The Woman by the Lake (Misted Pines #3) Read Online Kristen Ashley

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
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Dot/Maggie was now putting my plate in front of me.

I stared at her, probably like prey stuck in a predator’s mouth.

I knew this was true when her eyes went from me, to Kimmy, back to me. She gave a short shake of her head, which wasn’t much movement, but it spoke volumes, and those volumes said not to put much stock in what Kimmy said.

But still.

Dot/Maggie moved away, and now that I was in for a penny against my will, I might as well go for the pound.

So I asked, “Coven?”

She was finishing the last of her drink, but she barely swallowed when she said, “Yeah. The women wronged. I don’t recommend watching the videos,” she advised. “I’ll just say, they got a knack for revenge that’s original, if entirely pornographic.”

Eek!

She went on, “But that whole thing going viral brought in like-minded ladies, and they all took over a subdivision. They don’t cause any problems, though. Least, not after they expelled Ellen from their numbers after the crap she pulled at the town meeting.”

I reached for one half of my sliced patty melt, noting that Dot/Maggie had managed to dredge up a small bowl of cut cantaloupe and honeydew, the first I liked okay, the second I didn’t, but A for effort.

And I did this having hit my limit.

Yes, I needed to do the work I clearly didn’t do in learning more about where I’d decided to land to sort my head out.

And yes, there were some words I needed to have with Riggs, because we’d spent hours together last night in what more and more seemed to turn into an impromptu date, but in the end he made it clear it absolutely wasn’t (which hurt enormously, and thus was incredibly disappointing, at the same time I was glad he obviously wasn’t attracted to me, because even though it sounded like he was out of town a lot, I had enough going on, I didn’t need an entanglement with my neighbor that might turn awkward).

And he hadn’t shared any of this.

And he should have, mostly because I’d asked.

Therefore, I urged Kimmy, “Tell me about your shop. Do you carry those beanies there?”

She straightened and declared, “Sure do. After lunch, we’ll walk over, and I’ll show you.”

I did not want to own a fur-trimmed beanie that looked like a riff on a Santa hat.

I did want her to stop talking about dead girls, serial killers, revenge porn and ghosts that might or might not haunt the cabin I was living in.

So as she launched into the vision behind her patriotic summer campaign, I listened and adjusted my plans for that day.

Those being, after buying a Santa beanie I’d never wear, I was going to sit in my car, get on my phone and learn about Misted Pines.

Belatedly.

But necessarily.

And then I was going to go have a chat with Doc Riggs.

NINE

Bermuda Triangle

Nadia

I braked beside Riggs’s big, shiny, fancy truck in his driveway on a dramatic skid of gravel.

I did this because I’d just finished buying a Santa beanie, an American Flag, and the apparatus to fly it from a post on my front porch.

And I’d also spent the last hour and a half reading about Ray Andrews, Richard Sandusky, Ezra Corbin, Carrie Molnar, the Misted Pines “Coven” and their reason for forming.

Not to mention not one, not two, but three articles in the local paper that told tales of the Haunting of Whitaker Lake, which shared the heretofore unknown knowledge that it hadn’t been only three years since someone lived in my cabin.

It had been fifteen.

In fact, the judge-appointed, but bitterly disputed trust that was managing the Whitaker brothers’ estates had made the decision to sell off the lake and its properties because they’d been sitting mostly derelict. This was because no one would stay in either of them, including Riggs’s house, for more than a few weeks. This due to the unexplained, but highly creepy stuff that happened there.

As such, I jumped out of my car, raring for another go-round with Riggs, because, yes, perhaps I should have looked into things more before I leaped.

But first, who knew you had to research a small town for their serial killer history, and second, research the cabin you were considering renting for news of recent hauntings.

He also should have told me.

I was marching toward his house when Riggs all but burst out of the front door in a full-on jog, coming at me.

This surprising circumstance, of course, made me halt.

“Jesus, Nadia,” he said when he got to me and grabbed my upper arms. “You okay?”

He knew my state of mind, for sure, considering his history, and his knowledge of mine. And it was sweet, his obvious concern at me skidding to a dramatic stop in his driveway.

He also knew my cabin was possibly haunted.


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