A Dreadful Meow-ment (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 2), стр. 29

He gives a curt nod. “That’s right. In fact, a while back my dad and I were talking about the new series I was fleshing out.”

My mouth falls open. “The Manon Tate Series?”

“Yup. And my dad said he knew a guy, and that’s how I met Angelo Santini.”

Something in me warms just hearing him say my father’s name.

Back in Hastings my father’s name was reduced to something shy of an expletive.

I shake my head. “It’s as if the universe had been planning this all along.”

His lips curl. “Maybe.”

The phone rings and my entire body seizes.

Shep picks up and puts the phone on speaker mode.

“This is a call from the Corbel Men’s Correctional Facility. Angelo Santini would like to speak with you. Do you accept?” It’s a computerized recording for the most part, but it was my father’s own voice saying his name and my chest seized just hearing it.

“Yes,” Shep says it loud and clear.

“Shepherd Wexler?” My father’s manly thick voice belts out with confidence from the other side of the speaker and my entire body bucks with emotion.

“Speaking.” Shep’s tone is a touch lighter than usual. “Great to hear your voice again, Mr. Santini. I hope you don’t mind if my co-writer and I ask a few questions. We’re shooting for a genuine voice in our novel, and we’re confident you can help us out with that.”

“Sure thing, son. Let’s hear it.”

Shep holds the phone out my way and nods for me to take it.

My hand shakes as I draw it near to me, and suddenly that rigid mixture of glass and metal feels as fragile as a newborn.

“D—Mr. Santini?” My voice hitches when I say it. “This is”—my eyes enlarge a moment because I’m not ready to give away my identity, any of them—“Rose, Mr. Wexler’s co-author.” A moment pulses by and I can hear my father’s breathing picking up on the other end of the line. He knows. My father would know my voice anywhere. He may have made a lousy mobster, but he’s a damn good father. A thought comes to me. “Top of the afternoon to you.” It’s something my father would say to my siblings and me almost daily, tailoring the greeting with the time of day—morning, afternoon, or evening.

“Ho, ho, ho”—he howls before sniffing hard—“Rose, it’s good to hear you. So good to hear—you know, a female.”

You can feel the emotion in my father’s voice, and it tugs at my heart until it feels as if it’s about to rip it in two.

Shep nods my way as a genuine smile rises on his lips.

“Rose”—my father booms—“how are you doing?”

“I’m doing good, Mr. Santini.” I look over at Shep and get lost in his sky blue eyes. “Real good.”

And just like that, a tiny part of my crooked world has been righted.

We talk for his allotted fifteen minutes, and yet it seems our time is up in less than ten seconds.

He encourages us to call him again and I assure him we’ll do just that.

We hang up and I break out in tears.

Shep pulls me in and offers a strong embrace and I hold on tight as if he were the only thing securing me to this planet. It seems as if gravity failed me as soon as I left New Jersey.

Shep pulls back and examines me with a tenderness I’ve never seen in his eyes before.

He brushes the hair from my eyes. “Feeling better?”

I swallow down the urge to bawl as I nod.

“I will,” I whisper. “As soon as your ex wipes me off the suspect list for killing Craig.”

He comes shy of scowling. “Don’t worry, Bowie. That’s my job.”

We sit and watch the falls, and every now and again a spray of water drifts this way and baptizes us with its cool precipitation. We take in the hawks as they circle above us in the pristine blue sky, and it feels as if we’ve traveled back to a simpler time in human history.

Summer is almost upon us, a new season. And if feels as if my life is taking a cue from Mother Nature.

A new season seems inevitable for me as well—right here in Starry Falls.

A thicket of crows swoop in and blacken the sky in an instant. They say a flock of crows is called a murder and the irony isn’t lost on me. There is very much a murder darkening our world.

Someone killed Craig Walker, and it’s as if the universe is begging us to bring his killer to justice.

Who am I to fight the universe?

Craig Walker’s killer is going down.

And I plan on being the one that knocks him or her to the ground.