Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“And if you could do that without speaking to her like she’s a fucking child, that’d be great,” I said, grabbing three coffee mugs, and pouring.
“You’re paying me for my specialty,” Simon insisted.
“Is your specialty being a complete dick?” I asked, getting a surprised snort out of him.
“Fair enough,” he agreed, nodding. “Nothing,” he said when I lifted the cream and sugar containers in a silent question.
I put a little extra cream and sugar into Everleigh’s cup, then brought all of them over to the table where Everleigh had moved to sit, straight-backed and uncomfortable.
Simon took a sip of coffee as Everleigh just held hers between her hands.
“Alright. So. If we can avoid court, that is the goal,” Simon said in a much more tolerable tone. “But that means we have to work. In essence, it means we have to be our own investigative team. Because the DA has the entire fucking police force if he wants it to pin this on you. Especially your asshole of a brother,” Simon said, surprising me.
“How did you know?” Everleigh asked.
“Have you seen the two of them?” Simon asked. “Strong genes going on there. Anyway, he’s got a goddamn personal vendetta going on here. So we have to work harder to prove him wrong.”
“He is wrong,” Everleigh insisted.
“We know that. But the DA believes what the cops tell him. So we have to create another explanation.”
“What about Gav?” I asked. “Is he still inside?”
“He was granted bail, but no one has posted it.”
“He has family, though,” Everleigh said, confused.
“His bail was set at seventy-five grand. And unless someone was going to risk their house, they probably couldn’t pay it.”
“Would it be possible to talk to him?” I asked.
“I’d have to talk to his attorney. An overworked, underpaid public defender who is probably trying to talk Gav into a plea deal to avoid court.”
“A plea deal,” I repeated. “And what are the chances he’ll throw Everleigh under the bus to get his sentence cut?”
“High,” Simon said, no bullshit. “Especially if he’s having a hard time inside. Jail is a bit rougher for men than women. One way sexism works for women, I guess.”
“So we need to prove she’s innocent before he decides to come up with some lie about how it’s all Everleigh’s fault.”
“That’s the plan. So, Everleigh. Tell me about the drugs.”
“What drugs?” she asked.
“The ones that have your fingerprints on them,” he said.
“What?” I barked at the same time Everleigh did, but in a much more pained voice.
“To be fair, they have your fingerprints on the boxes that had trace amount of drugs on them, likely because they were used to transport the drugs,” Simon clarified.
“Boxes at the gym?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I mean… I carry boxes at the gym all the time,” Everleigh said. “We are constantly getting deliveries. New towels or soaps, cleaning supplies, ingredients for the smoothies. The delivery people drop them all off at the desk, and I carry them to wherever they belong.”
“Exactly the problem,” Simon agreed, nodding. “Both sides have a case for your prints being on the boxes. And even film of you carrying the boxes, which I am sure they have by now.”
“Oh, God,” Everleigh hissed under her breath.
“Listen, they have nothing else on you. From what I can tell, you’re a model citizen. You’ve never been arrested, or even had a ticket. You pay your taxes and your bills on time, but you don’t have much left over after that.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, eyes going round.
“It’s my job,” he said, shrugging. “You make a modest living. And you live within it. There’s no indication that there is an excess amount of drug money in your life. Your car is barely operational,” Simon said with no small amount of disgust. “What I do need to know is if there are any skeletons in your closet,” Simon said.
Everleigh’s gaze slid to me, the concern clear.
Because she did have one.
The time she paid Morgaine to kill her sister’s abuser.
“Um, well, my sister…” she started, looking over at Simon.
“I know all about her ex,” Simon said, brushing it off. “And the situation that had him kidnapping her and another woman who eventually poisoned him and herself at the same time. She lived. He died. Am I missing something?” he asked, shuffling his papers. “Was there something that wasn’t in the official paperwork and news?”
“No,” Everleigh said, and I was surprised how steady her voice was, because I knew she was a bad liar. “I mean, I hated him with a fiery passion,” she said.
“For obvious reasons.”
“I wanted him dead,” she added.
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
“Or maim him.”
“No,” she agreed.
Because, in the end, she had nothing to do with his death. Morgaine even gave her the money back.
“So then this has nothing to do with you and your case. Anything else?”