Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

Sliding my mental hand in hers, I stumbled on despite the pain in my foot that now vibrated right up my leg. The water hit my toes first, my feet sinking into the wet as foam covered my exposed skin. With the shock of cold came reason.

“Ah, fuck!” The moon boot was wet.

Not soaked, but it would be soon if I didn’t back off.

Turned out it was harder to go backward on sand than to just turn and walk up the beach. Despite that, I had to force myself to turn my back to the smashing waves. Two surfers in the distance crested a massive wave as I finally succeeded, their ­wet-­suited forms streaks in my peripheral vision. The warm sand felt gritty and unwelcoming on the walk back, and my leg pulsed with pain.

Cold or not, sweat slicked my sweater to my back by the time I collapsed beside my cane. I sat there for long minutes, just relearning to breathe. The ghost of my mother danced in the waves, motioning me toward her. Beside me lay the fragile ruins of the spiral shell.

A wet breath by my ear, a rough tongue licking my face.

“Rocco! Stop!” A petite brunette grabbed the ruff of the cheerful golden retriever that had licked me. “I’m so sorry! He loves people.”

I petted the excited dog’s head. I liked animals. I didn’t go around poisoning them. “No harm done. He’s a beauty.”

Her cheeks rounded, her hazel eyes warm. “Isn’t he? My best friend.”

Though Rocco pulled on the leash, ready to move on, his owner lingered. “You’re here alone?” A glance at my leg.

“Yeah, had to get away from my keepers.” I made it a joke and she laughed, her hair sparkling in the sunshine. “Is Rocco your boyfriend?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m single.”

Two minutes later, I had her number, and she was walking away with her impatient ­dog—­and a fluttering wave over her shoulder. I might call her. She was pretty and sweet and I could do with a little sweetness.

Paige had ­been … complicated, and look how that had ended. So totally that she hadn’t even bothered to call after I wound up in the hospital. Sometimes, I wanted to ask her if I’d really been that bad. If I’d pushed her until she had no mercy for me anymore.

Today, however, I had other ­priorities—­and a strong data signal.

I looked away from the ghost dancing in the waves.

The first thing I did was search the Companies Office Register. It confirmed that Lily Chairat was the sole director ­of—­and shareholder ­in—­the café.

Her home address was listed as the café, which wasn’t per ­regulations—­but I knew a lot of company directors who “forgot” to update their details. I couldn’t blame them. A raging man had once turned up at my father’s house when I was a ­teenager—­an unhappy ex-­employee who’d decided to take his complaint right to the top.

I next went looking for signs of any possible bankruptcy proceedings against the Henare family.

Nothing. Not even any reported rumors of financial trouble.

Staring out at the beckoning waves one final time, I decided to head back. Time had passed quickly once I began my searches, and it was now 1 p.m. Just enough time for me to get a bite to eat before I made my next move. Lily usually closed around two, to reopen for three hours from six to nine for “quick bites,” and I’d noticed that she always drove somewhere after her day session.

The clouds parted to haze the world in a misty rain as I drove home.

I didn’t enter the Cul-­de-­Sac but waited in the ­tree-­shadowed drive of a home set off by itself on Scenic Drive. One of the older properties in this area, it wasn’t anything as exclusive as the Cul-­de-­Sac. The forest had crept closer and closer to it, until the steep drive was barely navigable. From the tiny glimpse I caught of the house at the end, I noted a carpet of fallen leaves on the roof.

The overhanging bush created plenty of shadows in which to park my nondescript vehicle.

Lily’s silver compact drove past not long afterward. I gave myself plenty of time before pulling out behind her, the rain my accomplice. With this bland block of a car, I’d fade into the background unless she was paying attention. I half expected her to stop at the site of my mother’s grave, but though she slowed, she carried ­on … for only about five minutes, before she pulled into the drive of a home of cedar and glass set back against the green of the forest.

Sliding my car to a halt behind a fortuitously parked ­phone-­company van, I watched her get out. The front door opened to reveal a stunning blonde in a skintight red dress. She brought a cigarette to her lips, took a drag. But though she appeared brazen, she stepped back when Lily walked toward her.

The two women disappeared inside.

The door shut.

Not sure quite what I’d seen but with time on my hands, I decided to wait. More movement on the drive a bare ten minutes later. Another stunner, this one a ­brown-­skinned brunette in an old Mini Cooper that all but rattled when it moved.

Twenty minutes later, two more cars arrived, both in considerably better condition.

A gleaming black Lexus, and a white Audi. The Lexus arrived first. Parking next to Lily’s compact, the ­black-­clad man who got out glanced around the hushed green privacy of the area with a furtive look before walking up to the front door.

The blonde welcomed him with a kiss.

Audi was a pudgy ­executive-­type who walked like he owned the world. Brunette for him.

But even though I waited and waited, no one came for Lily. Meanwhile, blonde and brunette had both welcomed three men each over the course of three hours.

Lily finally exited around ­five-­thirty. I didn’t follow her, well aware of her destination. Instead, I waited for the brunette with the