Cold Spring: A Southern Mystery Thriller (Book 3 of the Zoe Nichols Van-Life Series) by Abby Rice

Author:Abby Rice [Rice, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clairitage Press
Published: 2024-07-26T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Kenyon had his phone pressed to his ear when I made it back to the motel room. He waved a hand at me absently, but I heard him muttering something about “summary judgment” and a statute of limitations, so I knew it was about work.

I didn’t want to bother him. So grabbing my keys again, plunked Atticus on my shoulder, and we drove around for an hour. By the time I got back to the room, I was ravenously hungry. Kenyon was just hanging up as I opened the door.

He rubbed his telephone ear. “Yikes, that deputy D.A. can talk!”

I laughed. “Did you manage to get it settled?”

He grinned. “For now. He’s going to agree to let my client out of jail. I agreed to a review hearing in two weeks, when they’ll test him. Now, I just have to convince my client to stay out of trouble and away from recreational drugs for a couple of weeks.”

“Or he’ll wind up right back behind bars?”

Kenyon’s lips quirked up. “Exactly. Though somehow they never think they’re going to get caught.”

Gently, I deposited Atticus back on his perch, then plopped down on the chair by the window. “Don’t you get tired doing the same dance, over and over?”

“Sometimes. But you never know what’s going to make a difference. Someday, you hope a lightbulb goes off in their head.”

“Does it ever?”

He groaned. “Not usually. But every once in a while . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Hope springs eternal?”

“Exactly.” He smiled.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of news. Good news, I think. Hope springs eternal for me, too,” I said. “But I’m starving. Shall I order up a pizza?”

Kenyon patted his belly. “I never say no to pizza!”

Forty-five minutes later, my eyes found his over the remains of a greasy, cheesy take-out pizza and slushy, lukewarm iced tea. Somehow it felt like we’d known each other for years and years. I couldn’t quite put words to it, but being with Kenyon felt like basking in warm sunshine. There was just a – comfort in being around him.

Not that everything between us was resolved. I still had a certain hesitation. Reluctance, maybe. It was clear that not everything between us had been worked out. But that connection I’d always felt to him was definitely still there.

“I did reach Sheila Rae Cunningham,” Kenyon said, mopping his mouth with a napkin. “Your father’s public defender.”

“And?” I set my half-eaten slice of pizza down.

He shrugged. “She seems nice enough. Definitely competent. She’s doing her job, gathering information. Acknowledged that it’s a circumstantial case so far. But that blood on John’s clothes – like she said, that’s going to tell us a whole lot more.”

“So, there’s no results on the blood work yet, I take it?”

Kenyon shook his head. “Not yet. That’s still in the works.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’ve got at least a little bit of news for you.”

I outlined briefly what I’d been told over breakfast. That Hastings had managed to keep his wife firmly in the dark about his year-long affair.

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