Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Dudley leads me into a marble foyer, everything in the room gleaming or gilded and decorated with swags of holiday greenery. Nothing here is understated in the least. Some people say that wealth is quiet. Not for whoever lives here. They don’t mind bragging.
“Through here.” Dudley’s pace is clipped.
I match it easily with my long strides, following him past a curving, double staircase, several side rooms, paintings, exquisite furniture, small knick-knacks worth more than my car, and many more expensive things I can’t even begin to name.
He stops at a set of double doors inlaid with pink tiles in the shape of a lounging cat. After a brief knock, he opens the doors and gestures me inside.
The tile on the door was just a hint. Inside, everything is pink. The wood floor, the walls, the furniture. Every single item is in some varied shade of pink–from deep magenta to the faintest whisper of rose.
In the center of it all on a large dark pink divan, an older woman sits with her feet up on a furry pink cushion and a large mixed drink in her hand.
“Mr. Carson Blair,” Dudley announces.
“Yes, come in. Come in.” The woman waves me to the pale pink sofa across from her. “Thank you, Dudley. Please let me know when the other one arrives.”
“The other one?” I ask.
“Yes. Sit, sit. I need all hands on deck for my precious darling.” She motions to the sofa again, her drink sloshing precariously in the glass.
“All right.” I walk over and sit down, the sofa groaning slightly under my weight. “I want you to know that I work alone. I’m not sure what–”
“Yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Blair.” Her eyelids are covered in a metallic blue shadow, and her eyelashes seem impossibly long. In a vivid blue gown, she’s the only thing in the room that doesn’t fit the color palette.
“And you’re Mrs. Farrol, I take it?”
“Indeed.” She takes a long drink from her glass. “Oh, Dudley can make you one, if you like,” she offers.
“No, thank you.” I pull out my small notepad and my pen. “You don’t mind if I take notes?”
“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, her impossibly plumped cheeks at their limit. “Please do.”
I poise my pen over the paper and look at her expectantly.
She doesn’t say anything, simply stares right back at me, her eyes a little glassy.
I clear my throat. “I was told this is a missing person case?”
“Yes!” She almost squawks her answer, her drink sloshing again before she finally puts it down on the small magenta table beside her. “Yes. Missing.”
“Who is–”
There’s a short knock at the door, and then it opens.
“Ms. May Levi,” Dudley announces.
I drop my pen.
“Sorry I’m late.” She hurries forward, her wide eyes bouncing from me to Mrs. Farrol. “I got confused on the directions, and the map thing didn’t want to take me to the right place, and then when I got to the gate, I almost peed myself. I mean, it’s really intimidating, though festive. I mean, I love the cats. And then driving up to the house. Almost peed again. But I made it.” She smiles and stops in front of Mrs. Farrol. “Pee free … so far, anyway.”
I take her in, the curve of her ample hips, the way her hair is haphazardly wrapped in a bun. Then I catch her scent. Warm honey. Sweet. Who the hell is she?
“Glad to have you, Ms. Levi. Sit, sit. This is your partner on the case, Carson Blair.”
She whirls, her bright gaze landing on me. “Hi!” she says. “Oh.” She leans down. “You dropped your pen.” A tendril of her hair grazes my hand, and I close my eyes, trying to stay professional. Trying to do anything except get caught up in the woman standing before me. I don’t know what the fuck has come over me, but I have to get it together. She’s a woman. One I’m expected to work with.
“I work alone,” I grate out and snatch my pen from her far more roughly than I intend. Fucking hell, Car, snap out of it.
“For this case, you don’t. I need both of you,” Mrs. Farrol says with bite.
“All right.” May sits beside me, but farther away than I’d like. “I need details. First, who’s missing?”
Fuck, I scared her. May, I scared May. Not surprising, I suppose. It’s part of what makes me good at my job–my size is intimidating. May side-eyes me for a moment, then scoots a little farther. I fist my hands, crushing my pen in the process.
“Oohh.” Mrs. Farrol lets out an anguished cry and drapes herself across the sofa, one hand over her face. “It’s so horrible. It’s hard for me to discuss. I’ve been a mess since he’s been gone. My sweet little boy. I can’t function. Can’t eat. Can barely sleep. A total mess.”