Page 143 of Paint the Town, Dove
She wasn’t… she wasn’t answering her phone.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.
No, no, no. I looked back at the screen. Stared at the names. The red banner flashing like a siren.
The ambulance.
The cop cars.
Fatal.
Fatal.
Fatal.
Deceased.
No.
No.
“Scarlett…” I could barely speak. I couldn’t – I couldn’t hear my own voice. Blood thumped loudly in my ears.
When I finally met her eyes, they glittered like a black hole of obsidian stone.
Immobile.
Unmoving.
Empty.
Just the writing on the screen reflecting off her blank, lifeless stare.
Two Dead.
Fatal Accident.
Jared Barter.
… And Emory Maria Williams.
Chapter Forty
Scarlett
“… sharp glass is life’s mirror, always trying to slice you to show you what’s inside”
“Tav, don’t you have a Christmas roast to get back to?”
I rolled my eyes as I stepped off the plane, my luggage waiting at the bottom near Caralee’s transport vehicle. Barnett also adopted a new Suburban. These people with their lookalike cars, never expanding.
Boring.Bring me my bike.
“Happy holidays to you too, Red,” he joked. I could hear a whistle of laughter behind the line. It warmed my cheeks.
“Third or second wife you’re spending it with?”
