Page 4 of Resurrection
When was the last time I even had a flicker of interest in a man, physical or otherwise?
The call connected.
“Hello?” The man’s voice was husky and deep, like he’d just drunk a whiskey after smoking cigars all day.
Does he have an accent?
“Hi. A tattoo artist at Voodoo Ink gave us this number.”
“And who is this?”
He definitely has an accent. French maybe?
“Jury Kilgore. And Imogen Kilgore.”
“Ah. Good. I have something for you.”
Definitely French.
“Who is this?” Jury asked him.
“Not important. But what I have for you is. It’s from your … sister.”
“She’s alive?” Jury breathed the words more than spoke them.
“My condolences. That is not what I meant.”
“Mount left something. Didn’t he?” Imogen’s question burst forth.I knew it. From beyond the grave, his hands are still pulling the strings.
“I don’t know what you mean by that. But meet me at this address, and I will give you what your sister left for you in my care. Write this down.” He paused, as if waiting for them to be ready.
“I have a pen in the center console. Hold on.” Imogen unlatched it and grabbed a business card and pen. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“Meet at 912 Dumaine. Eight p.m. Wear Seven Sinners shirts. Ring the bell once,” he said, and then the call ended.
Jury stared at the phone. “Whoa. Did he sound sexy or what?”
“That’s what you got? From that whole call?”
“What? Like a … sexy French mountain lion. All growly and stuff.” Her sister shivered. “I hope he’s not ugly. That would bemucho disappointado.”
“I don’t think that’s a real Spanish word.”
“And I don’t care. Eight p.m. Tonight. At 912 Dumaine.” Jury paused. “Do you even have a Seven Sinners shirt?”
“Of course I do. Somewhere.”
“Hope so ’cause that gift shop ain’t coming back.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Dad tell you? They’re taking the insurance money and not rebuilding. He and Mom don’t want to, and neither of us ever wanted to make whiskey, so it’s truly the end of an era.”
Imogen hadn’t known, and while there was a pang of grief at her family’s whiskey brand dying with Keira, Jury was right about one thing: she didn’t want to take that on. It had been Keira’s passion. Just like hers was the sea and the incredible world beneath its surface. There, in the silence, life made sense to Imogen. Sharks did shark things. Coral did coral things. Fish did fish things. They were predictable, unlike humans, who walked on land.
“Come on. Let’s go. I need to find a shirt, and Mom and Dad want to have a family dinner tonight.”
Imogen reached for the button to start the SUV, but paused when Jury’s hand landed on her arm.
