Unwanted by Jennifer Estep

Author:Jennifer Estep [Estep, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BA
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2016-07-17T18:30:00+00:00

I finished my inspection of the house and the surrounding area, got into my car, and left. But I didn’t go to the bank, to the Pork Pit, or even to my apartment. For an hour or two, at least, I wanted to go someplace that wouldn’t remind me of Deirdre, how badly she’d fooled me, and how many people were dead because of my mistakes.

So I drove to a nearby coffee shop to check my messages and kill some time. Gin and Bria had both texted me, asking how the funeral had gone. I texted them back, saying that I was still at the Vargas house and would get in touch with them later. I got a cup of coffee, even though it wasn’t the strong chicory brew I loved, and made myself choke it down, along with a piece of hard, dry blueberry pound cake. I didn’t feel like eating, and it all tasted like ash, just like Gin’s hearty barbecue lunch earlier, but I needed to stay alert and keep my strength up for what was coming tonight.

After I polished off my coffee, I was too restless to sit in the shop, so I got into my car and drove back to Blue Ridge Cemetery. The workers had finished putting Peter’s casket into the ground, and all that remained were the red and white roses strewn across the cold earth. Soon they too would wither and die.

The thought depressed me, but I stayed by Peter’s grave for several minutes, silently paying my respects again and thinking about what I was going to do tonight. My plan was simple, really: make sure that Bart the Butcher got the message to leave Isabelle alone for good.

By any means necessary.

Once I’d finished at Peter’s grave, I went over to another one—my dad’s.

Fletcher Lane flowed across the tombstone, along with the dates of his birth and death. It was a plain, simple marker, far smaller than some of the massive angels, spires, and ornate slabs of stone that rose up from many other graves. The only thing that was remarkable about it was that Gin’s tombstone was right next to it, featuring her spider rune, along with the date of her supposed death earlier this year. The thought of how Gin had suckered Madeline Monroe into thinking she was dead brought a ghost of a smile to my face, but it quickly faded, and I focused on Dad’s tombstone again.

A small jar of barbecue sauce perched on top of the marker, telling me that Gin had been here recently, whispering her secrets to Dad and any other ghost who would listen. I reached out, swiped the glass container off the stone, and slid it into my coat pocket. She always brought a jar of sauce and left it for the old man, and I always took it, just to make her think that Dad was getting her presents in the great beyond. It was a silly tradition on my part, but

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