Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Well, we are roommates.” His face remained as unreadable as his tone.
“Exactly.” I put an encouraging hand on his arm. “We’re friends.”
“Buddies might be pushing it.” He chortled like there was a joke I wasn’t understanding.
“Come on. I don’t want you here alone. I’ve missed you. At least this way, I can see you while we count down to being alone later.”
“I like the sound of later.” He returned the vegetables to the fridge and the cutting board to its rack. “Okay. I’ll come. But mainly because I want to hear about your interview. The greasy fried pickles are a nice bonus.”
After promising Knox all the fried pickles he could want, I locked up the house before we decided to walk the short distance to the sports bar. We didn’t need to run, but it took a fast trot to get there before the first round started.
“You brought a sports guy!” Sam was first to greet Knox while Holden scooted over to make room for an extra chair.
“Hey, Knox. Sit here.” Holden gestured at the empty chair, leaving me to find my own. “Remind me if you eat meat. We usually get a couple of kinds of wings.”
“And fried pickles,” Sam added. “I remember how you love those.”
“Sounds great.” Knox smiled widely, but I had a tough time following suit. It did not sound great. It sounded like my friends were poaching my territory. If my friends got any more enthusiastic about Knox’s appearance, I was going to sharpen my teeth on the salt shaker. But it was my own damn fault, both for inviting him and being unable to claim him with a well-placed hand or sharp look for Holden’s barely-disguised flirting and Sam’s overly-helpful suggestions.
“Can I see ID?” Our usual server frowned when Knox asked for the ale Holden was raving about. Which Knox had, and totally wasn’t a huge deal, other than the fact that it shoved home our age difference and reason nine hundred and forty-eight why I couldn’t date Knox. Especially not in this town where it felt like dozens of eyeballs were already watching the three of us drink with the police chief’s kid.
And with each question in the quiz round, I swore the eyeballs pointed in our direction increased, catching each high five and celebration. A few beers. Some appetizers. It wasn’t like we were out to get Knox loaded, and indeed, he still had half of his first beer at the end of round one, but I still felt one wrong glance or touch away from the pervy old man label.
“Way to go.” Holden had no such issues, slapping Knox on the back as we came in second for the first round.
“See, we’ve needed someone like you.” Even Sam was laying it on super thick.
“Aw. You don’t need me. Any warm body with a grasp of basketball history would do.” Knox laughed, and the rest of the table did too, but I did need him, specifically. I’d missed him the whole time I was in Florida, missed his scent and his questions and his cooking and his concern. I wasn’t sure exactly when want had given way to full-fledged need, but here I was, absolutely certain that I’d needed someone like Knox for years and might never find another one like him.
“Now that we can rest on our well-earned laurels, tell me more about your interview with the suspect.” Holden interrupted the biggest damn revelation of my life to redirect my attention to the case I was supposed to be focusing on rather than worrying how in the heck I’d survive without Knox.
“Frustrating.” I took a sip of my beer to collect my thoughts. “Our suspect for the Stapleton disappearance was ruled competent to stand trial in Florida, where he was convicted in the other three murders, but good luck getting him to make sense. He thinks he’s in some sort of thriller, speaking only in riddles and lines from obscure movies. I recorded everything he said, but it will take time to go through and unpack the quotes.”
“Which movie?” Sam and Knox spoke at the same time.
“Does it—oh. Of course it matters.” I slapped the table because if I hadn’t been so distracted by thoughts of Knox, I would have thought of that myself. For a diabolical psychopath, every detail mattered. “Which movie might actually matter more than which line.”
“Especially if it was filmed around here,” Holden added, pulling out his phone, but Sam was already on it.
“Exactly. The iconic eighties coming-of-age drama Treehouse was filmed right in town here, but there have been plenty of others along the coast and in Portland.”
“His choice of which he’s quoting from could be a clue. But also, what part of the movie—first act, second, etc. Heck, even what season.” Knox was also busy on his phone showing me memes of quotes from Oregon-set movies.