“One of these days, boy, I’m sending you a hooker! A real good one, too!”
A shiver racks through my body, and I hear her stomp back down the driveway while singing the words to a song that will forever haunt my dreams.
Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take a long, burning swallow, then collapse onto my tattered couch and close my eyes.
This day can’t possibly get any worse.
Chapter Two
One Cornfield From a Breakdown
“Where the hell am I?” I mutter, turning down Fleetwood Mac so I concentrate on the maze of winding country roads.
The GPS in my temporary lease chirps, rerouting for the fifth time, and I barely resist the urge to toss it into a ditch. I’m one wrong turn away from needing a search party.
I bump up the heat, rubbing my arms against the chill creeping in. The black satin tank top I threw on this morning is too small, clinging to me like a bad hangover and doing absolutely nothing to keep me warm.
I’d hoped to find my favorite sweater before leaving, but it’s probably buried somewhere in the mess of half-unpacked moving boxes back at my tiny new rental. Instead, all I could find was a black suit I thrifted back in New York, the tank, and some sky-high heels, since the pants are way too long.
The outfit’s not my style in the least, but it’s my first house visit at my new job, and I’m making a futile attempt at professionalism.
A sudden chime blasts through the car’s Bluetooth system, making me jump.
The oversized dash screen lights up with a picture of my best friend, Abigail Murphy, and me in footy pajamas—beyond drunk and surrounded by snacks.
Fairest Feral Witch of Them Allflashes in bold letters, and I grin, a pang of homesickness twisting my gut as I answer.
“Please tell me you haven’t been murdered by a local with a pitchfork already.”
“I mean… the odds are narrowing,” I mutter, glancing nervously at a crooked mailbox I definitely passed ten minutes ago. “I think my GPS is gaslighting me.”
She laughs, and I can practically see her curled up on her Brooklyn couch, messy, dark bun perched atop her head, snacking on something I’m sad I can’t eat.
“I take it you’re lost?”
“I’m not lost.”I’m super lost. “I’m just... aggressively rerouting.”
“To where, exactly?”
“I’m heading to a house in Wildwood, a little town twenty minutes away from Heart Springs. The case is new, started offwith someone named Ethel, but her appendix burst last night and now she’s on emergency leave. I’m stepping in until she’s back since I don’t have any cases of my own yet.”
“Look at you,” she coos. “You’ve been at your new job less than a week, and you’re already putting out fires all by yourself.”
Her words twist something in my gut. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as hell about doing this home assessment alone. Back in New York, we never went anywhere without a partner—it wasn’t safe.
But Summit County’s office is way smaller, and they simply don’t have the resources for protocol like that.
“I don’t know about putting out any fires.” I sigh. “Ethel only had a few days on the case, and since everything is so rural here, she seems to have been struggling to gather intake info. The file’s practically empty.”
She clicks her tongue. “And your boss passed that off to you without any help?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Just get eyes on the place, document, assess. We’ll go from there.’ Then told me good luck with this long, solemn look that freaked me out.”
Abby claps with glee, the sound so loud through my speakers that I wince.
“Please, oh, please tell me your boss is hot as hell. Like, silver daddy in slacks energy. Tell me he had that wholeI will protect thee and rearrange your insideslook.” She sucks in a breath. “Lie if you have to. I won’t know.”
I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Abby. He’s like seventy, smells like arthritis cream, and I’m pretty sure I saw a cane in his office.”
