Page 79 of Brazen Deceits

Maybe I can walk back to Dinkytown. I don’t feel like Edina is super far, right? Putting in the address on my phone, it tells me it’s a little over ten miles. I glare at the cute booties I wore. That’s a long run, but it’s doable, just not in heels. But a three-and-a-half-hour walk in freezing weather? Yeah, that doesn’t sound ideal.

With a sigh, I follow the wobbly blue line toward Dinkytown.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzes.

Hiya Sugar. Just eating some sweet potato pie and thinking about you.

I grin reading RJ’s text. He’s thinking of me. God. Why do I feel like crying?

Eat an extra piece for me!

My stomach grumbles as I hit Send, and I’m doubly pissed now that I realize I have nothing but oatmeal and peanut butter back at the house. Hopefully, they taste good together.

I finally make it to Minneapolis, the residential areas smaller and the shops more frequent. Up ahead, I see a bar with the Open light turned on, and I almost weep. I don’t have the money for this, but I’m cold, I’m angry, and I can deal with the budget issues later.

I’m just settling in with a coffee with Bailey’s and some French fries when my phone buzzes again. This one is from Trips.

Sorry so late. Your per diem from Chicago should be in your account.

Happy Thanksgiving

How did he put money in my account?

I chuckle as I realize RJ probably has better access to my accounts than I do.

I open my banking app and I drop my fry onto the plate. “Holy fucking shit,” I whisper.

The call is live before I realize what I’m doing. Calling Trips on Thanksgiving? He’s going to be livid.

“Hello?” The hum of a crowd clouds the dead air.

I fiddle with my mug, suddenly realizing what a dumb choice this was. “Um, hey. You know what, never mind. Havea nice Thanksgiving.” I go to hang up, but his snicker makes me pause. “Clara, why are you calling?”

“Are you sure you sent the right amount of money? I mean, I got a free vacation out of it.”

A door clicks on his end, the background noise disappearing. “You provided cover for Walker, as well as acted as our liaison with our fence. I think you more than earned what I gave you. The guys agree.”

“You all decided together?” The crowd of old guys watching the football game roars behind me—touchdown.

“I suggested an amount, and they all concurred. Clara, where are you?”

“Oh. Um. I’m at a bar. Somewhere on France Ave. I’m not really sure.”

There’s a long pause. “Is this a case of a burned turkey kicking you out of the house?”

“No, not exactly.”

Dead air hovers between us, and I know he’s waiting for me to tell him why I’m here when I should be tucked safely at a table, gobbling up mashed potatoes and gravy. I break before he does. “I’m on my way back to the house.”

“I thought you were staying home over the weekend.”

I glare out the window at the streetlights, bright against the early night. “I’m not anymore. Although I probably should go get my stuff. Do you think I could borrow someone’s car?”

“Fuck. Clara, are you walking back to the house right now?”

I swallow a bit of my spiked coffee, debating what to say. “Maybe.”

“Damn it, Clara. You have all of us at your fucking beck and call and you’re walking back? Seriously?”

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