Page 39 of Splintered Memories
Brandon nodded. He paused, eyes darting around us before he leaned in toward me. “Look,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t tell you much, but I can assure you that Agent Hoffner is doing his job well. We’ve gotten some interesting results back from ballistics about those shell casings found on the roof. Be patient. We’re working on it. When there’s something concrete to tell you, I’ll make sure the information gets to you.”
When he pulled back, he took the shirt I’d signed and slung it over his shoulder. “How much do I owe you?”
I waved him off. “Nothing.” I shook my head. “But I expect you to pay me back with information when you have it.” I gave him a knowing stare.
He smiled, taking a step away and giving me a mock salute. “You can count on me, boss.” After a quick wink, he was gone, disappearing into the throng of people milling around Center Street.
I stole a glance at August. His eyes were on me, his brow raised.
“What?” I asked. We hadn’t spoken the whole festival. I hadn’t wanted to distract him, but he was looking at me with blatant curiosity.
“Nothing.” He looked away. “I didn’t know you were so friendly with the local detectives.”
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. I could be wrong, but there was an undertone of annoyance to his words. And maybe, if I didn’t know any better, there was some jealousy in his tone, too.
I shouldn’t have liked the way my heart fluttered at that possibility, but it definitely did.
I was vaguely aware that Lark started to restock the merchandise on the tables. I hadn’t realized how late it was getting, we probably didn’t need to put much more out, but I didn’t tell her that as I took a step toward the far corner of the booth, closest to where August stood outside of it.
“He’s a friend,” I said, nonchalantly. “I thought it might be useful to have friends in the police department. You know, to keep me in the loop on certain things.”
“Hmm.” He made a noise between tight lips, nodding as if he understood but wasn’t exactly happy about it.
I was about to ask him what the sour face was for, when someone tugged on my arm. Turning, I expected to meet the eyes of Lark, but Jake stood before my booth, mouth in a tight line.
Jake had been difficult to manage after everything that had happened. I knew he was only worried about me, but he needed to focus on himself and his own life, not mine. The past week had gotten better; he hadn’t called or visited as much. He was starting to seem more like himself, but the look on his face had my stomach sinking.
“Heads up, Emy,” he said in a low whisper. “Our father’s coming to visit your booth.”
15
Emersyn
Ifroze,andsureenough,as if he had been summoned, Tristan Hawthorn materialized out of the crowd. He was dressed casually for him, a pair of khaki slacks and a navy-blue, long-sleeved shirt. He looked better than the last time I’d seen him, and he wasn’t alone. My father smiled, and my blood chilled at the sight of the man walking beside him.
My gaze cut to my brother as the two men approached my booth. He gave me a sympathetic look, and then his features hardened as he glared at the man striding next to our father.
“I hear you’re the talk of the festival, Emersyn,” my father said, his hands tucked into his pockets as he surveyed my booth. “I hadn’t realized how popular your little podcast had become.”
I ignored my father and stared daggers at the man on his side. The man seemed older than he had even a year ago. His black hair was dull and sprinkled with gray. The fine lines carving his face were deeper, his cheeks gaunt. He was thinner, too, than I remembered. The former sheriff used to be all bulky muscles, and now he was thin and lean.
Noticing where my attention was, my father cleared his throat. “You remember my friend, Alex Cohen.” He nodded toward the man beside him.
Of course I knew him. He had been friends with my father for most of my life. The former mayor and the former sheriff—they were deeply embedded in the Ember Hollow community.
Lark stiffened beside me, and Alex’s eyes flicked toward her. His face remained neutral, but his body went taut.
I bared my teeth at Alex, who barely spared a glance my way.
“What are you doing with a man like that?” I spat at my father.
My father’s face paled at the vitriol in my voice. “Emersyn,” he hissed, scolding me. “That tone isn’t appropriate.”
I stepped closer to Lark. Her panic was palpable. “I think it’s more than appropriate for the man whose son killed your daughter, and then he helped cover it up.”
Alex Cohen sneered at me. My father’s jaw dropped. Yes, my father and Alex had been friends for a very long time, but I’d figured that had changed after Alex helped his son get away with my sister’s murder.
“I’d watch the kind of rumors you’re spreading,” Alex said, his deep voice calm and smooth. It didn’t match the rage flaring in his eyes. “Those are nothing but unsubstantiated accusations.”
