Page 89 of The Misfits
“It’s a park,” I snap back, shocked by her rudeness. “They’re n-not reserved for anyone.”
“They’re n-not reserved,” she mimics with a roll of her eyes. “They are… and that sign over there says so.” She points to a sign that states nothing of the sort before muttering, “But I guess you can’t understand what it says since you’re too stupid to read.”
As Dexter dumps our gelatos into the bin at our side, I snarl, “What did you say?”
“You heard what I said. I said you’re—”
Dexter doesn’t backhand the words out of her mouth. He doesn’t even cut her off with an ear-burning string of obscenities. He merely steps between us before he brings out the charm that’s had us off law enforcement radars for almost four years. “How about I buy you and your son a gelato to make up for the inconvenience.” He waves his hand through the air before raking it through his dark locks no longer hidden by his cap. “It’s hot out, and moods get a little erratic when the gauge won’t stop rising. It often has us saying things we don’t mean.”
“I meant it—”
“Oh, I know,” Dexter interrupts before he steps even closer to her, so she becomes trapped by his glistening baby blues. “Just like I know your time is far too important to waste handling a situation likethis.” I should be upset when he thrusts his hand at me during the ‘this’ part of his statement, but I’m not. I recognized his game plan the instant he dumped our gelatos.
His hands are about to be coated with a sticky red substance again—except this time, it will be my taunter’s blood dribbling from his palms instead of a sour raspberry sorbet the second imp in my belly has been demanding the past two months.
Dexter gestures for the lady to commence the short walk to the ice cream van before he spins around to face me. Death is dancing in his eyes. He is the most attractive he’s ever been.
After winking at an identical murderous gleam brightening my eyes, he bobs down in front of Damien before ruffling his hair. “Daddy needs to go to work now, okay? So we will finish our game of hide and seek tomorrow.”
Forever eager to be his father’s number one fan, Damien immediately bobs his head. His agreement pleases Dexter greatly, but it has nothing on the excitement that races through me when Dexter removes the key for the basement hanging around his neck to place it into my palm.
I’m not being left out of the festivities this time around.
This key is a front-row ticket to the Wicked Witch’s final show.
“Make sure Damien is in bed before you come down,” Dexter mutters into my ear before he presses his lips to my temple. “We don’t want any unexpected visitors this time around.”
Damien wasn’t our last unwanted guest. It was our landlord who was reported missing by his daughter-in-law three months ago.
It’s only murder if they find a body.
Without one, it’s merely a missing person’s case.
