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

get any better. Just satisfy the terms of the contract by turning in another book that isn’t total bull crap and I’ll get you an ­eight-­figure deal for your next book.”

I shoved a hand through my hair. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Cc me.” Gigi was no rookie. “Here’s the deal, ­Aarav—­you’re the big new thing for about five more seconds. You can either ride that wave into a massive career, or you can crash and burn and be that ­has-­been ­one-­hit wonder. Don’t think the latter looks good on you.” Then she hung up.

Gigi knew me. I was too arrogant to accept being labeled a ­one-­hit wonder.

Hauling myself out of bed, I tested my foot by putting a little weight on it. It still hurt, but not as bad as yesterday. I went to the bathroom first, then to my laptop. Pulling up the file for my next book, I saw I had about eighty pages. I was about to email my editor when I had a moment of clarity and realized I might be assassinating my own career.

Instead, I emailed the partial to Gigi, writing:

Read this and tell me if it’s shit.

Then I picked up the notebook again and, after skimming over my final notes, put through a call to Constable Neri.

She answered after three rings. “Aarav.”

“Constable Neri, I’ve been thinking about the money.” There was some information I just couldn’t get without official help. Sure, I could ask my father to flex his business muscles and contacts, but I hadn’t forgotten that scream. Of all the people who could’ve hurt my mother, my father remained at the top of the list.

“Yes?” she said, when I paused.

“Two new local businesses started up in the year after my mother’s disappearance.”

“Flex Gym and the Corner Café.”

“Touché. Do you know where they got the money?”

“I can’t divulge that information.”

I ignored the hint that was her curt tone. “How much luck are you having with the residents of the Cul-­de-­Sac?”

“We have our methods. I suggest you don’t attempt an investigation of your own. You may have done some research, but you’re no professional.”

Oh, ouch. “I might be a hack writer,” I drawled, “but I’m also Nina’s son. She never gave up and neither will I.”

“You realize you could be contaminating the investigation?”

“I’ll do my best not to tread on any toes.” I didn’t care about a court ­case—­I cared about justice. An eye for an eye. A death for a death. Whoever had turned my mother into bones in the quiet green deserved the same fate.

“You do that, Aarav. We’d also like to have a chat with you.”

“Do you need me to come into the station?” That’d give the media plenty to salivate over.

“No, we can come to you. Are you available tomorrow morning?”

“Sure.” I considered my options. “But not here.” I couldn’t be certain who might be in the house at the time. “I’ll meet you at my apartment in the city.”

“Ten o’clock?”

Not missing that she hadn’t asked me for the address, I said, “Sure. See you then.” After hanging up, I wondered if they’d already spoken to my father and what he’d told them. Had he spun the same story he’d been trying to sell me, about me being the reason the silk carpet had disappeared that night?

Rain hit the windows with a clatter that had me jumping.

Getting up, I walked over to the balcony and opened up the doors. As I stood there, propped up by my crutches, watching the sky darken, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine. The bike appeared out of the rain seconds later, a sleek black thing with red accents. The rider in the front was wearing black leather, his helmet pure black. Someone smaller sat at the back.

When the bike turned into the Henare residence, I knew it was Riki. I didn’t need to see him take off his helmet, but I picked up my binoculars and watched nonetheless. As I’d watched as a teenager, fascinated by the older boy’s life. He didn’t open up the garage, instead parking in the drive and taking off his helmet. He just sat there for long moments, his head lifted up to allow the rain to hit his face and wash down his neck.

His passenger, in contrast, ran over to the dry area shadowed by the front of the house and took off her helmet. Wild black curls tumbled out over her back to kiss her butt. She was laughing and holding out her arms, her face golden brown with finely pointed features. A feline kind of face but the cute type rather than the slinkier version.

Riki finally walked over to wrap her up in his arms and lay a kiss on her.

It was hot and heavy and worthy of a romance movie.

It was also unadulterated bullshit.

I headed back to my desk. I had to think about this. And I did my best thinking at the computer. My phone rang just as I sat down.

“It’s not good,” Gigi said, “it’s fucking great! You’re going to make me rich. I’ve sent it to Finch.” She hung up.

Ego buoyed, I returned to my writing, but all the while, my mind was working on another problem altogether. When Shanti knocked on the door to ask if I wanted to join everyone for dinner, I was deep in the book, but I nodded.

My stomach reminded me ­that—­despite getting pixie girl to carry up the ­sandwiches—­all I’d eaten that day was cake, fudge, and more sweets that I’d grabbed from the drawer. I also wanted to talk to my father. But when I got downstairs, it was to find him in no mood to talk.

“That detective and his sidekick came into my business and interrogated me,” he snarled when I entered the dining ­room—­he was sitting alone while Shanti finished up in the kitchen. “Who do they think they are? I’ll have their badges.”

“They’re just doing their job.” I took my seat. “Don’t you want them to find Mum’s murderer?”

“It was