Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Thank you for meeting me,” I tell Riley Stefano. The woman from the cabin, whose hair is now striped in black and pink, is wearing wide-legged jeans, clunky tennis shoes, a cropped band T-shirt, and a half-pound of chunky jewelry as she sits across the table from me and Janey at a diner of her choosing.
“You said it was important,” she explains. She’s bouncing her leg, which might make her seem nervous, but it feels more like she’s staying at-the-ready for anything, especially given the way her eyes jump around the room, watching for danger from every angle. I don’t think she trusts easily or even at all, which makes sense with the history Louisa described. “So, what’s up?”
I take a sip of my coffee and lean back, wanting to seem as non-threatening as possible when I say this part because I can only guess how bad it’s going to sound to a woman like Riley. “I’m a private investigator. During one of my cases, you became a person of interest.”
“Me?” she snaps. In an instant, she’s standing, ready to bolt. “Tell Austin that I’m gone, or you couldn’t find me, or whatever.”
“Wait!” Janey pleads. “We don’t know anything about Austin. That’s not what this is about.”
This is why I asked her to come with me. A woman like Riley wouldn’t consider sitting down with me, even in a public place. But Janey has an aura of kindness, which I thought might help. Turns out, I was right, because though she looks suspicious, Riley sits down again.
I want to ask who Austin is and maybe see if Riley could use a bit of help dealing with that situation. But first, I’ve got to find out who the fuck she is to Mr. Webster. I pull out my phone, showing her the picture I took of her and Webster in the cabin.
As expected, she turns narrowed, eagle-sharp eyes on me. “What the fuck? That was private.”
“Hence, my being a private investigator,” I answer. “Who is Webster to you?”
“Why do you want to know?” she counters, not giving up anything.
Janey leans forward, her eyes soft and her words gentle as she says, “Riley, Mr. Webster had a heart attack last week. He passed away. I’m so sorry.”
I’d bet she’s had this exact conversation dozens of times before, but I can see that it weighs on her each and every time. She doesn’t know Riley, didn’t know Mr. Webster, but is now an inextricable part of this moment for the woman across the table. But Janey willingly carries that responsibility with grace, kindness, and care.
“What?” Riley whispers, her face looking like she just got slapped. Her tough façade slips as she sags in her chair. She picks up my phone, looking at the picture of her and Webster with glittery eyes, even touching his face on the screen.
“Who was he to you?” I ask, trying my best to mimic Janey’s tone.
Riley frowns and dashes away a stray tear with the back of her hand. “My birth father. This was the first time we met. He didn’t even know I existed.” She smiles sadly. “Probably a good thing, or he would’ve died sooner. Everyone does. I’m like a curse.”
“No such thing,” I say, disagreeing on principle. “People live. People die. It’s the circle of life, and too often, that’s some hard to swallow shit. Doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Okay, that’s the truth, but it might’ve been too blunt because Janey gives me a pretty solid side-eye glare, and when Riley looks up from my phone, she’s gone frosty again.
“Said like someone who’s never lost someone,” she replies bitterly. “At least I found him before.”
“You found him?” Janey echoes, prompting her to say more.
Riley nods and then sighs heavily. Ignoring me completely, which is probably for the better, she tells Janey her story.
“My mom and him knew each other in college. She didn’t even know his last name. It was a hook-up, a one-time thing. She didn’t realize she was pregnant with me until almost seven months later, and by then, Will was gone. She tried asking around to find out who he was.”
She shrugs like that was unsuccessful. “But he was just poof! Mom had me, and we were okay for a while. Until she got cancer.”
Riley goes quiet, lost in memories for a long minute. When she restarts her story, she’s skipped what must’ve been the hardest part. “I got shipped off to foster care. I was a terror. Mad, sad, wanted to die to be with my mom, and took it out on everyone, especially the people who were trying to give me a home.”
Janey reaches across the table and takes Riley’s hand, comforting her. “I’m sorry about your mom. You must’ve been so scared.”
Riley doesn’t flinch away from the contact or the kind words. In fact, I think it gives her the strength to continue a story I’m not sure she’s ever told. “One of the kids at the first foster home ODed, which meant all the kids had to go somewhere else, and that started the roller coaster. There were some good ones, with nice people who gave a shit, but I lost count at some point.” She drops her eyes to the table, staring unblinkingly at the white laminate surface. “Eventually, one of the foster families adopted me. Not because they loved me but because if I was ‘theirs’, the state didn’t do checks on me as often, and I could take care of the younger ones and keep the house while they cashed the checks. They promised that when I was eighteen, they’d add me to the ‘payroll’, as they called it, basically meaning that as another adult in the house, they could foster more kids and make more money. Of course, I’d have to pay for room and board, though.” She huffs out a bitter, mirthless laugh.