Page 101 of Oliver

Instead, I say softly, “I’m sorry.”

With a nod, he steps off the sidewalk and stops before me. “It ain’t for sale. My wife…”

His voice catches and tears fill my eyes. “I understand, Mr…?”

“Cook,” he says gruffly before heading to his truck sitting beside mine. I watch him go before getting into my car. From here, I see him take a left and, on a whim, I follow him down the street before accelerating when he turns off on a side road.

A few feet down, I pull into another lot and wait before finally turning and heading back to that same road. It’s similar to the homes I passed before, majestic and old with large fountains and beautiful trees. I spy Mr. Cook’s truck parked at the end and pull to the side of the road two houses down.

I send a pin of the location to my phone just in case. I don’t think Mr. Cook is a killer but at this point, any information is better than none.

Once I’m done, I flip a U-turn and head back the way I came. At the intersection to the main road, I spy a dock with a truck backing down the ramp. Once more, I park and step down to the water, glancing both ways.

How did Mr. G pick his victims? Is he responsible for Charlie Cook’s death?

With a shiver, I step onto the sand, and approach the restaurant from the opposite end. When I come to what I believe is the Cook home, I eye the boat resting in the water and shake my head. Charming-Fucking-Charlie.

Is Mr. Cook a goddamn murderer? If not, how does his fucking boat play into this mess? I’m tempted to walk right onto that damn thing and search for clues but what little common sense I have left urges me to leave…for now.

Chapter 31

Penny

When I get home, I realize that I still have the money issue to contend with and after searching the house and finding a few of Mom’s stashes, I’m fifty bucks richer but still fucked. I’m going to have to call my uncle.

Since I have time to spare and I’m itchy all over at the thought of going back and finding that damn boat, I attempt to focus on something else and search for apartments both cheap and nearby.

There are a few contenders, most of which are in not so great areas, but if there’s only so much money from the policy, I have to figure out how to make it last while I determine my future. Clearly, I’m getting a job and school is not a possibility, which at this point is the least of my worries.

As if I conjured trouble with my thoughts, the doorbell rings. I’m appropriately cautious as I approach but when I glance through the peephole, I find Oliver standing on the other side.

After all the cruel words we exchanged the other day, I’m not up for his surly moods. Frankly I don’t know what else there is to say.

Still, my foolish, naive heart wants him to come through this door and apologize before falling to his knees and begging forgiveness.

Great, now I’m delusional, too.

When I open the door, he brushes past me with a grunt, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling, muttering, “Once again, make yourself at home.”

Of course, he ignores my sarcasm.

After looking me over with a weird expression which by the way still brings tingles to my skin, he says, “Where have you been?”

“What do you mean?” I squeak and his eyes narrow. Fuck me, but way to give it away. Moron.

“Playpen…” His growl brings my back up and I fling out an arm.

“Nowhere, besides it’s none of your fucking business.”

Stepping into me, he says so low, I have to strain to hear, “Oh it’s my fucking business. Now you better start talking…”

“Or what?” I sneer and his nostrils flare.

“You can hate me if you want. You can scream and be a bitch but make no mistake, I paid my dues for you and you’re mine.”

Yep, I’m full on crazy because his possessive words do strange things to my already fluttering heart.

Still, I have some dignity which is why I sneer, “Really? You’re fucking delusional.”

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