Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Charlie nodded, smile still strong on his face. “And what made you leave the city?”
That question almost barreled me over. Of course I should have expected it, but that didn’t mean I was ready for it. Dean’s death felt like a fresh gash across my chest, still bleeding and raw with every broken-glass-filled heartbeat.
“I wanted to come back home,” I answered simply, somehow managing to keep my words from shaking. “Back to you. I’m going to need details. Whatever you’ve gathered about the accident, through eyewitnesses or a paper trail or whatever else you’ve put together.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes. I could tell he wanted to dig deeper into his question. He always did that, even back when we first met. He had a question for everything and expected an answer for every question. It felt like we had known everything about each other by the second day we were hanging out.
He didn’t chase after his question, thankfully. He looked around the diner, his light brown eyes—almost golden in the sliver of fiery orange sunlight—settling on the stunning view of the mountainscape that surrounded Blue Creek.
“I have a folder at home I can give you,” Charlie said, his tone taking on a distant quality. “It’s got a few things I was able to put together. One of the biggest is a retracted article from a local newspaper. The journalist, Annie Yuen, was a friend of mine from college. She heard what happened and instantly started asking questions: What was I doing in a cherry picker? Why was I a few houses away from an ex-girlfriend’s house when I fell? Why was my house broken into the morning of the accident? There were lots of questions and zero answers.”
I made a mental note to track down the journalist, but right now I wanted to hone in on Charlie’s thoughts on the accident, as shattered as they might be. “Would anyone have wanted to hurt you?”
He shrugged. I probably could have answered it for him with a resounding “no.” Who in their right mind would want to hurt the smiley, jokey, handsome, heart-filled Charlie Marsh?
Well… besides me, I guess, if you included the fight we had before I moved away. He hurt me, so I hurt him back. Not physically, but fuck, it felt like it. And for years after, I pictured myself getting even with the guy who crushed my heart under the heel of his mountain boot by throwing a punch at him. Of course, I’d never do that, but after all the shit he said to me…
“I don’t have any enemies,” Charlie continued, affirming my thoughts. “Maybe some frenemies, and a few exes who don’t like me—” Yeah, I know. “—but no one who would want to kill me.”
He finished up the last of his fries, lifting one in the air like a finger. “At least that I can remember. Something could have happened in the seven years that I’m missing.”
That got my gears spinning. It gave me a timeline to work with, something that was crucial for any good detective. It narrowed down my search, although seven years was still a pretty large span to work with.
Still, it was something.
“I’m going to need a list of those frenemies, just so I can chat with them.”
“You got it,” Charlie said. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, pulling my eyes toward a pair of lips I still found myself dreaming about. He’d been my first kiss with a guy, and I was his first, too.
We were a lot of “firsts” for each other, and Charlie didn’t remember any of them.
Fuck.
“All right, let’s get going.” Charlie cracked his knuckles, something he always used to do whenever we were about to leave a restaurant. It was a tiny habit of his I always found endearing.
We paid off our tab and got up from our booth. The diner had every table packed now, a couple of familiar faces popping out at me. Gladys, my college counselor waved a bangle-covered hand at me, recognizing me the second we locked eyes. Behind her was a booth with Alecia and Caleb Winterthorn, a couple who owned a winery and were consistently referred to as Blue Creek royalty. With them was Giles Pope, Blue Creek’s sheriff and resident asshole, along with his twin daughters, both of whom stared daggers at Charlie’s back as we passed.
“What did you do to Michelle and Cary?” I asked as we stepped outside, the night breeze whipping up a pile of leaves next to a trash bin.
“Good question,” Charlie answered, smile turned down into a frown for the first time I bumped into him in the pet store. “I was told I dated Michelle before I came out and may have fucked things up somehow. The entire family hates me.”