She Killed Me at Christmas. I Came Back. Chapter 04

She Killed Me at Christmas. I Came Back. Chapter 04

“Four hundred grand in cash?” Cousin Dale snorted into his coffee, the whole living room watching. “Big talk,

Grant. Anybody can run their mouth. Let’s see it.”

“Fine.” Grant grinned and headed for the stairs. “Watch me.”

Two minutes later, his voice floated down-tight, strange. “Sloane? Where’d you put the duffel? it’s not in the

closet.”

I kept my face blank as glass. “I don’t know. Brynn reorganized everything yesterday. Ask her.”

Through the kitchen doorway, I saw Brynn’s shoulders stiffen at the stove.

And I smiled, because I already knew exactly what was left of four hundred thousand dollars.

Ash.

It had started an hour earlier, with the whole Whitlock clan crammed into the living room-Aunt Carol asking why Grant never bought his folks so much as a decent winter coat, Dale’s wife mentioning the truck twice, Patty bragging that her son made “executive money in the city.”

Grant had stood, flicked invisible lint from his sleeve, and said, oh so casually:

“I figured instead of gifts, I’d give Mom and Dad cash. Four hundred thousand. They can buy whatever they

want.”

The room had gone dead silent, then erupted. Four hundred-? Bull. Prove it.

So now here we were. Grant tearing the guest room apart upstairs. Me, walking into the kitchen with manufactured panic all over my face.

“Brynn. The leather duffel from our room. Where is it? I need it right now.”

A flash of pure, savage triumph crossed her face before the mask slid on-wide eyes, wobbling lip.

“Oh no. Oh, Sloane, no. The fire kept dying last night, and I couldn’t find kindling, so I- she pressed her fingers to her mouth, “-I used what was in that old bag. It caught so fast.”

I raised my voice, letting it crack through the house. “You BURNED it? Brynn, do you have any idea what was in there?!”

“You said it wasn’t important!” Tears, instantly, beautifully. “I thought you said everything was whatever!”

Grant came through the doorway like a storm front, irritation all over his face-aimed, of course, at me.

“Sloane, what are you doing to her now?”

“Grant, it’s my fault,” Brynn whimpered, “I misheard and burned something of Sloane’s, I feel terrible-

“It was an accident.” Grant’s voice was pure ice-for me. “Maybe keep track of your own stuff instead of screaming at her on Christmas morning.” Then, softening like butter as he turned: “Hey Hey, don’t cry Keep that up and you’ll get all blotchy, little spotted kitten.”

Brynn nestled into his chest. Over his shoulder, she shot me a look of naked, gloating victory

“You’re always so good to me, Grant.”

He chuckled into her hair. “So what’d you burn that’s got her so hysterical, hm?”

Brynn’s voice went sweet as syrup. “Just that black leather duffel from your closet.”

I watched it happen in real time-the chuckle dying in his throat, his arms going rigid around her, the blood

leaving his face floor by floor like a building going dark.

“The…” He swallowed. “Which duffel.”

I stepped forward, helpful as a Hallmark card.

“You know the one, honey. The duffel with your four hundred thousand dollars in it. Your savings. Plus the quarter million you borrowed against the condo.” I tilted my head toward the wood stove, where a fine gray ash still dusted the grate. “That cozy little fire she built last night? That was it. You’re standing in the most expensive heated kitchen in the county.”

Brynn went white so fast I thought she’d faint. “That’s-no. No, that was Sloane’s bag. Why would your money be in-” Her voice spiraled up into a shriek. “You SWITCHED it! Sloane, you switched it on purpose, you set me

up-”

My hand moved before I finished deciding to move it.

The slap cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, dead quiet. “I told you-twice-not to touch that bag. Grant told you. You waited until midnight, dug it out of our closet, and fed it to the fire anyway.” I leaned in. “So tell me, Brynn. Does ‘don’t touch

it’ only count when it’s your things burning?”

From the living room, Dale’s voice boomed down the hall:

“Grant! We’re waiting’ on that four hundred grand, big shot! Or was it all talk?”