Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
The cold winter air bit at Bridget’s skin as she stepped onto the porch.
The trees surrounding Jo’s cottage stood still, bare branches scraping against each other in the wind.
The world felt eerily quiet, like it was holding its breath.
She could see her own breath in front of her, little wisps that dissolved into the darkness.
Jo had left the door to the house open. She crouched just inside, holding a small piece of leftover chicken out toward Pickles, who was stubbornly perched on the edge of the porch. His fur was puffed up against the cold, and he eyed Jo suspiciously.
“Come on, Pickles. I would think after you ended up in a well, you’d welcome staying inside,” Jo murmured, holding the chicken out further. The orange cat sniffed it but stayed put, his tail flicking dismissively.
Bridget shifted, glancing around at the dark woods surrounding them. The thought of Pickles wandering around in the cold with someone dangerous possibly lurking nearby made her uneasy. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, the chill creeping in from the cold porch floor.
“I still think we should just carry him inside,” Bridget muttered, eyeing the cat. “It’s freezing out here, and with everything going on—”
Jo straightened, shaking her head. “No, it has to be his idea. Otherwise, he won’t like being in there and will run off at the first chance. For now, he’s enjoying being difficult.”
Bridget gave a short laugh, but her unease remained.
Jo turned to her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, her expression tight. “I heard from Sam today,” she said. “They got the results on the note.”
Bridget’s heart thudded faster as Jo’s words hung in the cold air. “And?”
Jo sighed, a cloud of her breath visible in the dim porch light. “No prints. No DNA. Of course. Whoever left it knew exactly what they were doing.”
Bridget swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Of course there was nothing. She hadn’t expected anything different, but hearing it made everything feel that much more real—that much more dangerous.
Jo looked out into the night, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t want to wait around for them to make the next move.”
Bridget frowned, feeling a cold knot settle in her stomach. “What do you mean?”
Jo turned back to her, folding her arms across her chest. “I think if they thought I wasn’t here, they’d come back. Maybe leave another note. This time, I’d be secretly waiting for them and could catch them in the act.”
Bridget stiffened, a wave of anxiety crashing over her. “Jo, you can’t be serious. What if it’s not just a note next time?”
Jo shrugged, but her jaw was set, the determination clear on her face. “I’m not just going to sit around and let them mess with me, Bridge. If I can draw them out, maybe I can figure out who they are.”
Bridget’s throat tightened. You’re not the one they want.
The words echoed in her mind, over and over, louder than anything Jo was saying.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say them.
She couldn’t tell Jo the truth—not yet. But what if the note wasn’t about Jo at all? What if the danger was meant for her?
She glanced down at Pickles, his eyes now squinting against the cold wind. What if this person had put him in the well on purpose? Anyone who would do that to a small cat might do worse things to a human.
Jo exhaled, the frustration in her movements clear. “Look, Bridge, this could get dangerous. You should stay at a motel for a few days. Just until I figure this out.”
Bridget’s eyes snapped up to meet Jo’s. “You want me to leave?”
Jo nodded, her gaze softening. “Just for a few days. There’s someone running around out there, leaving notes—and for all we know, they put Pickles in the well. I don’t want you in the middle of this. I’ll pay for the room; it’s no big deal.”
Bridget felt a flash of panic. Leave Jo alone? Here? When there was someone out there leaving threats? Jo might be ready to risk her own safety, but Bridget couldn’t walk away. She couldn’t let anything happen to her sister.
“No,” Bridget said, shaking her head, her voice firmer than she expected. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jo’s brow furrowed. “Bridge, it’s for your own safety.”
Bridget shook her head again, more forcefully this time. “You don’t even have your service gun anymore, Jo. What are you going to do if someone shows up? Talk them into giving up? No way I’m leaving you here by yourself.”
Jo’s expression darkened, but Bridget didn’t stop. “If you’re staying here, then so am I. I’m not going to some motel while you put yourself in danger.”
A tense silence stretched between them, and Bridget could feel Jo weighing her options. The fire in her sister’s eyes hadn’t dimmed, but there was something else there now—surprise, maybe? Or something else.
Finally, Jo sighed. “All right, but I don’t want you getting involved if things go sideways.”
Bridget bit her lip, fighting the urge to mention the gun she kept hidden under her bed. She couldn’t bring it up now, but knowing it was there gave her a small sense of control—a way to protect them both.
Jo stepped back toward the door, and Bridget followed, the air between them still thick with unspoken tension. She glanced back at Pickles, still sitting on the porch, his fur ruffled by the cold wind.
“Pickles, come on,” Jo called, but the cat ignored her completely. With a sigh, she opened the door, and they both stepped inside, leaving the stubborn cat to keep watch on the porch.
The warmth of the house hit Bridget immediately, the faint smell of rosemary and garlic still lingering in the kitchen. Jo walked past her and went straight to the fish tank on the side table, dropping a few flakes into the water for Finn.
“I’ll keep the porch light on,” Jo said, her back to Bridget, her voice softer now. “To deter anyone from going in there.”
Bridget watched as Finn’s orange scales shimmered under the light, her thoughts swirling. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was closing in. She needed to talk to Kevin. Maybe he could help her make sense of all this. But for now, she had to keep Jo safe. No matter what.
Bridget stood her ground, arms crossed, as the tension in the air settled between them. The low hum of the heater and the faint splashing from Finn’s tank filled the quiet room. Jo’s eyes softened, the fire in them dimming slightly.
Bridget broke the silence, her voice low. “So… what’s next? If you aren’t just sitting around waiting, what will you do?”
Jo hesitated for a moment, glancing out the window as if weighing her next words. “I’m going to Garvin’s funeral tomorrow morning. Figured I’d pay my respects. I did like the guy.”
Bridget frowned. “Is that a good idea? With everything that’s going on?”
Jo shrugged. “It’s not just about paying respects. Sam’s going to be there too. We’ll meet up afterward—he can fill me in on any updates with the case. Besides,” she added with a dry smile, “I wouldn’t miss seeing how his kids act. If there’s any animosity or guilt, I might be able to notice.”
Bridget’s worry deepened, but she kept quiet, watching Jo carefully. “Just… be careful, okay? Funerals bring out all kinds of emotions. And people.”
Jo offered a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes were clouded with something deeper. “I will. But don’t worry about me. It’s just a funeral.”
Bridget bit her lip, her anxiety gnawing at her. “I’m still not going anywhere, though.”
Jo chuckled lightly, heading toward the kitchen. “Didn’t think you would.”