Free 'Til Grits Do Us Part by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page B

eyes against orange rays of sun. “You don’t want another dog by any chance, do you?” I joked.
    Ray chuckled as Adam strode across the park toward us, Christie triumphantly wrapped in his arms. Her pink tongue licking his cheek in ridiculous enthusiasm. She was big now, and leggy.
    I shot Adam a grateful smile then turned back to Ray. “Anyway, it’s good we met because I’ve been thinking since the interview, and I wanted to ask you one more question. If you don’t mind.”
    â€œSure. Shoot.” He unclipped Ginger’s leash and—wonder of wonders—left her there as she obediently sniffed under some leaves and wagged her tail. No frantic races across the park. No chewed leashes or punctured shoes.
    Maybe I should trade Christie for a schnauzer.
    I scrubbed some leaves off the bottom of my shoe, feeling silly for bringing it up. “You haven’t had any other unusual incidents, have you? Like maybe…phone calls? Packages? From someone you don’t know?”
    Ray thought a moment, pressing his index finger to his lips.
    â€œPhone calls? Well, maybe a couple. Hang ups, mainly. Probably telemarketers. Why?”
    I sucked in my breath, warning myself not to jump to conclusions. “Anything else?”
    Ray narrowed his eyes behind his rectangular glasses. “There is one thing. A letter. I got a letter the other day that makes no sense.”
    â€œWhat did it say? Do you still have it?”
    My questions must have poured out a little too quickly because Ray paused, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the big deal about a strange letter? It’s probably just a reference to some old joke I’d forgotten about. I threw it away. From one of my piano students, probably. Doesn’t everybody get unusual messages from time to time?”
    The roses
. I tensed, brushing leaves off my sleeve and avoiding his eyes. “It happens, I guess. But…not normally. No.”
    I looked over at Adam, who was striding under a thicket of lush elms, their emerald leaves shimmering against a blue-gray sky. Tiny gossamer insects hovered in a patch of glowing sun.
    â€œCan you tell me what the letter said?” I shielded my eyes again as I faced Ray.
    But Ray had paled. He sucked in his breath and took a weak step backward.
    â€œAre you okay?” I reached out a timid hand.
    â€œI’m fine. Just…yeah. Fine.” He managed a smile as Adam caught up with us, out of breath.
    â€œAdam. Thanks.” I squeezed his arm briefly then took wiggly Christie and held her warm body against my chest, regretting—for a split second—that I’d offered her to Ray. “This is my fiancé, Adam Carter. Adam, Ray Floyd. You probably saw his house in the paper this week.”
    Ray murmured a polite “how-do-you-do” and shook Adam’s hand, but his face remained clammy white. When he reached up to straighten his glasses, his fingers shook.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I exchanged glances with Adam. “Did I ask something too personal?”
    â€œNo. Sorry.” Ray ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “It’s just that the letter had…never mind. It’s silly.”
    â€œWhat did it say, Ray?” Despite the frost that had previously chilled our words, I felt Adam move a step closer to me.
    â€œWell, something odd like, ‘You’re next.’ But I can’t figure out what it means.” Before I could even move or gasp, Ray had opened his mouth to speak again. “But that’s not the weirdest part. I saw his picture in the letter.”
    â€œWhose picture?”
    â€œHis.” And Ray gestured with his head toward Adam Carter.

Chapter 6
    I drew back in surprise, banging into a thick maple limb. Christie took advantage of the pause to attempt a freedom dive, legs scrambling. But Adam caught her and anchored his fingers around her collar.
    â€œExcuse me—you saw my
what
in the