Not because I want to know things about her.
“I love teaching,” she says quietly. “And I’ve only had to turn in one of the kids to the police over a missed court date.”
I laugh and grunt at the same time. It’s a terrible, gravelly sound, but it makes her smile. A smile I’m looking at way too closely. Sidling in, wondering what it’ll taste like. Wondering how rompers come off or if they just get ripped down the middle or what.
“See?” she murmurs. “You laughed. I can’t be so bad to have around. Let’s try again. Name something you dislike on three.”
I knew it. She was lulling me into a false sense of security. “No,” I bite off.
“One, two…”
“Allen keys,” I half shout.
At the same time, she says, “People who crowd the drink pick-up counter at Starbucks and stare impatiently at the poor barista as if they aren’t trying their hardest to hurry. Honestly, it’s—” Her eyes widen on an inhale. “Wait, did you say Allen keys? I dislike those, too! I have a junk drawer full of them because I feel guilty throwing them away! This is good. Just a couple of co-investigators having a bonding sesh.”
“None of that last sentence is remotely true.” Her crestfallen expression is like having an alligator jaw clamped around my middle. Before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself softening my tone. Stepping closer. Inhaling apples like I’m storing up her scent for the winter. “Look, something feels weird about this case and I don’t…like…you around that. So.”
Taylor blinks. “You don’t like me around what?”
She’s prodding something I don’t want prodded. “Danger.”
How can she look so confused when I basically just showed my hand? How much more clearly can I spell out that having her around potential threats makes me queasy? “I’m a consenting adult. I choose my own risks.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nope.”
“You’re very difficult to bond with,” she says, sounding like she’s being strangled. “Fine.” Before I register her actions, she’s moving away from me. Taking her apples smell along with her. “I’ll get out of your way for now…”
As she walks toward the door, she crosses a floorboard and it’s subtle, very subtle, but one end of it lifts, as if it’s not attached at the joint. Unfortunately, Taylor sees it, too.
We both lunge for the loose piece of wood at the same time, prying it up together…
And revealing a thin, white envelope.
Taylor
* * *
Shock knocks me backwards onto my butt.
Who finds a loose floorboard with a hidden envelope on the other side? In real life?
This doesn’t even happen on Etched in Bone.
Unless it does happen. And the public never finds out, because the person who finds a hidden letter is definitely the next victim. Are we going to open this envelope and find some taunting, Sam Berkowitz-style ramblings?
“What the hell…” Myles mutters, reaching down and plucking the envelope from its hidey hole. And he doesn’t manage to hide his concern when he looks at me. “You should really go, Taylor.”
He’s probably right.
This is getting creepy.
I discovered a body thirty yards from this spot and if I’m being honest, something hasn’t felt right since the moment I clocked the peepholes. I’m supposed to be on a relaxing vacation with my brother, but instead I can feel myself sinking deeper into the unfamiliar.
But I’m not freaking out. I’m just a little scared.
And once again, the world isn’t ending.
Maybe I have the same fortitude as everyone else. Or more.
I’ll never know if I run away now. I’ll go back to being safe, reliable, routine-oriented Taylor on her hunt for a safe, reliable, routine-oriented life partner. Or I could stay here and find out what’s in the envelope.
Of course I have to stay.
I might even have to send an email to Etched in Bone about this. Unless it’s a grocery list that accidentally slipped through the cracks of a loose floorboard? Something tells me that’s not the case. And when Myles slips out a piece of paper, unfolds it and scans the contents, his mouth flattening into a grim line, my theory is confirmed.
It’s definitely something.
Myles starts to tuck it into the pocket of his shirt without showing it to me—and uh-uh. That’s not happening. Now that I’ve made the decision to stay and investigate, he’s not depriving me of the opportunity to process new evidence. I make a lunge for it, across his lap. He’s not expecting it, either. Neither would anyone who has ever met me, but I’m pretty sure my students would be cheering their little faces off.