You puke one more time and I’m rushing you to the ER. We can make up a Thornhall backstory about your great-grandmother’s chronic toe fungus. I don’t care.”
“I’m fine,” she says determinedly.
I stare skeptically.
“Really,” she insists and picks up the conversation where we left it like it’s proof. “Cilantro. People who have a variation in their olfactory-receptor genes will more strongly detect the soapy-flavored aldehydes in the leaves.”
I pull off my drenched sweater. “Rocky thinks cilantro tastes like soap.” I freeze. “And so does Jake.”
We share an unblinking what if look.
“Could they be…?” I trail off.
“Secret brothers?” She sounds skeptical.
“And we just figured it out because of cilantro,” I say in more disbelief.
“I’d give you an award,” Hailey tells me.
“We’d have to share it, since you’re the one who gave me your cilantro knowledge.” The mere thought of Jake and Rocky being somehow related is too far-fetched to even make sense in my brain. It’s a silly thought. Right?
And anyway, Rocky’s origins are so difficult to pinpoint. It almost feels like being blindfolded and throwing a dart at a list of a million and one names.
Hailey opens the air vents wider above her head. “Maybe we can—” A knock pounds on the rain-speckled window of our car, and we jump out of our skin.