Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
By the time I leave my bedroom, changed into dark jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, I’m feeling agitated. I’d rather go for a run—the ultimate stress reliever aside from sex—but I need to sort out Savvy’s ride to school situation first.
Travis and Savvy are no longer in his, er, her room. I’m grateful he’s more easygoing than me because he can make her feel comfortable. I know I can be a stiff. Travis is the complete opposite.
I slip out the front door, hoping to breeze past our neighbor’s door before she spots me, but I only make it a few steps beyond her place when I hear her door open.
“Officer Hayes,” an old voice calls out. “Hello.”
Stopping mid step, I stifle a groan before turning to meet Maggie, our elderly neighbor. She’s been living in the townhouse next to ours longer than us and we’ve been here nearly a decade. Since I’m a cop, she thinks of me as her own personal 911 dispatch. Everything is a problem, people are “always watching her”, and anything that breaks “must be vandals.”
There’s no escaping this woman.
“Mrs. Groggins,” I say, forcing a smile. “Good afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. What’s good about it, officer? My air conditioning is on the fritz but Reid claims there’s nothing wrong.” She waggles her bony finger toward the front office, scowling fiercely. “I should move someplace nicer. Perhaps I would be treated better. I’ve been a reliable tenant for nineteen years and I get no thanks for it.”
Same story, different day.
And it’s always me who gets stuck talking to the grumpy old woman.
“Want me to send Travis over to take a look at it. He’s not an HVAC guy, but it could be faulty wiring. You know he’s handier than me.”
She grimaces at the mention of Travis. It’s no secret she hates my roommate.
“I’ll just ask Brayden,” Maggie says, shaking her head. “He’s a sweet boy.” Then she looks toward our townhouse. “Speaking of children, who’s the little girl?”
There’s nothing little about Savvy.
She’s turned from little girl to stunning woman in the blink of an eye. But I don’t miss the judgment in Maggie’s tone.
“You remember Charlie and Serena? They came over a time or two for Travis’s parties. It’s their daughter.”
“What do they think about her moving in with you two? Are the three of you having an untoward relationship?”
I gape at her in horror. “W-What? No. They died and she went to a foster home. Now that she’s eighteen, she has nowhere to go. We’re helping her out until she gets on her feet.”
Maggie narrows her eyes at me. “Hmph.”
It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me, but I honestly don’t care. The old woman is judgmental and rude. We tolerate her. Barely.
“Mrs. Groggins,” I say with a huff of exasperation, “I need to pay Reid a visit. I’ll tell him about your AC.”
Before she can continue this irritating conversation, I stride down the sidewalk hastily, eager to get out of earshot. I nearly plow over Derek from unit two who’s coming out of his door, still dressed in his brown work uniform.
“She’s out for blood,” I mutter under my breath to him.
“Fuck.” He backtracks into his home and quickly shuts the door.
The only person who can deal with that old woman without losing their cool is Brayden. That kid has the patience of a saint.
I bypass unit one where Brayden and Reid live, heading for the front office instead. Reid, despite what Maggie says about him, is a good landlord. He’s kept this place up well while keeping the rent low. It’s why we’ve stayed here so long. If something’s broken, he’ll get it fixed. Maggie just likes to complain a lot about nothing.
The main building next to Reid’s townhome is where the office and mailroom are. When you walk in, on the right, there’s a row of eleven locked postal boxes—one for each unit in the Moonlit Gables complex and one that’s used for rent payment drop-offs. I’m pretty sure everyone sends their payments electronically, except for Maggie, who still writes checks.
On the left is a huge wall of “missing persons” photos. Shockingly, it’s not created by me. Since Reid’s a friend of my boss, Sheriff Rick McMahon, he allows him to use the space for reminding us all of missing locals. Our complex isn’t the only one with these photos. Sheriff is dedicated to finding these missing people and even recently hired a cold case detective to dissect them even further.
In the middle of the “mailroom/missing person room” is a desk that no one uses. On it are ancient pamphlets about the complex and a few fliers from local businesses. There’s also a complaint box. This one is used by two people, Maggie, naturally, and the fuckface Troy Henderson from unit six. Sometimes, Reid reads their complaints to me while we have a couple of beers, and we laugh our asses off.