Page 128 of Blue Moon Mistress

But ten miles down the road, we have to slow. Flashing lights surround the white minivan.

It’s been pulled off the side of the road, but it’s crushed and crumpled. A light pole still sits, tangled in the mangled wreckage.

We drive past, slowing, and I take in the whole scene, a little ill at ease.

A pair stands beside the car, arguing with a highway patrolman.

I can tell from here that there was no one else in the car—it’s crammed full of boxes.

The pole fell directly in the center of the car… the patrolman would likely call it a freak accident. Their survival some sort of miracle…

“Thank God that wasn’t us.” Chase is still turned around looking at it as we cross the next bridge.

And I have to agree. If that had been us… I’d be dead.

The chill we felt… if that didn’t directly coincide with this wreck, I’d be amazed. Because it should have been us.

“It’s a good thing we stopped to visit Elizabeth.” Johnny says. He’s scowling too and I have to assume they’ve all come to the conclusion I did.

Elizabeth may have saved my life.

Whether or not they suspect that someone was directly involved…

I think about Martha Lourdes, who knew the route we’d take, and what time we’d left. But she wasn’t foolish enough to have done something like that.

Was she?

Twenty-One

When I pushthrough the door to Wexxons, Anthony looks up at me with a scowl. It morphs into something like a smile a moment later, but he doesn’t want to see me.

“Good afternoon, Anthony. How are you today?

“I’ve been better.”

The brusque answer tells me he doesn’t plan to be chatty. And that’s okay.

The quicker we get this over with, the quicker I get to the guy’s house.

Weaving through the tables meant for tourists, I go straight to the dried herbs and flowers.

There’s only one thing I’m missing, and there’s no time to dry my own lavender.

Usually, I’d grab one of the smaller pouches on top of the table. But for Monday night’s plans, I need more.

I drop down to the bulk bags on the shelf beneath the table. The ones that Anthony divides up into the tiny sachets that sit above.

When I place the one-pound bag on the counter, Anthony’s brows raise.

“I’ve almost run out.”

“You’ll definitely want some for Monday night. But I can’t imagine why you’d need this much…” Because he knows I dry my own. And if I need something right away, it’s for the full moon. And I don’t want him thinking too much about that.

“I could buy less…” I say, pretending to think about it. “I mean, if you’ve got too much money.”

He shoots me a glare and shakes his head. “You know, sarcasm isn’t attractive.”

I don’t tell him I could care less if he finds me attractive.

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