Fate Actually (Moonstone Cove #2) - Elizabeth Hunter Page 0,9

“Maybe it fell in the engine and he couldn’t get it out because he was bleeding everywhere.”

“Was there a lot of blood at the scene?”

Toni thought about it. “No.”

“Hmm.” Katherine looked troubled.

“Maybe it got cut off and someone took it,” Megan said. “Or the finger got lost on the way to the hospital.”

“You think someone accidentally misplaced a finger?” Toni asked. “Maybe left it on the roof of the car and drove off like it was a cup of coffee?”

“Did any of the local clinics report someone coming in with a missing finger?” Katherine asked. “If they didn’t, that leads us to a whole other set of questions.”

“Like what?” Toni asked.

“Well…” Katherine’s eyebrows went up. “The most obvious one would be: Was the person alive when the finger was detached?”

Aaaaaand there went Toni’s stomach again. “I’m gonna say that’s something Drew can figure out without us.”

Chapter 4

Toni woke up on Saturday morning and stretched with languor in the sunbeam that crossed her bed. Her foot hit something, and Shelby gave her an annoyed yowl when she fell off the end of the bed.

“Oops.” She glanced over at the cat. “Sorry.”

Shelby jumped back on the end of the bed and promptly attacked Toni’s foot.

“Ow!” She pulled her legs up. “Jeez, cat.”

The grey shorthair glared at her and let out another loud meow.

“Let me guess, a tiny portion of the bottom of your food bowl is showing.”

Shelby turned her back and showed Toni her tail, which whipped back and forth before she jumped to the windowsill.

Toni swung her legs over the bed and let her feet touch the newly refinished floorboards. The wood was cool to the touch, so she toed on her slippers and grabbed a thin cotton robe before she wandered out to the kitchen.

It was only when she got to the kitchen that she heard the distant sound of a gardening pick.

Toni closed her eyes and sighed. “Henry.”

She quickly checked Shelby’s food bowl, picked it up, and shook the kibble to the bottom of the bowl to cover the bare patch. Then she set it down and Shelby promptly began eating.

“Weirdo,” Toni muttered. She walked to the door and wrapped her robe tight before she stepped out onto the wide porch built onto the front of the house.

Her home was a Spanish-style bungalow; an ancient grapevine covered the open wooden porch, creating a thick green shade across the front of the house during the warm summer months. Now that it was fall, fat purple grapes hung over her head, and she could see the edges of the lush green leaves curling up as they started to get dry.

Across the front yard, between the stand of oaks and her peeling red barn, she saw Henry with his pick and a wheelbarrow.

She slid into her garden boots and walked across to the barn.

“Henry,” she said. “I told you I was going to do that.”

He looked up and wiped a thin sheen of sweat off his forehead. The smile he shot her was brilliant. “Hey.”

“I told you I could clear that out,” she repeated.

He leaned his pickax on the ground. “It’s not a problem. I told you and Nico I’d help.”

She squinted into the rising sun. “You don’t have enough to do at the farm?”

“Danny and the other guys already started processing. And if I want to clean up these old vines and get some cuttings to propagate them before next year, I need to get some healthy shoots going before it gets too cold.”

Along the east side of the barn, there were eight rows of ancient grapevines pruned in a goblet style. Nico guessed they were nearly one hundred years old. They’d gone completely wild in the past twenty years, but they’d survived rain and fog, so Toni knew they had to be hardy.

The small vineyard was in a part of the garden that was completely overgrown, and it wasn’t until she’d cut the long grass back that she even realized they were there. She called Nico to take a look to see if they were worth salvaging, and Nico had sent Henry, who’d become obsessed.

“You know these could be some of the original vines planted on the property,” he said, swinging the pick over his shoulder to dislodge a large chunk of concrete that had been tossed between the rows. “If I can get decent cuttings off them—and if the grapes are any good—we could propagate or clone the original varieties that were grown on this land.” He turned to