Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Yeah. Working. And working. And working some more.”
“But you’re good at it, and you love it. That’s what matters.” He looked up and smiled at a guy setting up a stand to sell some shirts, then looked straight ahead.
“You know I do, but I’d rather be cuddling with you.”
“I’d much prefer that, too. Did you think about me today?” He smiled into the phone, shamelessly fishing for compliments.
“Of course I did, boy. I saw this big ass Sasquatch running across the street this morning and thought, Wow! he looks so much like my sweetie. Let me call my baby after lunch.”
He had a good chuckle at that. Porsche sometimes joked about how hairy his legs were. It occasionally tickled her when they were in bed.
“It’s been a few days since we saw each other. I thought maybe you’d wanna stop by or somethin’. We can go out to eat if ya want. There’s this Chinese spot you might like that I could take you to. They’ve got this great fried rice with pineapples and green peppers in it.” He ran his hand up and down his arm in slow strokes as he spoke to her. Needing touch and pretending it was her.
“Nikolai, if you take me to one more place to eat this month I am going to explode. I have gained six or seven pounds messing around with you, and that’s the truth.” He smiled into the phone, proud of himself for wining and dining her. “If it’s not you feeding me from a restaurant, it’s you cooking for me or making me try some new little food shack in town. You even brought those damn blueberry Holy Donuts to my home the other day. You know they’re my weakness. I inhaled the entire box after you left. Now, you better stop this unless you don’t care about me having a waistline anymore.” He could hear the mirth in her voice. “I’ll lose my girlish figure, as my mother says, if you keep this up.”
“I don’t care about that. As long as you’re happy… You’ll still be beautiful to me no matter what.”
“You are so full of shit.” They both laughed at that. “You usually don’t call me this time of day, especially with that new contract you received.”
He’d secured a lucrative deal to create twelve one-of-a-kind shields and matching swords for a Medieval-themed museum exhibit in Tennessee. The items would later be auctioned off, so they wanted quality craftsmanship. His reputation for superior work was spreading. This venture was going to bring in a nice chunk of change.
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t help but think about you because of where I am right now.”
“Oh? Where are you?”
“I’m at Old Orchard Beach.”
He got the response he thought he’d get.
Silence.
An uncomfortable stillness. It was like black and white convulsing speckles, frantic static on an old television… on mute. No beginning or end—just a silent mess in a vast, dark room that now lived inside him, too. The clandestine treachery of quiet, threatening potential havoc.
“Orchard Beach?” she finally said, taking the staticky television off mute. Her tone held a hint of incredulity.
“Yes. Old Orchard Beach.”
“But why? Why would you go there after complaining to me that you were sick and tired of the police hounding you? Do you know how this looks, Nikolai?”
“So now I’m supposed to be trapped in a cage, even though I’m no longer a suspect, all because of the rumor mill? That’s absolute bullshit.”
“No, it’s not, because perception is reality. I want you to leave right now and go home. I don’t want anyone to—”
“Anyone to what, Porsche? Accuse me of shit I didn’t do? If I bow under the pressure of this, I can be crushed by anything! I will walk where the hell I wanna walk, drive where I wanna drive, and be where the hell I want to be. I told you that I was sick of this shit, Porsche. All of this talk about this beach, the bodies, and me being a suspect… It was too much. I wanted to take control of the story. It’s already gotten out of hand, so I decided to come out here. If I never come, people will think it’s because I’ve got something to hide. If I do come, people will think I’m here because I want to look at the scene of my dirty deeds.” A wave of apprehension swept through him. “I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I choose to go out with some dignity because I’ll be blamed either way.”
She sighed loudly on the other end. “Does it feel strange to be there?”
He wasn’t certain what to make of that question. Was this a second chance at an interrogation? Actually, a sixth if one were being technical—or was she asking simply because he was dealing with the aftermath of being a prime suspect? He shifted the ideas around like a betted peanut hidden under three shuffled coconut shells.