Page 31 of Fate's Crossing

“A secret romance,” Frank mused once they were back in the cruiser. “That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.”

At Nico’s noncommittal tone, he turned his head. “What? You don’t think so?”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t the one who killed her,” Nico said. “It’s possible. I just find it hard to believe he’d kill a woman he’s openly associated with—however ‘secret’ it was.”

“Still,” Frank said, starting the car. “We’ve got to question him.”

“Yes, we do. And you need to tell me everything you know about these ‘mountain people.’ ”

Frank scowled. “Do I have to?”

“Seriously, but I just don’t see what the big deal is about height,” Annie slurred.

She was leaning heavily on the table between her, Lexie, and Vikki, one hand cradling her head, the other waving her empty glass around like a conducting baton. An untamed halo of chestnut curls framed her face, having recently been released from the day’s ponytail.

“It’s not like a man’s height tells you anything about his personality,” she said. “More importantly, it tells you nothing about what he’s got going on downstairs.”

Vikki hummed in thought, her red hair barely being held up in a bun by a stray pencil. “Agreed. Most girls have it so wrong, always going for the tall ones.”

“Right?”

“It’s not about the height, it’s about the confidence,” Vikki continued. “A hot guy standing at five-five with the self-assuredness of a six-five almost always has a huge penis.”

“You live by that formula?” Annie asked.

“More or less.”

“Until the day you have to plaster on a fake smile and raise your voice three octaves to make up for your disappointment,” Annie said, cracking the two of them up.

They were in Annie’s backyard, killing a second—or maybe it was the third?—bottle of wine at the timber, outdoor seating she’d picked up for a steal at Archie’s Hardware Store. It was after ten p.m., the temperature steadily dropping as the town quietened around them. Twinkle lights hung from the trees above and one lonely cricket chirped from the garden.

Lexie—who had zoned out for the past minute or two—poured more wine and pulled the blanket she had draped around her shoulders a little tighter. “What are you two griping about?”

“Let’s call it a distant cousin of the Napoleon complex,” Annie said, accepting the top-up. “And I’m not griping, just observing. It’s a well-known fact that tall men are the ones who get all the girls, right?”

“Sure.”

“So, who decided to make that a thing? It’s totally unfair. I mean, look at this guy,” she gestured to Paul—her husband who may or may not be having an affair—strolling across the lawn toward them. He’d been periodically popping out to check on them throughout the evening—such a doll.

“He is very pretty.”

Lexie’s words were slurring too. She also, apparently, wasn’t speaking as quietly as she’d thought because Paul rolled his eyes. His beard ruffled in the breeze, as did his chin-length mane of thick cocoa-brown hair which Annie seemed to find endearing enough not to nag about it needing a trim.

“Yeah, and he’s also short,” Annie said.

“So what?”

“What do you mean ‘so what?’ That’s my point.”

Lexie took a long sip. “What is?”

“What is what?”

“The point?”

Annie blinked. “Wait—what?”

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