A Shameless Little Bet by Meli Raine

Author:Meli Raine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Meli Raine

Chapter 13

Two weeks later

Jane

“Clear the table,” Duff huffs outside my door as I open it to find him standing there, holding two file boxes in his arms. I’m back at my apartment, stuck in limbo. Silas has been out of town for the last two weeks, completely incommunicado. All he told me about his trip was that he can’t talk about it, but Duff will take care of me.

And so far, Duff has.

By standing guard while giving me space.

Until now.

“What?”

“Move! These aren’t light.” I get out of his way as he hauls the boxes and hefts them onto my dining table.

“What’s all this?”

“Your requested delivery from Alice Mogrett’s ranch.”

“How many boxes are there?”

“Fifty-three. This round.”

“Fifty-three? And what do you mean, ‘this round’?”

“You asked for her personal records. Her staffers are complying.”

“My apartment isn’t big enough for this!” I protest.

“Then get a bigger apartment.”

Fifty-three boxes later, my living room looks like a law firm’s file-storage vault.

Duff didn’t bring it all in, but he brought enough. I know there is more, either en route or in a storage place. I offer him coffee. He declines.

“You are such a coffee snob, Duff.”

“We all have our flaws.”

I sigh, looking at the neatly stacked white boxes, blue lids uniform and intimidating. “I’ve got my work cut out for me. At least I won’t be bored.”

“Your life is never boring.”

“I’m ignoring all social media, never online, and Silas is gone.”

Duff squints at me. “I thought you said you hated him. Why would you care that he’s gone?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Life is complicated.”

“Well, then whatever I think about Silas is quantum-physics-level complicated.”

“No one deserves that level of complexity. Bet it’s simpler than you think.”

“Why, Duff, I do believe you just ventured into talking about feelings.”

“Like I said, Jane, flaws. We all have them.” He backs out of the apartment with a wry grin and closes the door gently.

Leaving me with nothing but Alice.

Not literally; she was cremated, her ashes stored in her studio until a proper memorial can be scheduled. I’m sure I won’t be able to attend that. I’m her heir. The media’s died down, slightly, in its frenzy about me. I wasn’t anywhere near Jenna when they found her in that crack house, so while the spin doctors keep the story alive, there’s no real hook.

I’m background noise in the media landscape.

Not the main melody.

I pour myself a glass of water and pull one box off a stack, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Each box is numbered. This is number thirteen.

Let’s start with bad luck, shall we?

I open it, my nose tickled by the scent of old paper and a distinct odor that makes me think of Alice. I smile. She was so kind. So firm and unyielding in her opinions.

So... Alice.

This first box is slow going, filled with the same kind of stupid clutter we all struggle with – offers in the mail, newspaper clips about interesting art, science, self-help. Alice clearly loved The New Yorker, The Atlantic, and other magazines with in-depth, long-form journalism.

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