Page 74 of Auctioned to the Reaper

He takes a drink.

“Look, man, I don’t want trouble.”

“Then you picked a hell of a way to avoid it.”

I step closer.

He retreats.

“Did you break into her bakery?”

“No.”

“Did you smash her windows?”

“I said no.”

“Did you write that message on her wall?”

His eyes dart toward the street.

There it is.

“Fuck you,” he mutters.

I laugh.

Not because anything’s funny.

Because I’m about three seconds away from putting my fist through his teeth.

“Wrong answer.”

He sets the beer on a table beside the door.

“Look, I just wanted you to leave town.”

I go still.

“What?”

He swallows.

“People were talking. About you coming back. About the accident.”

“And?”

“And I don’t need everybody bringing that shit up again.”

I stare at him.

“You broke into Autumn’s bakery because you don’t want people talking about the accident?”

“I didn’t mean for things to get so messed up.”

“Did you write the message?”

He looks away.