I Told the Mob Boss I Would Not Be Bought, So He Offered to Be Sold novel · Chapter 20 of 24

Chapter 20: The Last Lot

Detty's POV

The envelope held three photographs and no note.

I opened it on the piazza at seven in the morning with a cup of Honorine's coffee going cold beside me.

The first photograph was my father's gravestone on the Edisto, taken that week, with fresh flowers I had not put there.

The second was the barn, from the road, at night, with the tack-room window lit.

The third was Lawson Pelham's truck in the gravel of my yard.

I laid them on the table side by side.

"He's telling me he watched," I said.

"He's telling you he's frightened," said Anson.

"Same thing."

"No."

I looked up.

He had not slept at all, and it showed under his eyes, but his hand was steady on the arm of the rocker.

"A man who isn't afraid doesn't send a driver at one in the morning," he said. "He sends a lawyer in the afternoon."

I gathered up the photographs and put them back in the envelope.

"Then he'll be in the first row," I said. "With his back to the wall."

"He's nothing without the room."

"I'll give him the room."

I wore the grey dress.

Honorine pressed it herself, standing at her old ironing board in the kitchen with her cane hooked on the table, and she would not let me help.

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