Travelers (Stars Edge: Nel Bently Book 1) by V. S. Holmes

Author:V. S. Holmes [Holmes, V. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amphibian Press
Published: 2016-02-26T22:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Nel held her beer against her shoulder, swaying in front of the jukebox. She had already been asked to change the song by two people. She hoped it was her nasty response that sent them packing, but she knew it was the bloodshot condition of her eyes. Later, when her thoughts were more ordered and had been drained of alcohol, she would be grateful to Jerod for not asking her to leave or turn the music off.

She snuffled into her sleeve. She wanted every one of Mikey's favorite songs to be tattooed on her mind. Her field boot thumped softly against the worn floor. It was made for dancing, made for drunken release and laughter. She supposed it was good for drunken rage too.

Her phone chuttered in her pocket and she flipped it open. One eye refused to focus on the tiny print of Chad's text.

Just dropped the kids off at the airport. I'm dealing with this end of the paperwork while I'm here. I'll be home tomorrow (friday). Take care of yourself.

She did not respond. She popped another quarter into the machine. Her hips swayed again, without any real rhythm.

There was so much about Mikey that she never thought to ask. He was a perfect set of opposites. An atheist who loved gospel songs. A crass, dirty-minded romantic. She took it all as just “being Mikey.” Now she wish she had asked. The screen door slammed shut as someone stepped into the smoky, dim interior. Every local knew that door spring was broken. The startled curse suggested this was no local. The clack of heels against the worn wood confirmed it. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the Vecuna y Las Rosas.”

The woman’s Spanish was impeccable, the kind of fluent one only developed by immersion. Nel screwed her eyes shut. She did not want to deal with reporters right now. She was liable to swear and make an ass of herself. Mikey always handled the PR.

The bartender, Jerod, cleared his throat. “They're all booked out, but there's an inn on the other side of town.”

The woman's briefcase thumped onto one of the barstools. “I'm looking for a woman staying there, actually. Annelise Bently. I’m from Santiago.”

“You’re sure not from around here. It’s down the road a ways. Turn left at the red three-story.” There was a pregnant pause as he waited to see if she left. “Not sure if she’s in. If I see her, who should I say was asking?”

“You think you’re likely to see her in a bar at ten in the morning?” When Jerod refused to answer, the woman cleared her throat. “I’m Lin Nalawangsa from the Institute for the Development of Humanity.”

“What did you just say?” Nel turned slowly, but the floor still bucked under her boots. She caught herself on the edge of a booth.

The woman’s perfect black brows shot up. She wore a navy pantsuit right out of a '90s police procedural. “Excuse me?”

“Who’d you say you were?”

“It’s not important.” She pointedly turned back to Jerod.

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