Page 19 of The Last Call Home
“Mafiosos, Gale?”I repeat.“Is that even a word, or did you binge ‘The Godfather’ while munching on those sleepytime edibles again?”
Nysa laughs.“In her defense, she thought they were gummies.”
Gale points at her.“Your grandma needs to separate real gummies from edibles or at least warn this girl.”
“Can we focus on the mafiosos for a moment?”I interrupt before they digress because that wholeI ate your grandma’s gummiesthing was hilarious, but this isn’t the time to talk about it.“What do you mean by that?”
This is the last thing the town needs.Fuck, I want to scream.Or throw something.Or eat an entire danish and then scream.
Gale dares to smile.“Technically, no one said mob.Just ...organized people.Doing organized things.Quietly.Suspiciously.”
I narrow my gaze.“What kind of things?”
“You remember that time when my grandfather’s home exploded?”
I nod, because even though I was on vacation, the moment I came back in town, I learned Gale had married Ledger Timberbridge, and the pipes in her grandfather’s house had caused a fire, totaling the place.
“Wait, the marshal said that it was a fire.”
She shakes her head.“It was actually a syndicate that wants to take over the town.They want to buy Old Birchwood Timber and Maple Haven.Neither the Timberbridge brothers nor I want to sell and let them take over.”
I open my mouth, and close it.Open it again but ...nothing comes out because what in the fucking hell is happening here?
I turn to look at Nysa.“You ...does your stalker have anything to do with them?”
Nys flinches.
“And neither one of you told me you were in danger?”I stand up because this is big, too big.“Do you understand—” I begin, pacing now, because of course, I’m pacing?—
“It’s not that bad,” Gale says as if that will calm me.“It’s just organized crime, really.They’re taking care of it.”
“Oh, good,” I say, voice rising.“So not criminals, just highly efficient introverts who traffic ...what, exactly?Locally sourced heirloom tomatoes?”
No one laughs.
Which is when my chest goes tight, and not in the romantic ‘he’s-looking-at-me-that-way kind of way’.No.This is the ‘we-are-fucking-going-to-die’ kind.The knowledge sits behind my ribs and pushes all my organs making it almost impossible to breathe.
“You’re telling me this now?”I ask, softer.“After I bought the building, so I can expand the coffee shop.After I signed up to run the fall festival committee and volunteered to walk Mrs.Crenshaw’s evil cat twice a week?”
“But you love Pickles,” Nysa says, though it sounds more like a defense mechanism than an actual argument.
“I love boundaries, too,” I shoot back.“And you two apparently love secrets.”
Neither of them speaks.
There’s too much in the room now—my anger, their silence, the pastry tray between us acting like Switzerland.
“I moved here to help my mom, the town,” I say, my voice low.“To start over.To ...instead, I’m starring in a small-town thriller where the mafia might be running bingo night?”
“We didn’t say that,” Nysa argues.
I scoff and narrow my gaze.
“We didn’t want to scare you,” Gale finally says, but even she doesn’t sound like she believes her excuse.“Malerick was very adamant in keeping this within our tight circle.Not even Keir knows about it.”
“Phew, at least I’m just like Keir, living happily in ignorance.”I glare at them.“You’re telling me Malerick knows, huh?Of course he does, he’s the sheriff and ...”It suddenly hits me.
That’s why he’s here.These mafiosos, not because of the town and?—
