Page 48 of A Murderous Crow
“You, okay?” he asked me once we cleared the door and stepped into the evening sundown. It was still barely light out here, which meant I really had spent no time at all here, but lord, it had felt like the entire world had stopped for us when we’d been in that room together.
“I’m good!” I said quickly. “More than good, actually.”
I reached out and slid a hand up the lapel of his leather jacket beneath the colorful patched vest he wore over it, the patches stained with wear and road grime.
“I call, you answer,” he reminded me, and tipped my chin so gently to bring his lips down to mine.
He kissed me, and it was so sweet, almost like a little reward for a job well done.
“Am I forgiven then?” I asked quietly, and what I hoped was playfully.
He smiled and said, “Oh yeah. That was averygood girl.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed at that and rolled my eyes, even as the praise showered me in unexpected, internalized tingles.
“I’ll call you later tonight and check on you,” he said.
“I’ll answer,” I said, and opened my car door and got in.
He closed my door for me and stepped back, raking a hand through his hair, back from his face.
I smiled and started my Jag. He watched me pull out of the parking lot, and I shivered.
Wow, that had been intense.
Wow, wow, wow!
I drove home, my day thoroughly done, and arrived just after full dark. I completed my ritual of pulling into the garage, closing things up, carrying my purse, briefcase, tumbler, and juggling my keys to my front door.
I let myself into my house and shut the world out, sighing as I dropped my stuff inside the door, holding onto just my tumbler as I didn’t want any of the contents to spill.
“Well, that was intense,” I said to no one and nothing in particular. I heaved a sigh and turned, locking the door behind me before switching on a light.
I stepped out of the mess I’d made of my entryway and went right in to strip and shower.
Yeah, the dress needed to go into my dry-cleaning pile – for sure – and I flushed with embarrassment thinking about how the place might judge me for the stains that were clearly dried on it.
Woof. My mind raced as I stepped into the shower. I was still stressed about if and when the cops would come knocking over Hal Lindstrom… but at the same time… I didn’t think I regretted what happened one bit.
Was I still off-kilter and trying to learn how this whole new dynamic worked with Corbett? Yes… But I was also trying to work through how something so binding could also feel so freeing!
The cognitive dissonance was real, and it was really uncomfy. I couldn’t say exactly where my mental health was at with all that was going on. I mean, a lot had happened in a very short amount of time, and I just couldn’t seem to process fast enough.
I scrubbed my face free of makeup and my hair free of product and just stood for an inordinate amount of time under the hot shower spray and thought myself in circles.
There really wasn’t much for me to do in this dynamic except, honestly, pick up the phone when he called… which, thus far, hadn’t been difficult.
I got into my coziest pair of pajamas and put on a robe, taking myself to the kitchen to make a hot cup of tea. I turned on the fireplace ambiance while the electric kettle heated, trying to decide whether I was in the mood for a movie or to read.
The answer was, I wanted to go home – back to the farm where I felt grounded and centered and more like myself than I did anywhere else.
The truth of the matter was this was all a sham, and I was pretending to be brave and sucking it up on a daily to wheel and deal, all in a bid to save my very favorite home. And as if that wasn’t stressful enough? No, I had a murder to cover up and was at Corbett Prescott’s beck and call – which, honestly, though frustrating, wasn’tallbad. It was just… a lot.
I didn’t have the concentration to read a book, and so television it was. I snuggled into my couch under my fluffy throw, and wrapped my hands around a warm mug of tea, trying to forget my circumstances lately, and no, it didn’t come anywhere close to working.
A week or two passed,and Corbett was a little busier than usual, so despite phone calls here and there that were mostly business related, I had a bit of a reprieve which put me back on track.
That is until Savannah PD showed up in my office asking questions about Hal Lindstrom. I lied my way through the interview, convincingly I hoped. He’d shown up to the showing a little late, but not significantly. He’d come from dinner, he’d said. I’d noticed alcohol on his breath, and he appeared to beslightly inebriated, but in good spirits. No, he hadn’t driven there – he’d taken a car. He had made an offer on the house. Yes, I thought it was weird that he just stopped answering the phone and didn’t return any calls. Yes, I’d been worried. No, I didn’t think it was my responsibility to call the police when he failed to answer his phone. Maybe he had buyer’s remorse or any other number of possibilities. I’d seen similar in real estate before. People could be flaky, but it was so few and far between that it was still odd.
