Darkness at the Edge of Town (Iris Ballard #2)(23)

“I don’t recommend the experience, no.”

“Is it true they’re gonna make a movie about it?” one of the women asked.

“There have been talks, yes.”

“Who is going to play you? Melissa McCarthy?” Merrill asked under her breath.

“God, I wish! She’s awesome!” I said.

“Well, I think that guy from Outlander should play your boyfriend,” Rachel said.

That knocked me off my smug perch momentarily. “My…boyfriend? Luke?”

“Yeah! Did he come here with you or—”

“Luke isn’t my boyfriend,” I chuckled nervously.

“But didn’t I read somewhere you two were having an affair right before you got your husband murdered?” Merrill asked.

My mouth twitched. Okay, she got that point. Two–one. Bitch. I was shocked it was actually Rachel who hissed, “Merrill!”

“What? I read it in a magazine. They can’t publish it if it isn’t true.”

“Have you seen him? Can you blame her?” one of the other women said, and the rest laughed. God bless her.

“We’re just friends now.” I think.

“Too bad. You’re not getting any younger, you know. Your biological clock is ticking,” Merrill said. “Oh, wait, sorry. I also heard you had to have a hysterectomy after that Rosetta guy stabbed you. Bet you regretted that abortion after that.”



Some of the others gasped. “Jesus Christ, Merrill,” Rachel said.

“I actually don’t regret it for a moment,” I said. “Not everyone’s meant to stay stuck in their hometown contributing nothing to the world but keeping Lululemon and Napa vineyards in business.”

“You’re the only lush here,” Merrill snapped.

“Really? Did your mother die? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Merrill’s mouth twitched again. “Better an alcoholic than a bipolar whore.”

“Merrill!” Rachel hissed.

“It’s fine. I’m used to her insecure antics.” The customer at the cash register finally left and it was the women’s turn. Time to piss on her cornflakes. “Hey, do you mind if I cut in front of you all? I have an appointment with the sheriff.”

“Of course,” Rachel said and the other women, save for Merrill, nodded.

“You all are so sweet! Thank you.” With my best shit-eating grin for my dear half-sister, I moved past them and ordered eight pastries. I heard them all whispering behind me, but it was all good things. Merrill must have been dying inside. That brought a smirk to my face. Pastries in hand, I spun back around. “Thanks again, ladies. It was lovely meeting you all.” I nodded at my half-sister. “Merrill. Give my regards to our father. Excuse me.”

I stalked out of the coffeehouse with my head held high and had made it a few steps on the sidewalk when Rachel called, “Iris, wait!” I turned back around as she approached. “I just, I’m sorry for her. She’s…you know.”



“Oh, believe me, I know.”

Rachel smiled but dropped it slowly. “And I just wanted to say…I’m sorry for school too. How I treated you. It was wrong and mean and stupid and petty and what we did when you, you know…that was just evil. We put you through hell. It’s always bothered me. I am so, so sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting that. “I forgive you. It was a long time ago.”

“Thank you. I always felt shitty, even then. My dad worked for her dad; now my husband works for him too. I’m stuck, you know?” she chuckled nervously. “And she’s not horrible all of the time. She can actually be sweet when she wants to be.”

“So was Lucretia Borgia,” I pointed out, “but I appreciate your apology.”

“Long overdue. I’ll let you, uh, get to your appointment. See you around.”

I watched as Rachel reluctantly returned to her “friends” and when she was out of sight, I smirked to myself. The homecoming queen had just apologized to the abortion whore. Hadn’t seen that coming. I could get used to this hometown hero deal, I thought as I strolled down the street toward the Sheriff’s station two blocks away.

My former home away from home hadn’t changed since I’d last graced its halls almost twenty years before. The bronze plaques had more names on them, and the benches had more carved graffiti, but beyond that the carpet was the same grimy blue, the chairs in the waiting room were still ghastly yellow plastic monstrosities, and Joyce Hernandez still sat at the front desk typing away on an ancient computer with her ridiculously long acrylic pink nails, her silver hair as always in its messy bun held by decorative sticks. When I was ten I asked her why she sported the nails and sticks, and she told me that way she has two weapons at hand that most would overlook in a battle. I adored her from that moment on.



“One moment, please,” Joyce said, holding up one of her talons as I approached.

“Is the eBay auction ending? What was it this time, another signed Steelers jersey? Don’t you have ten of them already?” I asked.

Joyce gazed up from the computer and after a second her mouth dropped open. I loved when people did that. “Holy…Iris? Oh, my God!” She quickly rounded the counter and rushed over to me, pulling me into a strong hug.