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Omens (Cainsville 1)

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I wandered over to the fence, gripped the cool metal mesh, and peered into the school yard. Picture-book quaint, like most of Cainsville. A small enclosure with a bright colored play structure, freshly mown grass, and asphalt decorated with a chalk hopscotch court. I didn't think anyone played hopscotch anymore.

A sprinkler turned on. It was dry here, the warm spring having sucked up any moisture from the other day's storm. Yet right under the fence a line of darker colored soil looked damp.

I bent and touched the line. No, it was dry. Just darker. I rubbed my fingers together. Brownish-red. Odd.

"Thinking of taking up gardening?"

I stood as Gabriel walked over. "Maybe. Depends on if I get my murder investigation or not."

"And that depends on what you're willing to pay for it." He waved to a bench outside the fence. "Let's discuss that."

----

I suspect that my terms cost me any "discount" he'd originally been willing to give. I tried to dicker, of course. He stood firm, and the set of his jaw told me he wasn't budging. It was, admittedly, a fair price for his services.

So I agreed.

"Good." He tucked his shades into his suit-coat pocket. "We'll begin tomorrow. I have an idea where we can start. I'll call you in the morning."

He started to stand.

"One more thing..." I said.

His shoulders tightened.

"I want a gun," I said.

He turned slowly and looked down at me. "A gun?"

"It was your aunt's idea."

A faint sigh.

"Hey, you wanted me to talk to her."

"No, I believe I said--"

"Don't talk to her, which you knew would make me talk to her, so in the event that I didn't take you up on your offer, you'd have a second crack at me."

"You give me too much credit, Olivia."

"No, I don't think I do. Anyway, she's right. I'm the daughter of two very unpopular people. I should have a gun."

"And you think I can provide it?"

"Ask your biker gang buddies."

"They prefer the term 'motorcycle club.'"

"I'm sure they do."

He leaned farther into the bench, lips pursed. "While I'm not against such a thing in theory, I'd need to provide lessons, too. Otherwise, I'm liable to lose my client to a fatal gun cleaning incident before she ever sees her trust fund."

"How much will you charge for those lessons?"

He considered. "A hundred dollars each. Discounted because it's in my best interest to keep you from shooting yourself."

"Fine. I want a gun I can put in my purse. Small, reliable, and cheap."



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