Page 26 of Dolls & Daggers
The woman squeals so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear so it doesn’t bust a drum. “Oh my gosh! I love this for her. I didn’t know Dove was dating anyone! You can absolutely count on my discretion, sir. We love Fang and would be more than happy to help. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, she recently convinced me to dyemyhair pink, so I was thinking—” On second thought, maybe this is a stupid idea. Dove loves pink. Coloring her precious dog’s stringy mane will probably be the highlight of her week.
“Itotallycatch your drift. Oh! She’s walking in now. Don’t worry,” her voice drops to a whisper, “it’ll be our secret.”
Before I can tell her to forget it, the line goesdead, and I’m left standing in Dove’s office with a sense of dread sliding down my spine like thick, frozen sludge.
“Fuck. She’s gonna kill me.”
I browse the rest of her calendar absentmindedly, searching for anything that might tip me off about her source on the Baby Doll Killer. Since I’m here, I might as well go all in.
Every Saturday, the initials C.W. are scrawled in ink, encased in a heart, accompanied by a sticker of a cat wearing sunglasses. I pull up the Notes app on my phone and type in the initials with a question mark, my mind racing faster than Usain Bolt.
Why the fuck is there a heart around them?
Who else is asporadic pillow partnerbesides Ryan?
Why does this jackass have a standing date with her every Saturday?
Why the fuck do I care?
Why the fuckdoI care?
I fall into her chair with a sigh, straightening as I sink into the pink leather and realize—it’s not a standard office chair. Gripping the arms, I bounce slightly on the squishy seat before settling against the surprisingly luxurious backrest.
Why is her chair so much nicer than mine?
Pulling it in, I sprawl my legs out, deliberately nudging her keyboard a fraction of an inch beforeflicking her fluffy pen across the glossy, cream-colored farmhouse-style desk.
“If I were Dove’s notebook, where would I be?”
One of the large drawers holds a pile of folders, but the smaller ones contain only office supplies and stationery, all in shades of pink and cream. Another drawer on the opposite side reveals a few toys I assume belong to Fang, some granola bars, and a bag of… meat?
I turn the plastic bag over. Although there isn’t a label, the snack inside is clearly jerky. It seems like such an odd snack choice for Dove. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure the only things I’ve ever seen her consume—besides yogurt and coffee—are tacos and tequila. If anything, I’d expect her desk drawers to be stuffed with sunshine, rainbows, and a hoard of sugary treats.
I open the bag and take a sniff.
Hmm. Smells edible.
Removing a piece, I find it pleasantly pliable—softer than the usual jaw-breaking variety. I pop a small portion into my mouth. Not bad. Kinda… salty? With a hint of something I can’t quite place. It doesn’t taste like any jerky I’ve had before, though.
“Hey, Dove—oh! Wrenley. What are you doing in Dove’s office?”
Cecilia’s high-pitched voice filters through the open door,freezing me mid-chew like a kid caught raiding the cookie jar. She scans the room, as if expecting to find Dove with her nose in the corner, before her sharp features curl into a pleased smile when she realizes we’re alone.
“Is that from Dove’s snack stash? Ooh, you’re so bad. Come on now, share with the rest of us. It smells good!”
Before I can react, she crosses the room and snatches the bag from my hand. I know for a fact Dove keeps her office door open nearly all the time, so there’s no justifiable reason for Cecilia to take the snack to the door and shout down the hall like she’s discovered the gateway to a holy land.
In seconds, the bag is passed around and completely obliterated.
All I can think about is how my retaliation prank has now become a two-for-one special, and Dove is going to murder me when she returns.
Was everyone raised in a barn?
Who steals someone’s snack and eats the entire fucking bag?
“What the heck is going on in here?” Dove’s curious, sunlit voice drifts above the chatter, reaching me where I still lounge in her chair.
