Cry Wolf by Bridget Essex

Author:Bridget Essex [Essex, Bridget]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-18T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9: Not A Swimmer

The hallway leads down a rickety set of steps that actually wobble as I descend them. The closer I get to the dimly-lit landing at the foot of the staircase, the higher my trepidation climbs, until I reach the basement level of the bar, and I see the open sliding glass door in front of me.

Kay and Virginia are standing out in the twilight, and they’re talking to one another in low tones. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Kay’s face is closed, guarded, and her lips are pressed in a thin line of tension. Virginia’s arms are wrapped around herself tightly, and she glares up at Kay with the same amount of venom she’s been angling at me.

I clear my throat and step out of the sliding glass door.

I find myself in a little fenced-in garden. There are tall pine trees along the fence, surrounding it, and they bleed into the forest itself, directly behind the bar. I glance up, because the twilit sky is absolutely glorious over the tall, stately spires of the pines, a melding of indigo and cerulean, topaz and scarlet, but then I’m brought back to earth by a sigh from Virginia.

“Oh, it’s you.” She turns and glances over her shoulder. She’s glaring daggers at me, now. I sigh, too.

It feels very much like I’m interrupting something.

“I just…I just wanted to tell you…I really can head back to the campground by myself,” I remind Kay, angling my shoulder back toward the open doorway. I’m not going to spend any more time with Virginia. And though I want, desperately, to spend more time with Kay…well.

It’s too high of a cost if Virginia is there. Virginia who hates me for no apparent reason (I mean, I get the article thing…but, Lord). I mean, “hate” is kind of a strong word, but if you could see her expression, you’d want to get the hell out of Dodge, too.

If there was a covered-up murder in this town? Yeah, I wouldn’t be wondering about who the murderer was.

“That’s ridiculous,” sighs Kay, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans (side note, stop staring at where those hand went, self). She sighs, too, and then we’re just the three sighing ladies, staring at one another (with varying degrees of dagger-eyes) in the backyard of a bar.

Again, this isn’t really how I thought I’d be spending my night.

“You’re staying at Lincoln’s campground?” asks Virginia, and there’s genuine interest in her tone, which triggers all sorts of “danger, danger!” warning signs in my head. I shrug nonchalantly, but then Kay says:

“Yes. And you know it’s too far to hike back there, and I drove her into town, so I’ve got to go take her back—”

But Virginia shrugs. “I mean you know she’s invited, too. If she wants to come.”

“Invited?” I ask, my heart starting to beat a little faster. “To what?”

Kay glances back at me, and—in the darkening yard—it’s difficult to make out exactly what expression her face is currently wearing.

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