Page 4 of Wicked Little Secret
It figures Heather would be more concerned with the potential inheritance she’ll receive in the wake of her oil tycoon father’s death. He was found poisoned in his office barely two weeks ago, slumped over his desk with the heart-shaped card.
Speculation had broken out in the media and throughout our wealthy enclave known as Castlebury that the murder was eerily similar to the Valentine Killer, some serial killer from two decades ago.
But none of that matters to Heather Driscoll. She loathed her father and sees the funeral as a celebration of his murder.
“Okay, this is it,” she says. “This is the look. What do you think, Nyssie? Isn’t it per—AHHH!”
Her scream comes seemingly out of nowhere, her arms flailing in the air as she almost tips over.
It’s not until I catch sight of orange fur whizzing by that I realize what’s scared her.
Peaches scurries across my room at blurring speed, slowing down only once she’s at my feet. I smile and crouch low to scoop her up in my arms.
“It’s just Peaches,” I say, scratching the cat under her chin. “She’s harmless.”
Heather sniffles. “We have different definitions of harmless, Nyssie. She came out of nowhere. No wonder I don’t do pets.”
“They don’t seem fond of you either.”
“Probably because I’d Cruella De Vil them,” she says with a laugh. “Only kidding! I know you love your little orange fur ball. Anyway, I should get going. I’m meeting up with someone special.”
“And who would that be?”
“Some secrets aren’t meant for repeating, Nyssie. Not even to you. So is that a yes on the eulogy?”
Peaches settles into the crook of my arm as I stroke her spine. “I’ll proofread what you come up with. That’s all.”
“I knew I could count on you. You’re the best. Way better than Katie. See you tomorrow for orientation?”
Heather Driscoll hardly waits for my answer as she promptly collects her purse and the shopping bags she’s brought with her to my apartment and then shows herself out. As she strides through the door, I catch snippets of the phone call she’s making, likely to the special someone she mentioned.
Already moving on from her impromptu visit to my apartment.
It’s a relief more than anything.
I prefer a warning when I’m going to have to deal with her.
Andmostpeople in Castlebury.
I’m not even a fan of the idea that I’ll be attending Kane Driscoll’s funeral. The wealthy oil tycoon had reeked of cigars and had a penchant for pinching the asses of his female staff; he’d been sued for sexual harassment too many times to count.
But the rest of the Driscoll family’s hardly better. The rest of the community in Castlebury isn’t winning any Good Samaritan awards anytime soon either.
Mom hates that I’ve chosen to return to her alma mater.
I transferred my junior year at Roseburg so I could go to Castlebury University and finish my undergrad in Art History. She was even more upset when she learned I’d stay at Castlebury U for law school.
I went through with it anyway.
Where better to excel academically than at the same university that had destroyed my family’s life two decades before?
“Don’t worry, Peaches,” I whisper to the ginger cat. “You won’t have to deal with Driscoll much longer. We’ll get the last laugh.”
She purrs softly as if understanding what I’ve said. I set her loose to answer my iPhone. Without glancing at the screen, I’m aware of who it is.
“You can still change your mind,” Mom says as her version of hello. “Say the word, Nys, and I’ll be there to pick you up.”
I give a laugh as if she’s told a joke. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be fine.”