Travis Read Online Mia Sheridan

Categories Genre: Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
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I thought of my mother but…hell no. I’d had a bad enough week as it was. I wasn’t going to make it worse.

I could pitch a tent on my property if I was truly desperate, but I still had to go to work, and getting ready for a shift with no running water would be challenging.

Spencer would take me in. Spencer would give up his bed and sleep in the bathtub or the doghouse if I asked him to. I massaged my temples, the very thought of enduring Spencer for nights and days on end making my head pound. The other guys who worked for the police department were married, but a few of my good friends at the firehouse who were bachelors might be possibilities—but only if all the B and Bs were actually full.

I grabbed my phone and started making calls.

All the B and Bs were actually full.

The rental cottages too.

I looked at the last B and B listed on the Pelion website I’d gone to. I’d disregarded it because it was in a sketchy area, right on the edge of town, a sort of no-man’s-land that wasn’t exactly Pelion and definitely wasn’t the ritzier side of the lake.

The Yellow Trellis Inn.

It was inexpensive compared to the others. And from what I’d heard, for good reason.

It was also run by a woman I’d heard the town refer to as “Batty Betty.” I thought I’d gotten wind of a story floating around about a dead husband and suspicious circumstances but couldn’t recall anything specific.

I picked one foot up, water streaming from my shoes. It couldn’t be worse than this. And was definitely better than Archer’s well-worn couch, where he and Bree had done who knew what in that little gnome home on the lake.

I picked up the phone and booked the last room they had available. “It has a lake view,” the woman on the phone promised enthusiastically.

“Great,” I said. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but in that moment, the promise of a lake view buoyed my mood just a tad. Even this rental I lived in didn’t have a lake view. Then I packed some clothes, my work gear, and a few accessories into a duffel bag, all of which thankfully hadn’t been rained upon by upstairs plumbing, grabbed a dry pair of shoes, and headed to my car.

***

The room definitely didn’t have a lake view.

“Right there,” the woman named Betty with the frizzy halo of blond hair said, pressing her face against the glass and angling it to the side. “If you crane your head just so, you can see the edge of the lake.” She turned and smiled brightly as if having to meld yourself with the window to see an inch of water made it the finest room in the house.

What I could see—clearly and directly outside my window—was what appeared to be a headstone. “Is that a grave?” I asked.

“Oh that.” She waved her hand, dismissing it. “That’s where an old barn cat that used to roam the property is buried.”

I peered out the window again. The headstone seemed sizable for a barn cat. Not to mention there was no barn in sight.

Batty Betty. Yet she seemed mostly normal.

I gave her one more suspicious glance before looking around the room. It wasn’t terrible. It was actually what I’d call somewhat…charming. Or at least on the verge of charming. Within range of charming. More importantly, it had a bed and a bathroom, so I wasn’t going to complain about not having a view of the lake but instead a cat’s tombstone. I’d been looking at that particular lake since I was born.

As far as the tombstone…I’d keep the shade closed.

“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together, “you’ve…” She frowned, blinking rapidly, finally using her fingertips to tap her forehead somewhat violently, her head snapping up, “Arrived!” she declared.

“Yes. I…have…arrived?” What was that about?

She shook her head. “No, you arrived just in time for the social hour downstairs.”

“Social hour?”

“Right. It’s in the room at the back of the house, where guests are welcome to mingle and such. We serve my sister Cricket’s homemade hooch.”

My brows flew up. “Prison wine?”

“That’s right. She perfected it in the toilet inside her cell during her time away, and now it’s a family favorite and all the rave at social hour.”

I stared. Speechless.

“Of course, we don’t make it in a toilet, seeing as we have other options.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“That would be unhygienic,” she clarified needlessly.

“Among other things.”

She laughed faintly.

“Anyway,” I went on, shaking myself, as though I’d stepped outside reality for a moment. “Sounds…interesting. I’m pretty tired though so I’m going to skip social hour for tonight.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll just get out of your way then.”

After the door had closed behind her, I stripped off my clothes and made my way to the shower and then, clad in my boxers, fell back on the bed, the springs making a loud creaking sound. Despite the obvious age of the mattress, the bed was comfortable. I lie there for a few minutes, expecting to fall asleep immediately. Instead I stared up at the ceiling, wide-awake. There was a tall potted plant next to the bed and I turned to it. Living things feed off energy. “How’s it going?” I asked the plant, hitting a new life low.


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