Page 101 of Lucky Haven

“And what part did you play in that?” That’s a question I should have asked much, much sooner. “Did you put your hand on that scale? The way you manipulated me? The way you’re probably manipulating Kaitlyn now?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get to tell me to be quiet. Cash and I didn’t do anything to you, or that girl.” I take a step toward him. “You disgust me.”

He catches me by the arm. “Stay.”

I yank free. “I don’t think I will.”

He grabs at me again. “I won’t let you ruin everything.”

I evade him, but I overcorrect and go spinning.

And that’s when I see the New Harvest van parked in the shadows, the side door already open.

I gasp, Cash’s name on the tip of my tongue, ready to split the air with a scream, and Jeb’s arm snaps around me, his hand covering my mouth.

“Don’t,” he says softly. “You’ll just make everything worse.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cash

When I don’t find Haven anywhere at the fair, and I can’t get her on the phone, I hop in the truck and drive to her apartment. It’s dark and locked up tight. The house is so still, I don’t think anyone is inside. Not Haven, not her landlady upstairs.

I go back to the fairgrounds and park right up front, in a spot vacated by an early departure.

As I stalk back through the gates, my eyes fall on the New Harvest table.

Meghan and Kaitlyn Pelley are standing behind the table. Fuck it, time to make some people uncomfortable.

I stop in front of them. “Have you seen Haven Bingham go past?” I don’t expect the teenager to go as white as a ghost. I zero in on her. “What is it?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Did you see her?”

“No— not here.” She stumbles and says too much.

“Where?”

Her mother interrupts before Kaitlyn can say any more. “Excuse me, why are you grilling my daughter?”

“Because she knows something.” I don’t care how rude or rough that sounds. “Don’t you, Kaitlyn?”

She hunches her shoulders in, her gaze dropping to the table.

To a notebook.

I follow her eyes, and before she can grab it, I reach over and snatch it.

The paper inside is fucking familiar.

So is the handwriting.

And the pages are filled with observations and gossip about Haven.

“What’s this?” I raise my voice. “What the fuck is this?”