Page 33 of Heartless

“Can we get queso too?” His excitement is almost literally visible as it bubbles off of him. “And if we get them from Taco Talk,they have a new flavor of slushie!” If there’s one thing my nephew and I share, it’s a love of greasy food that makes the person regret eating it about thirty minutes later.

“Uh, yeah. Queso and salsa,” I agree. “What do you want to get this time?” We don’t order from Taco Talk often. Especially when his mom is here. She doesn’t exactly approve of their food, especially since it really doesn’t agree with her.

Personally, I think she just holds a grudge because she can’t chow down on cheap Mexican food like her son and me.

Scott takes my phone when I hand it to him, the menu pulled up for him to scroll through. “Umm…what are you getting?” he asks, distracted by his scrolling.

“Chicken and cheese burrito. Extra sour cream, no guac,” I rattle off. “And a large queso to split with you, obviously. Tell me what kind of slushie I should get.”

Scott smiles. “You should get Kiwi Melon. Who’s Cassian?” The question throws me for a loop, and I cough, choking on my breath that’s caught in my throat.

“What?” I demand, hacking up a lung while my nephew watches. What a way to go. Choking on surprise from my nephew switching the conversation from tacos to murderers.

“You just got a text from someone named Cassian. He asks how you’re feeling after last night.” My nephew gazes up at me, and I know in this instant that this is about to get worse. “What did you do last night, Winnie?” he asks, voice full of naive curiosity as I stare at him in hidden horror. “Did you go somewhere?”

“Uh, no. I umm.” Fuck, I need to think of an excuse. Deftly I pluck my phone back from Scott’s hands, scrolling through the menu myself just in case I’m not going to get the same thing I get literally every time. “A friend came over. We watched moviesand stayed upwaytoo late.” I roll my eyes at him, hoping he takes it in the innocent kid way, and not in a way that’s going to get me murdered by his mom.

“Is Cassian your boyfriend?” I hadn’t thought this could get worse, but here Scott is proving me wrong while I place an order for burritos to be delivered.

“I don’t think so.” I don’t know why I’m hesitant to say it when that’s the truth. Cass isnotmy boyfriend. No matter what we’d done last night and how I’d felt after.

No matter how his words make me squirm in the best way possible.

My thoughts drift, and I find myself having to rein them back in as my brain tries to replay the events of last night.

“Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”

I let the question sit in the air while I finish placing the order and enter my payment information. After I’ve got the confirmation that tells me our food should be here in the next forty-five minutes, I turn off my phone and set it on the counter in front of me. “I don’t know,” I say with a sigh at last. “That’s my final answer, I think. I really don’t know.”

“Oh.” Scott seems to think about that before getting up and walking to the fridge with Roscoe trailing his every move. “Does he want to be your boyfriend?”

If only Scott knew that the person we’re talking about is the person who murdered his sister in front of me. But he doesn’t, and hopefully he never will. “I have no idea what he wants,” I answer at last, fingers back to tapping out an incessant, nervous rhythm on the counter while Scott pours himself a glass of apple juice.

“Heave ho, bud,”I murmur, picking up Scott from the sofa where he’s passed out on Roscoe. He barely stirs, and onlyenough to turn and wrap his arms around my neck. We’ve done this before, after all. He knows the routine just as well as me. “You need anything before bed?”

My nephew shakes his head against my shoulder as I carry him up the stairs in a feat so great I could clearly be a pro weightlifter. Or a firefighter, if I wasn’t terrified of running into a burning building. I manage not to trip on the stairs or Roscoe, and finally I get Scott in his bed. He falls like a sack of potatoes, and I’m grateful tonight he’d decided to change into his pajamas early, to settle in for a night of movie watching and slushies.

But alas, Scott had only made it through one movie and half of another instead of his proclaimed six movies before bed. “Good night, Scott,” I murmur with a soft sigh. He doesn’t answer, but I’m happy that he’s out like a light. “Sleep well, Roscoe.” I cup the Doberman’s chin as he settles on Scott’s legs and grin when he gives a soft woof.

Making my way downstairs means keeping an ear out for anything in the house, and I can’t help feeling more on edge and ill at ease lately with the murders that have been happening in Hayden Fields. How can Inotbe uneasy, after all, when it’s so close to home?

Literally close to home this morning when the cops had zoomed by and stopped just two streets over.

“You’re fine, Winnie,” I tell myself dryly. With a quick stop in the kitchen for Minxy and a bag of chocolate-covered raisins. When I’m back on the sofa with the cat curled up on my lap and a mouthful of chocolate, I change the movie from something animated and kid-friendly to whatever spooky movie I find first. I’ve never been much of a horror movie watcher, exactly, but I won’t say no.

Especially when it’s clear this movie is from the eighties and really not that scary. Or well acted.

My phone ringing makes Minxy glare up at me, and I frown apologetically as I dig my phone out from under her. “You could move,” I tell her, even as she does her best to spread out over more of my legs. For a Siamese she is pretty big, though Lou swears she’s just big boned and she’s not fat.

Even though we all know she’s totally fat.

“Hello?” I answer before I even think to look at the number. It’s probably Lou, and frankly I’m surprised she’s waited so long to call. I’d expected it earlier, given what’s happened in town.

“Winnie.” The voice on the other end of the line is definitely not Lou’s. I place it instantly, and my muscles tense.

“Most people start with ‘hi’, you know,” I murmur to Cassian, eyes fixed on the television even though I’m not paying any attention to whatever is playing.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He sounds amused more than anything. “You’re babysitting your nephew.”It isn’t a question, and the words send a tingle up my spine.

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