Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
A raucous noise rises up in the air. Farther up the stream, a cock chases the hens. They stretch their wings and protest loudly as they flee.
Toma straightens and wipes his mouth on the handkerchief. His lips are pale, and his skin has a greenish tint.
I head back toward the herder who observes us quietly.
“What about them goats, sir?” he asks when I reach him.
I slap a few bills in his hand. “I’ll handle it.”
Toma scurries up the hill. He slips and slides back down. Finally, he resorts to using his hands to find purchase in the mud. I get into the car as he drags himself out of that stink hole like a chimpanzee on all fours. When he reaches the passenger side, I throw a packet of wet wipes through the window. He catches it in mid-air, looking mildly embarrassed.
While he wipes his hands clean, I dial the emergency service and report the death. I’ll stick around for a couple of days until the police report has been filed and all the logistics are wrapped up. The coroner will request an autopsy to determine the cause of death before issuing the death certificate.
I’m ending the call when Toma flops down on the passenger seat, leans his head on the backrest, and breathes through an open mouth.
“Find out who the farmer is,” I say as I start the engine. “Get hold of him, and tell him I’ll send someone to get the goats off his property. I’ll pay grazing fees for a month. That should cover it.”
He winds down the window and wipes a hand over his sweaty brow. “What are you going to do with all those fucking goats?” A shudder runs over his body. “And those chickens?” Mumbling to himself, he adds, “I never knew chickens were so fucking ugly.”
I chuckle. “Chickens aren’t ugly.”
He shoots me an incredulous look.
“I’m going to sell them,” I say. “The money should go to the kids.” Not that they need it, but it’s the gesture that matters.
“Fuck.” He lifts his head and blinks. “For how long do you think he’s been dead?”
“A week or so.”
“Fuck,” he says again. “What do you think he died from?”
“It could’ve been a number of things—heart attack, stroke, infection, pneumonia, food poisoning… He could’ve fallen and broken a bone that eventually immobilized him.”
He ponders that in silence. After a beat, he says, “I don’t want to die like that. Fuck, man.”
“You won’t.” My tone is dry. “You’ll never live like a hermit in a shack with a herd of goats and a flock of chickens.”
He takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Don’t smoke in my car.”
He puts away the smokes with a pout.
I let him sulk for a while before I say, “You’re smoking now?”
“Been a while.”
I raise a brow. “Wedding nerves?”
He scoffs.
“How are the arrangements coming along?” I ask.
“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Her family is handling everything.”
I grip his shoulder. “You okay?”
For a fleeting moment, something like guilt flashes in his eyes, but he schools his features before I can get an accurate read on him.
“Yeah,” he says, pursing his lips. “I’m fine.”
I put my hand back on the wheel, navigating the narrow road that zigzags down the mountain.
Our conversation falls quiet. Toma stares through the windscreen with a brooding expression for the rest of the way. It’s not until I reach home that a message from my contact in the force comes through on my phone.
It’s done. Lieutenant Lavigne is on his way.
Chapter
Thirteen
Sabella
* * *
At home, I charge the phone, switch it off, and look for a hiding place. I settle on the air vent in the lounge. It’s easy enough to unscrew the cover. As it will take too much time to put the screws back after each time I use the phone, I clip the cover back in place and shove the screws into the back of a drawer in the kitchen.
My hands shake a little when I’m done. I’m both ecstatic and scared about finally having a phone at my disposal that’s not limited to my husband’s number. If Angelo finds out, I don’t even want to think what he’ll do. Roch took a huge risk. Of course, if it ever comes out—heaven forbid—I’m not going to tell Angelo who gave me the phone.
The burner phone functions with a pay-as-you-go system. It’s not on contract. I can’t call or text internationally, so contacting my family is out of the question. But I can communicate with the people in town and let my friends know when I can’t make it to the village to fulfill my casual jobs. I’ll use the money Roch preloaded sparingly. As I earn more money, I can buy prepaid phone cards to top up my call time.
I never take the phone Angelo gave me with me when I go to the village because I’m scared he’s tracking it. I always make sure it’s charged, but I keep it in the nightstand drawer. Carrying Roch’s phone on me will be a big reassurance.