Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Condolences for your losses,” he says.
Her lips twist while she stares at his chest, her gaze a million miles away. “Thank you,” she whispers. “And thanks for listening.”
As if he had a choice.
CHAPTER FOUR
FRANCESCA
I can’t stop rereading the letter. My hatred for Molly and her pretentious family grows out of control. All I can think about is payback. Nothing can right this wrong. No amount of revenge will bring Steven and Lynn back. Still, I can’t let her get away with this. If she doesn’t learn a lesson, what’s to say she won’t compel another innocent soul to take their life?
Molly doesn’t call, not that I expect her to. She leaves me no choice but to follow her to a coffee shop in Rhodale. Boone kids get bussed to Rhodale for school, whereas the wealthier families live in the heart of Rhodale with bike trails, fine dining, boutiques, and trendy cafés. Everyone drives a Tesla to save the earth yet swims in a heated pool and incessantly waters their pristine lawns.
I’m not opposed to upper-class life. I’ve lived it for years. It’s the required holier-than-thou attitude that I struggled to accept.
Molly steps out of her black Model S and adjusts her short skirt and floral halter top before focusing on her phone as she walks to the hipster cafe, where a gentleman exits, holding the door open for her. She pays him no attention. Not a smile or a murmured “thanks.”
I blend into the ten-dollar-latte crowd with a red gauze, strapless sundress and Birkenstocks.
Hair in a messy, low ponytail.
Round sunglasses.
As I approach the door, Molly steps up to a table by the window, bending over to kiss a guy who looks her age. I keep my sunglasses on and my back to her while I order an iced coffee and sit on the opposite side of the cafe.
She steals his drink and sips from the straw while her bare foot, not-so-discreetly, lifts to his chair, nestling between his spread legs.
Classy.
Corinne was right. Her daughter is a very busy young lady. While the kids from Boone are working summer jobs for ten bucks an hour, riding their squeaky-wheeled bikes around town, Molly Sanford’s jerking off a kid at the coffee shop with her newly pedicured foot in exchange for a few sips of his syrupy coffee drink. I wonder who she will blow for a chicken sandwich at lunch?
She giggles.
The boy holds her foot, working it between his legs, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and a look on his face that sends a little bile up my throat. Molly’s clearly still grieving, and this young man is taking advantage of her broken heart.
I’d like to say that the students I had in my classes were a little more controlled and possessed more social etiquette, but that would be a lie. The music majors were the horniest ones on campus. Music really does inspire.
While Molly grieves over coffee, I conduct a few internet searches on her parents. Corinne Sanford owns a custom jewelry store here in Rhodale. She’s on the City Council and president of the school board.
Archer Sanford owns Sanford Real Estate and S&J, an engineering design firm.
When I glance up at Molly and her coffee mate, he pinches his eyes shut and grips the side of the table. Molly returns her foot to her white canvas sneaker.
“It’s about time,” I grumble, collecting my keys, phone, and coffee before moseying in their direction.
“Hey, I thought that was you.” I plaster on a friendly smile to match my jovial tone.
All the color drains from Molly’s face, but her friend’s cheeks remain flushed from his orgasm or the embarrassing spoonful of cum in his pants.
Molly sits up straight. “Hi. W-what are you doing here?”
I hold up my drink. “Same thing as you. Did your mom give you my number?”
Molly shakes her head, gaze darting between her friend and me.
“Oh, that’s disappointing. I wanted to spend more time with you. After we met, I realized you might be the one person who can help me find closure from Steven’s death.”
Now, her friend turns the color of the whipped topping on their half-empty drink. They share a look.
“I gotta go.” He nearly knocks his chair over while standing, righting it at the last second with his fidgety hands.
“Colin,” Molly snaps his name in a desperate plea.
“Colin?” I purse my lips.
“Y-yeah,” he stutters, a light sheen of sweat beading along his forehead.
“Gosh,” I tap my chin, “that name sounds familiar.”
“Colin played football with Steven.” Molly jumps in to save the day.
Only … nothing can save her.
She is rotten to the core. And while I have no desire to take her life or even give her my blessing to take her own life, I don’t think I can have closure without seeing her suffer to the point that she wished she were six feet under with Steven.