Page 36 of A Magnolia Move-In
I swallowed, and my throat felt swollen. Like my body knew I was going to say something stupid, and it was trying to protect me. “This morning,” I whispered.
All the adrenaline in my body disappeared, and I feltexhausted. The newspaper kept me busy, and mixing that with trying to understand where I stood with Spencer meant my nerves were a wreck.
His gaze narrowed as understanding passed over his face. The picture. Me holding it. It was like a bad dream. One that I wished I’d never been a part of.
“What?” he asked.
I paused. Had I missed something? “What, what?” Great. This conversation was going really well.
I think I’d seen train wrecks go smoother.
“Your question. You said you had one for me.” He took a swig of beer from the bottle he’d been holding. He held his gaze on my face the entire time. It was…daunting.
Right. My question.
“Well, besides the fact that I was worried about you, I was wondering if you would let me interview you.” The words tumbled out, and as they hit the air, I realized how ridiculous I sounded. I was all over the place. This poor man.
He remained quiet as he moved his gaze to the front windows. The drapes were pulled shut, but they were a gauzy material, so you could see the soft glow of the streetlights that had just flicked on.
“You want to interview me?”
Relief filled my body as he spoke. I feared that I’d overstepped, but he responded, which I was going to take as a good sign. “For the paper.” I extended out my hands in a flourish. “I’m not just the owner, I’m also the new head editor for Magnolia Daily.” Just saying those words filledme with a sense of pride. I’d gone from feeling so low after I was fired to feeling complete.
It was a great place to be.
He flicked his gaze over at me. “You are?”
I nodded.
Before either of us could speak again, there was three solid knocks on the front door. Realizing that it was my dinner, I set down my glass of water and hurried to grab the cash I’d stashed in my pocket as I opened the door. The delivery driver was nice, and after I handed him the money, he handed me the white plastic bag he was carrying.
The smell of sweet and sour chicken and lo mein filled my nose and made my mouth water. I shut the door as the delivery driver made his way down the sidewalk and turned to see Spencer watching me. I couldn’t read his expression, and it made me feel uneasy.
Whatdidhe think of me?
Not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole, where I was sure no answers lived, I held up the bag. “Food?”
Eating felt like neutral ground.
I didn’t wait for his response. I set the bag down on the side table and hurried into the kitchen to grab plates and utensils. Once I was back in the living room, I handed a set to Spencer. He really didn’t respond, but he took them with little coercion, which gave me some hope.
Maybe he was warming up to me?
We fell into a rhythm. After I dished up my food, I handed the containers to Spencer. Once we were done, wesettled back in our chairs and ate. It should have felt awkward—it really should have—but it didn’t. Instead, it felt nice.
Halfway through my dinner, I picked up the remote and motioned toward the TV. Spencer nodded and I turned it on. After findingMurder Mysteries, I set the remote back down, and soon I was completely absorbed in the show. So much so, that I found myself relaxing completely. My feet were up, and my mostly empty dinner plate was sitting in my lap. I took a sip of my water but kept my gaze on the screen.
“There’s no way that it wasn’t the husband.”
Spencer’s voice startled me, and I turned to see him leaning forward in his chair. His clean plate was sitting next to him on the side table. He flicked his gaze at me before he motioned to the screen once more. “It has to be the husband. He had motive, opportunity, and access.” His gaze looked so earnest that it made me smile.
This was a side of Spencer that I hadn’t seen before. It was as if his guard was down, and he had allowed a part of his personality to slip through.
I liked it.
“But what about her uncle? He was there the night she disappeared.” I moved my plate to the side table and shifted in my seat so that I was facing Spencer more directly.
Spencer waved away my words. “But he had an alibi. The bartender said he served him a drink at eleven thirty. There’s no way he could have been at her house at thesame time. The drive to get there would have taken him twenty minutes. The time stamps don’t measure up.”
