Page 61 of Tell Me All Your Lies

“Earlier this week,” he answers before turning his attention to me.

“Is that one of your wife’s pies?”

“It is,” I say, showcasing it.

“What I wouldn’t give for another taste of your wife’s pie.” He flashes me a smug smile.

I clear my throat and clench my jaw.

Cara isn’t baking pies for him anymore.

“This one is for Ms. Miller. Anyone know where she is?” I say loud enough to get Noelle and Cara’s attention.

“Brad, sweetie, why don’t you take them to her?” Noelle says.

Her tone said everything we needed it to; Noelle isn’t comfortable around Ms. Miller, and I think it’s because she’s the Kingpin of Charlotte. The one who’s closest to the Marlin’s operations locally.

Brad’s face falls briefly, but he quickly collects himself.

“Right this way. Last time I saw her, she was inside with some of the other guests.”

Brad doesn’t wait for either of us to answer as he turns on his heels and starts going up the stairs.

“We’ll be back,” Cara says.

“See you soon!” Noelle answers.

Cara holds onto one of my arms as we follow behind Brad up the deck and into Ms. Miller’s home.

“We’ve got this,” Cara says.

“I know.”

Cara tries to examine my expression for any sign of discomfort, but what she needs to realize is this has been my job for almost thirty years. I’ll never let her see any of that.

I’m not nervous to meet this Ms. Miller character. The comment Fred made is really irritating me instead.

What was that about? Testing me. He must be someone in the mafia or related to think he could make a comment like that to me, and I would stand down.

The chances are that he is just a prick with a small dick, but it’s possible he’s something more in the operation. I’ll have to investigate him further after this. I can’t let my complicated feelings for my partner disrupt any part of the plan.

“She’s right over here,” Brad says.

In the corner across the formal living room, near a set of closed double wooden doors, is the elusive Ms. Miller.

It has to be.

Surrounded by what are clearly her guards, she’s engaging with a couple who looks like they probably live in our neighborhood.

She’s a fit woman, proudly showcasing her physique in a pair of tiny white shorts and a tank top. With her long, billowing blonde and gray hair, I’d guess she’s in her fifties, most likely.

What I don’t spot is a companion of any kind nearby. She’s been introduced to us as Miss and not Mrs. Miller, which could suggest she’s single or has a partner but isn’t married.

It could go either way if my theory is correct about who she really is.

Brad tilts his head forward, encouraging us to come up to where he stands. I adjust the pie bag in my hands as Cara’s grip tightens on my arm.

“Here we go,” she says through a strained smile.

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