Page 23 of Destined Chaos
“I am not staying with you.” She gawked. “I don’t even know you.”
“Sure, you do, and the sheriff will know where to find you. Consider this a mini staycation while they get stuff situated at your house.”
Libby’s jaw clenched, and I watched as the look of resignation crossed her face. “Fine. The sooner they get the bodies moved, the better.”
“Well, I’ll need to look into the law regarding what we can legally do and where to move them, but we’ll figure it out, and I’m sure the town will absorb the cost associated with it.”
“Why would they do that?” she asked with a raised brow.
“My mom is head of the town council. They’re always prepared for weird stuff like this.”
“Yeah, it’s almost like they expect it,” I grumbled beneath my breath, wondering exactly how much my sister, Clara, knew and why she hadn’t shared it with me. “Let me grab your bag, and then we’ll leave.”
I stepped into the house and grabbed her bag lying on the den floor and put it in the back of the truck, only returning to help her to the passenger side. When I had her settled in, and I was behind the wheel, she finally spoke.
“If my birthday curse doesn’t kill me, then this mountain will.”
“Birthday curse?” I tried to stifle my grin. “You believe in curses?”
“My mother, my aunt, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother all shared the same fate. It’s inevitable.”
“What is?”
“They all died an early death.”
I chuckled and backed out, and then I turned to find her looking at me with a deadpan expression. “You’re serious?”
“It’s inevitable,” she repeated and turned toward the window, watching as we descended the mountain, which seemed to cause her distress.
A curse on the Slaughter women. That couldn’t be real, but there was one person in town who would have all the answers, and I intended to get them. After stopping at the little store to refill my coffee, I climbed back in the truck and dialed Clara’s number.
My call went unanswered. “Clara, this is Hugh. Call me back.”
Libby gave me a sad smile. “Is Clara a girlfriend?”
“Sister responsible for the tub.”
She nodded.
“Listen, I can stay somewhere else. It’s not your job to take care of me.”
“Yeah, whose is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who takes care of you?” I asked as I drove toward my house.
“I take care of myself.”
“Until you can’t,” I said, knowing I was pushing her buttons as I pulled into my driveway. I parked as she stared at the house.
“I’ve taken care of myself all my life,” she growled.
I unbuckled my belt. “I deal in facts when I’m looking at houses, so let’s get this on the table.” I turned to face her and watched as she twisted her fingers in her lap. Fingers I wanted to hold and tell her everything would be all right.
“The house has issues but nothing that can’t be overcome with a little ingenuity and elbow grease. You’ve got a broken ankle.”
“Hairline fracture,” she corrected. “Since you’re stating facts.”
