Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“He’s out back talking to our attorneys on the phone.” She points a shaky finger out the door. “Hawk went out there.”
“Is Dad talking to one of the attorneys from Brick’s—Mr. Latham’s—firm?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Raven. I just don’t know.”
I need to call Vinnie.
He’ll know what to do.
Won’t he?
He didn’t answer when I tried before. Maybe he was in a meeting or something, and I didn’t leave a voicemail. I didn’t—couldn’t—say any of this out loud.
I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking. I press Vinnie’s name and hold the phone up to my ear, my heartbeat thumping a wild manic beat. The ring echoes in my head.
I look around at the police officers whispering among themselves and at my mother who is now huddled in a corner talking in hushed tones with a tall man in an expensive-looking suit. The body bag on the bed seems out of place in my room. My favorite band posters still hang on the wall and a few books are scattered about. There are stuffed animals on a shelf next to my bed, and boxes full of DVDs of old comfort-food movies that I used to escape my illness.
The body bag has poisoned everything in my room.
I can never sleep here again.
I walk into the hallway, keeping the phone pressed to my ear.
But Vinnie still doesn’t answer.
Again, I hear his away message. And again, I can’t bring myself to leave a voicemail.
The man talking to my mother walks toward me. “Raven Bellamy?”
“Yes?”
“This is your bedroom?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “I’m staying here. Sort of. I was at my own place last night. But I’m recovering from leukemia, and I…” The words just stop, caught in my throat.
“Yes, your mother told us.” He pulls out a pad of paper. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
I simply nod.
“In the living room, maybe?” the man says.
“Sure.” I swallow.
“I’m Detective Harris,” he says. “Jeremy Harris.”
“Raven Bellamy.” But he already knows that. What’s wrong with me?
What’s not wrong with me would be a better question.
We head into the living room. He gestures me to have a seat. Mom sits next to me.
I sit on the edge of the couch, gripping the cushion beneath me as if it could anchor me to some semblance of reality. The room feels too bright, the morning sun streaming through the windows stark and unforgiving. Detective Harris stands in front of me, his notepad open. Another officer, Joel Martinez, stands by the door.
“Ms. Bellamy, can you walk me through your evening?” Detective Harris asks, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of suspicion.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts. “I was at my house last night,” I begin, my voice trembling slightly. “It’s on the ranch property, about ten miles from here.”
“Were you alone?”
My lips tremble. Do I tell them I was with Vinnie? That we saw a drone flying above us in my backyard? Is it all related somehow?
I suppose it’s best to tell the truth.
Vinnie would tell me to tell the truth.
Wouldn’t he?
“I spent the evening with a friend.”
“And this friend can verify you were with her?”
I blink. “Him. I was with him. And yes, he can.”
“His name, please?”
“Vincent Gallo, Jr.”
Mom goes rigid next to me. I’m not sure how much they know about Vinnie’s family. Do they even know Falcon was beaten within an inch of his life and almost killed by Miles McAllister? Has Hawk told them? Falcon and Savannah aren’t here. Do they even know what’s going on yet?
Harris takes notes. “Okay. I’ll need his contact information.”
I grab my phone because I haven’t memorized his number. I rattle it off. “He left in the middle of the night, though, and I haven’t been able to get hold of him since then.”
Harris lifts an eyebrow but continues taking notes. “All right. Do you know what time he left?”
“Honestly, no. I wasn’t looking at the time. I mean, I was asleep at that point. We…”
How much detail does he want? What happened between Vinnie and me was personal, and I don’t want to talk about it to strangers. And certainly not with my mother sitting right here.
“Take us to this morning, then.”
I nod. “I received a call from my mom this morning, around seven. I had just woken up—that’s when I realized Vinnie had left—and I was making coffee when my phone rang. Mom said she found a body in my bed here.” I glance toward the hallway leading to my bedroom, the image of the scene my mom described flashing in my mind. I’m again grateful that I didn’t have to see Brick’s body with his throat slit. Seeing his blood all over my bed was bad enough.
“Did you know the deceased?” Harris asks, his pen poised over the notepad.
I gulp. “Yes, his name is Brick Latham. He’s a lawyer. We had a date last night, but I canceled at the last minute. Maybe he didn’t get my text in time.” I hold up my phone. “You can see the text here. Anyway, he was helping me with some legal paperwork for a charitable foundation I want to create.”