Page 103 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
I lifted my head off Hunter’s shoulder to meet his gaze. “Some reporter was calling me a couple months ago, wanting details about Everett. It wasn’t the first time a reporter has called so I just ignored them. But they’ve finally stopped. I guess they found someone who was actually newsworthy.”
“Wait.” Sabrina held up a hand. “That seems strange. Your story was dead years ago. Why is it of interest now?”
“I don’t know. Any ideas?” Sabrina had once been an investigative journalist in Seattle. If any one of us knew why my story was still garnering interest from the press, it would be her.
Before Sabrina could answer, Hunter asked, “What did he say?”
“It was a she, actually, and I only talked to her twice. The first time, she asked if I was the Maisy Holt who had murdered Everett Carlson. The second time, she asked if I was ready to talk about it.”
“Where did the calls come from? Which media outlet?” Hunter asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I never asked. Why?”
“Just curious.” His eyes dropped to his plate and he got a faraway look. “Do you have her number?”
I shook my head again. “No, it always came up as Unknown.”
His forehead furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just figured they’d stop.”
“And now they have, thank goodness.” Mom stood and started clearing more dishes. “Let’s just hope that was the last reporter.”
Sabrina still looked confused, like she wanted to keep discussing the reporter, but Dad came to my rescue and changed the subject. “Let’s talk about the party before Coby gets back. Everything set for Thursday?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just need to get some balloons. Gigi is making the cupcakes. Mom has all the other food. I’ve got the decorations.”
I refused to let this custody hearing impact Coby’s birthday Thursday, and no matter what the judge said, he was getting a party. Just like the other three birthday parties he’d had, we were having a barbeque at Mom and Dad’s. This year’s theme was water. Michael was building a Slip’N Slide and we were giving all the kids water guns, then telling them to go crazy. And tomorrow, Beau, Michael and Hunter were building my present to my son.
His bunk bed.
“What did you guys get Coby this year?” Beau asked Mom as she came back from the kitchen.
“We got him those neon shirt-and-shorts sets he loves so much and some shoes that light up when he walks.”
It was the perfect gift. Coby was obsessed with neon clothes, something his nana knew well—unlike Eleanor Carlson. Why? Because she’d never made an effort. She’d just filed her custody dispute like a coward.
“Hunter, what did you get?” Beau’s question stopped my internal rant.
Hunter, who had been staring absently at his plate, jerked at the question. “Sorry. What was that?”
“What did you get Coby?” Beau repeated.
“A new fishing pole.”
Sabrina smiled. “He’ll love that.”
Hunter smiled back. “He’s going to love the new fishing boat I bought last week too.”
“Hold up. What?” My mouth fell open. “You bought a boat? When? How did I not know about this?”
In addition to working my ass off at the motel, I’d nearly completed decorating Hunter’s house. We’d had a sleepover there two nights ago. How had I missed a boat?
He chuckled. “You need to spend more time in the garage, Blondie.” He stood from his seat and bent down to kiss my forehead. “I need to make a quick call. Be back.”
“Why would I go in the garage?” I asked Sabrina. “Wait, do garages need decorating? Should I get some of those industrial shelves or something?”
Beau and Dad shared a look.
