Chapter 6: The Ring Receipt

Cass showed up on Sunday morning with a foil pan, a bag of potatoes and a face ready to fight.

"I made breakfast for six," she said. "Don't ask why."

"Why?"

"Because I was angry at eleven last night and I had a lot of cheese."

She came in past me and set the pan on my counter.

Cass Dunning had been my best friend since the seventh grade.

She was five feet four, curly-haired, a line cook, and she could carry a stockpot full of soup up a flight of stairs without spilling.

She looked at my knee, then at the dog asleep on my kitchen floor.

"That's him," she said.

"That's Bear."

"He's on your couch cushion."

"He picked it."

"Is the biker here?"

"No," I said. "Why would the biker be here?"

"Because you've said 'Holt says' three times since I walked in."

"I said it once."

"You said it three times, and I know what 'Holt says' means."

I handed her a plate.

My phone lay face-up on the counter, and Brent's message still sat there.

I picked up the phone and typed back to him.

"No. All eleven thousand two hundred, in full, by Friday. Or I take it to the owner with the transfers."

I hit send, and I felt ten pounds lighter.

Cass read it over my shoulder and whistled.

"You're having a moment."

"I'm having a month."

She pulled my phone toward her and scrolled my banking app, tapping each transfer with her fork.

"March, April, May. June. Another June." She stopped. "August. Four thousand dollars. That's three times the usual."

"He said the house inspection was expensive."

"Joni, you can't inspect a house that doesn't exist."

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