Chapter 9
Ethan
The door swings shut behind me, and the scent of burgers and whiskey surrounds me.
Sandra just texted saying she’ll be here in five. Meaning I’ll see her in ten.
Jessie, the bartender, waves at me.
I cross the small dining room of the Inn and stop across the bar top from her. “Evening.”
“Hey, Ethan. Whatcha getting?”
“Two waters, two ginger ales, and two of the veggie dinners.”
Jessie grins. “Meeting your sister, I take it?”
I nod.
“I’ll get your order in, then bring the drinks over.”
“Appreciate it.” I tap my knuckles on the bar, then find a table along the wall.
My water is half gone, and my soda glass is covered in condensation when Sandra pushes through the door and drops into the chair across from me.
She came straight from the hair salon she works at, but it’s an artsy place that has no uniform. So her outfit—a crop top under red denim overalls—isn’t a surprise.
Her pixie-cut hair is dyed black, like the last time I saw her. But the piercing through her brow now has a purple diamond thing on one end.
“Hey, Brother.” Sandra grins at me.
I dip my chin. “Sister.”
I fork the last of my fried brussels sprouts into my mouth, my eyes moving back to Sandra’s damn eyebrow jewelry.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I drop my gaze to meet Sandra’s. “No. Where would I buy ribbon?”
My sister lowers the portion of the mushroom Philly cheesesteak hoagie she was lifting to her mouth. “Ribbon? Like for wrapping presents?”
Her face is scrunched up as she looks at me like I asked her to help me build a bomb.
But no matter how right I was, I still feel like an asshole for ruining Tilda’s ribbon. I could’ve taken the time to untie it, rather than ruin it.
I set my fork down.
Matty.
I still can’t believe Jack was so sneaky. Talking about his grandkid for fucking years without actually telling me anything.
My shoulders sag.
I can’t believe Jack’s dead.
Which makes me feel like an even bigger asshole. Because Tilda, Matty, Matilda, just lost a family member.
Even though I’d never met her—and by all recollection, she’s never been to Jack’s cabin before—she must’ve been close with him.
I think about my gun locked in the glove box of my truck.
Jack never said anything about anyone else in his family. Never gave any hints about them being violent. But…
Don’t shoot me.
Which one of them sent you?
I need to talk to Tilda.
“Are you dying?”
I blink at my sister. “Not any more than usual.”
She rolls her eyes. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Don’t what me. I’m what-ing you.”
I lift a brow.
She wags a finger at me. “Nope, don’t give me that look. You’re the one asking about ribbon.”
“And that means death?”
“Not inherently. But…” She picks her sandwich back up and gestures at me with it. “Explain yourself.”
“I just need ribbon.” I regret ever bringing this up. But I’m in it now.
“Like to wrap a present with?” Sandra asks with her mouth full.
I shove my empty plate a few inches forward and cross my arms. “Yeah, I guess. But not that papery shit. Cotton stuff.”
“Cotton. Stuff.”
Gritting my teeth, I uncross my arms and shove my hand into my pocket. Then I withdraw a six-inch piece of ribbon.
I threw the rest of it away at the Visitor Center, but this bit fell on the ground, rather than into the trash can. And when I picked it up… I put it back in my pocket.
Sandra shoves the last chunk of sandwich into her mouth, then reaches for the ribbon.
I pull my arm back. “Your hands are dirty.”
She widens her eyes while making a show of cleaning her fingers with a napkin.
When she holds her clean hand out, I reluctantly drop the length of fabric into her palm.
“This from a case or something?”
I furrow my brows. “A case?”
Sandra nods, holding the ribbon by one end, examining the color. The color that matches my little Mountain Fairy’s hair. “Yeah, a case. Like, what’s the mystery? Is this about a missing hiker? An empty campsite? Did you find it near a puddle of blood?”
I stare at the psychopath across from me. “No.” Images of blood trickling down Tilda’s knee flash into my mind.
And then more…
Finding the house empty.
Finding blood on the floor.
Finding a scrap of ribbon stuck to a branch.
Tilda disappearing…
“No.” I say it louder.
Sandra just shrugs and holds the ribbon back out for me. “Okay. So, what then?”
“I just need to get more. Just like this.” There’s no way I’m telling her about Tilda. No way I’m admitting that I’m buying ribbon for a girl. She’ll never let it go.
“A craft store would have it. There’s a place not far from my work that should have something. I can send you the name.”
I nod as I shove the ribbon back into my pocket. “I’d appreciate that.”
Sandra picks her phone up off the table and taps at the screen a few times. “There.” She sets her phone back down and narrows her eyes at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I wrap my fingers around my water glass. “Jack’s dead.”
My sister’s face falls. She never met him, but she’s heard me talk about him. “What? How?”
I open my mouth and pause. “I don’t actually know.”
“Did you…?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t die at the house. I just heard about it today.” From his grandkid. Who I agreed to keep an eye on. Who I thought was a boy. But who’s actually a girl, straight from my fantasies, and instead of helping her, I made her fall, then cry.
Not off to a great start.
“I’m sorry.”
I lift a shoulder, not sure what to say.
Jack was someone I saw on occasion.
We didn’t go out to dinner.
Didn’t talk on the phone.
But for the better part of two decades, since I first started working at the park, I’ve spent my summers stopping by his place. Talking shit. Listening to his stories. Having the occasional cup of coffee on his deck.
I exhale. And the weight of his loss settles across my thighs, pressing me into the chair.
I don’t really have friends.
But I think he might’ve been one of them.
And now he’s gone.