Page 38 of Splintered Memories
Lark’s mother owned a local consignment shop, and she’d been helping run the business’s marketing since last fall.
I gave her a wide smile as I returned to the two girls waiting at the front of the line. “Thank you for offering to do all this. I owe you.”
Lark winked. “I’m more than happy to help.”
After a few hours, there was a lull in the people surrounding my booth. I tried to busy myself with taking stock of the inventory, when Lark pressed herself up against my side.
“So, things have been going well with you and August, huh?” she asked, her brows raising.
Lark and I spoke almost every day, but we’d both been unusually busy since we’d picked out her wedding dress. She was swamped with finishing up last-minute wedding planning and working for her mom’s shop. I had been sick and preparing for the festival. I’d been vague about August when I spoke to her, but this was the first time she was seeing the two of us together since the bridal shop.
I forced a stiff shrug. “He’s not the worst, I suppose.”
Her brown eyes lit up. “If it means anything to you, I absolutely love August.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m willing to tolerate him, Lark. I’m not jumping into bed with him.”
“Would it be the end of the world if you did?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
I was about to give her a good swat on the arm and vehemently agree that itwouldbe the end of the world, or the end ofmyworld, at least, when a voice distracted us.
“Well, aren’t you a popular one, huh?”
My head snapped forward, meeting a pair of familiar dark eyes. “Detective Whize,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t been expecting to see him. The last time we talked, it was after I recovered from my stomach bug. August had encouraged me to make a report about the attack in the alley when I’d felt better.
He gave me a broad smile, but his brow crinkled. “Since when do you call me Detective?”
I walked to the long table loaded with merch that needed restocking. “Since you interviewed me with an FBI agent, I suppose.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Just call me by my name, please.”
I gave a small smile in return. “What are you up to, Brandon?” He was in street clothes, looking like he was off duty and enjoying the festivities.
Brandon glanced at my table, eyes running over the items before he plucked up a black T-shirt that said “True Crime Junkie” in white text with my podcast’s logo underneath.
“Doing some local shopping.” He unfolded the shirt and held it up against his chest. “What do you think?”
I laughed softly. “I think it suits you.”
He nodded and handed the shirt back to me. “Sign it for me?”
I raised a brow. Brandon and I had been friends for at least the last few years and he’d never asked me to sign anything for him. “Oh, I’llsign it for you.” I picked up one of the metallic silver Sharpie pens I’d brought. “If you update me about how the case is going.”
We both knew what case I was referring to. Brandon’s grin dimmed but didn’t fade completely. “I can’t, Emersyn. You know that.”
I did, but I didn’t care. “That’s never stopped you before,” I reminded him, taking the T-shirt and signing it anyway.
“I’m a detective now. I’m not working this alone, either. I have the FBI here…I can’t be giving out information.”
I grimaced. Although I was glad that the Shadow Stalker case was finally getting the attention it deserved, I didn’t exactly trust government institutions. The government was all politics, and I hated politics.
“I’m well aware of who’s working with you,” I said, and then sighed. “It would just be nice if we had any information about who might be trying to kill me.”
Brandon flinched. His eyes cut to August, who hadn’t moved from his post next to my booth. He was obviously security with the way he stood and the earpiece in his ear that he used to communicate with the rest of his team stationed around the festival.
“I thought you’ve been doing well,” he eventually said, his gaze returning to me.
“I am. I can take care of myself.”
