Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery by R.M. Wild (top 100 novels of all time .TXT) 📕

toes off the end. Either I was still hungover, or the whole structure seemed to wobble.

I stood there, trying not to fall in, and leaned forward and squinted into the drifting fog.

What had those painters been doing with that canoe?

The breeze came again and then I saw it. A brief glimpse. In the parting fog, about a hundred yards away, in the middle of the lake, sat a hard square.

It was a tiny island maybe. A shack.

But as soon as I had seen the structure, it was gone again, swallowed by the gloom.

A sound. I turned around.

A vehicle was coming down the driveway. Kendall hadn’t gone to the law firm. He must have been somewhere close by, must have been watching the cameras the whole time.

I remembered what he had said about avoiding the lake. Suddenly, one thing was crystal clear: Kendall didn’t want me anywhere near that island shack.

39

Frantic, I looked left, then right. There was nothing but field, no escape to the woods for at least a hundred yards in either direction. The cabin was another hundred yards away, but up the hill. There was no way I could run back in time.

I was entirely exposed. Nowhere to hide.

I stood, helpless, my heart banging. Should I stay down here and try to make it to the island before Kendall came down the hill and stopped me? Or dare I go back to the house and hope there’d be another opportunity?

What if he never left the house again? What if he babysat me all day long? What if he knew I was suspicious and he tied me up like Chrissy?

I looked down at the water. Knowing Maine, it was probably colder than an ice bath. I was also on my last clean outfit. There were no laundry rooms in the cabin and I doubted that Kendall would be quick to bring me new clothes if I tried to escape.

I gathered my courage, about to step off the dock, my foot hovering over the water, when I glanced back at the driveway.

The Mercedes had parked. Kendall had climbed out of the car and was holding a black briefcase.

I pulled my foot back and stood on both legs. I would tell him I was out for a stroll, nothing more. If he didn’t believe me—then it would only confirm my suspicions about him.

I hiked back up the hill.

Kendall thumbed his phone to open the front door. “Are you okay?”

I smiled. “Sure. Fine. No problems.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“Nothing. Just walking. I needed fresh air.”

“The dock isn’t safe. I told you that.”

“What are you doing back so early?”

“I told you I had to get some paperwork,” he said and patted the briefcase. “Which I did.”

“I thought you were going to work at the office.”

“I said I had paperwork to do. And I do. I brought it back. You seem disappointed to see me.”

A drop landed on my head. I looked up. The clouds had returned.

“No. Just surprised,” I said. “Did you get my phone charger?”

He gave me a big fake smile. “Let’s go inside, shall we? The rain is coming back.”

Kendall set his briefcase down on the kitchen table and popped open the golden latches. The action was as smooth as it was casual.

“Have a seat, Rosemary.”

I sat on the arm of the couch.

“Not over there, here,” he said and pulled the wood chair out from the table for me.

Wary, I shuffled over to the table. I had no desire to be this close to him.

He pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase, stood them against the table to level the edges that had shifted in transit, and once satisfied that they all lined up and nice and square, set them down in front of me.

“What is all this?”

“I told you. Paperwork. Legal stuff. Most of it, you wouldn’t find interesting.”

“Don’t patronize me. What is it?”

“Please. Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

I was making him nervous? Did he not know how it felt to be forced to sit this close to a sexual assaulter?

“I’d rather stand.”

“Sit, goddammit.”

Feeling small, I slid into the chair and put my hands in my lap, afraid to move.

“That’s better,” Kendall said. “Please, I don’t want any emotions to cloud this discussion. It’s purely business. Whatever you think of me, good or bad, should be immaterial to the outcome. I’d like to have a frank discussion about your inn.”

“My inn?”

“Yes. Your business has fallen down a snake hole and the dirt is sliding in. You haven’t had customers for days.”

“You don’t know that. Eldritch is in charge. You haven’t let me check in. For all I know, we’ve had twenty guests in the time I’ve been gone.”

“I did check in. I stopped by the place this morning. Eldritch didn’t even answer the door. I think it’s safe to say that the inn is costing you more than it’s making. Would you agree?”

“What is your point? Every business loses money in the beginning.”

“I think you did an admirable job with the place after Phyllis Martin jumped ship,” he said. “You truly did. You sunk, what? Ten thousand into renovations?”

“How do you know that?”

“You claimed the write-off on your taxes.”

“How did you—I didn’t—”

“I’m guessing you burned the last of your savings from NYCPS. Yes?”

“You little—”

“Relax. There’s nothing shady here. There’s a copy of your tax return down at the office.”

It was true. After the Dark Haven lighthouse had gone up in flames, I had asked my foster father for a good place to keep my records. He had said they’d be safe in his office.

“I didn’t give you permission to—”

“No one wants to go to your inn,” Kendall said bluntly. “Especially after that mess on social media. You have to admit, the place is a red hole.”

“A red hole?”

“Yes. It’s worse than a black hole, because you are most certainly not in the black.”

“What are you getting at, Kyle?”

“I represent a wealthy client—”

I stood abruptly. “Oh for God’s sake. That’s what this is all about,