Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“He’s biding his time.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means he’s distracting himself with other girls until he can have the one he really wants.”
“Who’s that?”
She bopped my nose. “You, silly.”
“Me?”
“Of course. He always has stars in his eyes when you’re in the same room. I predict you will marry Colten Mosley someday. You’ll be Josephine Mosley. No man will love you like Colten.” She shrugged, swiping a finger through the jam on her biscuit. “That’s just my prediction.”
I didn’t know Vera’s track record with predictions, but I liked her, and I trusted her.
Colten hands me a folded tissue, bringing me back into the present. It takes me a few seconds of eyeing him suspiciously before I realize he’s handing it to me because I have tears streaming down my cheeks. Only … they’re not because Vera died.
I’m crying because my dream … my fate died.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“She killed her family. Changed her name. And moved to the Midwest. She’s the perfect serial killer. Sweet old lady who makes jam.”
I didn’t one hundred percent agree with Josie’s assessment as we spied through the hedge bushes at Vera Hollinger crocheting in a wooden rocking chair on her front porch. Then again, at twelve, all we had to do on the weekend was make up stories about people, so I played along.
“I bet she has retractable claws.”
Josie snorted.
“Are you two munchkins going to hang out in the bushes all day, or are you going to come here and offer me a proper introduction?” She didn’t glance up for a second.
We froze, covering our mouths to hide our gasps. After sharing several wide-eyed blinks, I let my hand slide from my face. “She might be nice,” I whispered.
Josie’s hand flopped to her side as disappointment stole her expression. “Fine,” she mumbled, pushing through the bushes.
“Well, hello there. I’m Vera Hollinger. Who are you?”
Josie pushed me in front of her as we plodded through the yard to her porch steps.
“I’m Colten, and this is Josie. She lives there.” I pointed to her house on the same side of the street. “And I live right across the street.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Colten and Josie. Do your parents know where you are?”
“We’re not babies. We can go wherever we want,” Josie said. “My dad’s the police chief.”
A tiny grin wrinkled Vera’s face. “I’m aware. I met your parents several days ago. They told me to expect two very inquisitive kids snooping around here.”
“What are you making?” Josie nodded to the yellow ball of yarn on Vera’s lap.
“I’m not sure yet. I think it might be a hat for my sister.”
“It’s summer,” Josie stated the obvious.
“Indeed. But my sister has no hair, and she’s often cold.”
“What happened to her hair?” I asked.
“It probably fell out. Does she have cancer?” Josie decided to step in front of me like I was too stupid to ask the right questions, and I probably was.
Vera’s gaze returned to the yard, then the crochet hook in her hands, and she nodded.
“Sorry,” Josie and I said in unison.
“If she dies, Roland Tompkins will take good care of her.”
“Josie,” I gritted her name between my clenched teeth.
“I’m just saying …” She shrugged.
“Who’s Roland Tompkins?” Vera asked.
“He’s the funeral home director. Josie has a weird obsession with death.”
She elbowed me. “I do not. I just like to do things that are more interesting than hit a ball with a bat or play the piano.”
Vera’s hands paused, and she glanced up again. “I play the piano.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I don’t. My dad thinks survival skills are the best hobbies to have,” Josie said.
“Josie kills Bambi.”
Again, she elbowed me. “I’ve never killed a deer, stupid.”
“I’d love to hear you play the piano sometime. I have a beautiful piano that my husband bought me. I don’t play it much anymore, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it either.”
“I don’t have a real piano, just a keyboard,” I said.
“Oh … then you’ll love my piano. It’s a shiny black Steinway & Sons. It was just tuned after I moved in. Would you like to see it?”
“Can’t. I have to ask my mom,” I said.
“I’ll take a look,” Josie said.
I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t supposed to go into strangers’ houses, and she knew it.
“Why don’t you both check with your parents and we’ll see it another time. I picked some of the blackberries from the bushes out back. Maybe you can come for biscuits and jam.”
As all kids did at twelve, we lit up with excitement at the possibility of Vera making jam and biscuits for our next visit.
“We’d like that,” Josie said. “Bye.”
“See you later, munchkins.”
We ran back to Josie’s house, out back, and straight into the woods where we climbed our favorite tree.
“I should ask Vera to teach me how to crochet,” Josie said.
“Why?”
“It’s a useful skill, and I bet it’s something that won’t …” She popped her lips several times. “What was the word my dad used … oh! It won’t intimidate boys like when I fish and hunt.”