Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Everyone except this sandy-brown haired boy with the most incredible baby-blue eyes I would ever see.
“Depends. Who’s asking?”
He laughed and his short, curly hair ruffled in the breeze. “I’m Camden.”
“Camden like the city?”
The amusement on his face never left as he twisted his lips. “Well, no. It’s Camden like my dad. Who was named after his dad. Who was named after his dad. But his dad might have been named after the city.” He lifted a skinny shoulder in a half shrug. “Anyway, I’m Camden Cole.”
Camden Cole? What the flippity flapping kind of snobby, rich kid name was that?
We didn’t have many wealthy people in Clovert, but old Southern money sometimes came home to retire or raise their family away from the big city. Though we didn’t have a private school, so none of this explained why I’d never seen this kid before.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twelve.”
Hmmm, only a year older than I was. I definitely would have remembered those eyes if I’d seen him at school.
“Where do you live?”
“Alberton.”
I almost choked on my tongue. Ohhhh-kay. So probably not one of the rich kids.
Our little farming town with all of two stoplights and one grocery store was bad enough, but Alberton was next-level awful. It was over three hours away, but I’d been there a couple of times. Back when my dad had been a trucker—and occasionally sober—he’d make hauls out there. Being young, dumb, and desperate for his attention, I’d thought it was fun to ride along, but there was absolutely nothing in Alberton but a papermill, poor people, and the stomach-churning aroma of rotten eggs.
My dad had told me it stunk because of the papermill, but that town looked like it was less than a week away from a zombie apocalypse, so I had my doubts.
“What are you doing here, then? Are you a hitchhiker? Serial killer? Circus performer?” Tipping my chin up, I gave him another once-over.
He looked harmless enough. Scrawny. Preppy. Dorky. I might have been small, but I’d grown up with a brother who thought tickling me until I peed my pants was an Olympic sport. I probably could have taken this kid if he tried to start anything.
Camden shook his head, a bright white smile splitting his mouth. “Nah. My parents sent me here to spend the summer with my grandparents. I think I’m supposed to be helping them out around the house, but I just make my grandpa mad all the time.” He set the bucket down at his feet and shrugged. “I figure, if I tell my parents I got a job, then they can’t be too angry I skipped out on gardening with Grandpa.” He leaned forward and took a peek in my bucket. “So anyway, detective. If you’re done with my interrogation, I’ll repeat… Catch anything good?”
My shoulders sagged. I hadn’t, and the dollar signs I’d been hoping for were fading by the second. “Not really. If you’re after money, you’d be better off going back to Mr. Leonard and asking if he needs help in the fields.”
“Then what would I do with all these?” He smiled, tipping his bucket so I could see inside.
Sweet baby Jesus, there must have been at least a hundred worms in there.
I lunged toward him. “Where’d you get all those?”
“Depends. Who’s asking?” He quirked his brow mischievously.
Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “I’m Nora.”
He sauntered over to one of the large rocks next to the water and thoroughly brushed it off before sinking down on top of it. The reflection off his perfectly polished penny loafers nearly blinded me. “Last name?”
“Stewart.”
“You related to Mr. Leonard?”
“No.”
“How’d you get this job?”
“Jeez, who’s the detective now?” I fired a scowl in his direction. “I saw the sign and knocked on his door.”
“Was anyone else here when you got here?” He looked up and down the creek to see if we were alone.
There was a solid chance my eyes were going to roll out of my head. Where the heck was he going with this?
“No.”
He blew out a ragged breath and dug into his pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper. “Good. It’s just the two of us. That’ll make it easier.” He tossed the paper and it landed at my feet. I didn’t have to pick it up to see that it was Mr. Leonard’s help wanted sign. “Are you a rat, Nora Stewart?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not a rat, but I do have an older brother who will kick your butt if you don’t tell me where the heck you got a bucket full of worms without so much as a speck of dirt on your stupid, fancy clothes.”
His grin stretched wide. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
My patience was slipping fast with his trivial game, so my voice was louder than I intended as I replied, “Tell anyone what?”