Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Well, we can take that with a grain of salt,” Hollis said as she viciously scraped food off of a plate. “What happened with the finger?”
“The finger gave us what we needed to start doing our own investigation,” Dad said as he leaned back into his chair. “We opened one, and the first thing we did was challenge the RRA—Rail Road Authority—and their policing on the matter. We got all reports, recalled the eyewitness, and went from there.”
“I heard the witness recanted his statement,” Auden said as he shifted his feet out from under the table, kicking Gable on the other side.
Gable flipped him off but didn’t otherwise react.
Dad got up and started gathering up dessert, a simple cobbler that was the easiest thing in the world to make but tasted like you’d spent eight hours slaving over it.
I got up to grab plates, making sure to brush the back of my hand over Hollis’s ample ass as I moved.
She stilled, her eyes tracking my every move.
“Let me,” Mom said as she took the last few plates from Hollis. “I usually don’t like anyone in here helping, and you’re good at scraping the food off, but darlin’, I’m particular in how I load the dishwasher. No offense to you, I’m sure you’re fantastic at it and all, but I have OCD. It’s just easier.”
Hollis returned to her seat with a snicker, but not before brushing her breasts against my arm as she moved past.
I was the one to still this time, my eyes heated, finding hers.
She smirked at me, a look so full of mischief that I wanted to pull her into my arms and whisper about what happened to naughty girls.
She retook her seat, her legs crossing, left over right, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her chest that very clearly had erect nipples before being covered up.
Adjusting my dick before I pulled down the plates, I waited until it was semi-under control before grabbing the plates and a whole stack of forks that I didn’t bother to count before returning to the table.
Dad arrived with the crockpot and a wooden spoon, but we waited, continuing to talk about the case, until Mom was back.
“Okay, so was there anything on this finger bone? Any DNA under the nail? How did you know it was hers? What about the phone?” Hollis asked.
Quinn looked at her curiously. “Why do you know so much about this?”
“I listen to podcasts,” she said. “And I watch every single murder mystery that comes out on Netflix, Amazon, or Hulu.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “You’re one of those girls.”
“Those girls?” Hollis asked.
“Yeah, those girls.” He nodded. “The ones who spell trouble.”
“You didn’t get that with her stalking habit?” I teased.
“Hey!” Hollis cried out. “Don’t mention that again.”
“Or else?” I raised a brow at her.
“Or else.” She pointed at me, then narrowed her eyes.
I grinned, but wisely chose to stay silent.
My dad didn’t raise no dummy.
“Back to the finger,” I said, choosing nonviolence today. “There was no fingernail left. It was only bone. But the weird thing is, it was stuck in one of those metal loops that you have on the back of your phone. You know the type?”
Her eyes widened, and then she pulled out her phone to show me the metal loop on hers.
“Like this?” she said, showing it to me.
I nodded. “It was like she had her finger in her phone, holding it, just like that.” I nodded as she stuck her finger through it. “And the phone was ripped away from her, or someone tried to. There must’ve been some struggle. Either by hand, or by object that did the ripping. We don’t know yet. But her finger stayed with the phone.”
“And you did DNA on it to make sure it was hers?” Hollis asked.
“Sure did,” I said, “but that wasn’t the only indication that it was hers. Her phone had her name stamped into the iPhone. Laser engraved likely when she bought it from Apple.”
“Wow,” she shook her head. “So that allowed you to reopen the murder case. Or maybe not reopen is the right word.”
“It’s a fine word,” Mom said as she sat down. “Let’s dig in.”
We did, me scooping out food for her and for me onto the small dessert plates before handing the wooden spoon off to the next brother.
Only when we were all done did I take a bite.
Hollis was halfway through hers.
I’d have to tell her later that we didn’t eat until everyone had their food.
But seeing her enthusiasm as she ate made me want to never tell her. She’d be embarrassed.
“Oh my God.” Hollis groaned. “This is divine! And also, I can’t feel the roof of my mouth because it’s so hot. But it’s too good to wait for it to cool off.”
“It’s easy as heck to make,” Mom smiled. “Dump a can of peaches, a box of Krusteez cinnamon cake mix, another can of peaches, another box of cake mix, and three sliced up sticks of butter into a crockpot and cook it on low for four hours.”