Page 65 of Just Friends

“Can’t sleep.”

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Was gonna make an omelet, but I’m out of eggs.”

“I’ll go pick up some breakfast,” he replied. “Whatcha’ want?”

“Nothing.” The phone rang, and Janet’s name popped up on the screen. “My aunt,” she said before answering.

“Okay,” Janet said, “Should I come now?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you and Kyle breakup?”

“It’s not him.”

“Who’s this new mystery man?”

Rebecca glanced around, but Weasel wasn’t there. “Just a friend.” Not wanting the complicated task of explaining whatever this was.

“Sure. Well, I hope to meet him.”

Rebecca disconnected and rolled to her side on the couch and studied the coffee table, the wood scuffed and scarred in places, and the indentations had darkened with age. It had been in her dad’s home when he had the stroke. To pay the hospital bills, she had to sell the house and most of the furniture, but the table she’d kept.

Weasel returned to the room dressed in yesterday’s clothes, probably needing to get ready for work. He reached over the sofa, brushed the hair back away from her face, and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to grab some breakfast and be right back.”

“Don’t you need to go to work?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. Nick’s back, and I’m off for a few days.” His fingertips ran down her arm and the warmth radiating from his hands startling. “You’re cold,” he whispered and grabbed her fluffy blanket from the chair and spread it over her.

Twenty-Two

Weasel closed the door, and an icy wind barreled through the breezeway and cut through him. He retrieved the jacket dropped in the backseat of his SUV and slid inside, starting the engine and cranking the heat. January had transformed the land silver; a layer of frost covered the cars and gave the landscaping in front of the apartment building a shimmering white hue. He hit Nick’s number and plugged the phone in as he exited the parking area onto the side street and stopped at the red light for Main.

“Collins,” Nick answered.

“Find out anything on Stanley Gilbert?”

“The employees at the facility circled the wagons like you suspected. So, they’re sticking to their story. I’m waiting on the M.E. to get back to me with the autopsy.”

“Keep me posted.”

“How’s Rebecca?”

“In shock.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“The same thing they told me. That’s what they’d tell her. I’m not gonna add to her grief with suspicion.”

“If she gets to it on her own?”

“I’ll handle it then,” he paused. “Besides, Rebecca’s not like us, constantly on the lookout for ulterior motives or cover-ups.”

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