The Last Straw (The Jigsaw Files #4) - Sharon Sala Page 0,96
pancake, then gave it a quick flip. It landed raw side down in a perfect little plop, revealing a golden-brown surface on the side they’d just cooked.
“Perfect! It looks perfect!” Wyrick said.
“Now you do the rest,” Charlie said. “Just wait for the bubbles.”
Within seconds the next one was ready to turn. She struggled a little and then got it turned, and after that she was a pancake-making machine, flipping each one as if she’d done it all her life.
“Now check the first one we turned to see if it’s done,” Charlie said and showed her how. “Looks done to me,” he said and took it off the griddle.
Again, she followed his instructions with surgical precision and had the six-stack done, and all she could do was stare at it.
“I just made pancakes,” she said, then looked at the rest of the batter. “You can have those. I’m going to make more,” she said and turned her back on Charlie to begin adding new batter to the grill.
Charlie carried them to the table, got the butter and syrup and, as he ate, watched the joy and satisfaction on her face as she kept making and flipping pancakes until the batter was gone and she had a platter full of pancakes, which she carried to the table.
She sat, took four pancakes from the platter to make her stack, buttering and adding syrup between each one and then added a little extra to the top one.
When she took the first bite, she rolled her eyes in delight, then chewed, swallowed and sighed.
“Thank you, Charlie. For the first time in my life, I have accomplished something I didn’t innately already know. You cannot imagine how this feels. The only thing I can relate it to is sex.”
Charlie choked. Jesus and Mary.
And then he remembered. She’d had a fiancé. They must have been intimate before she got sick. Why did he think she’d never—He stopped himself. But the image of her in unbridled passion, those long legs wrapped around a man’s body, put a knot in his belly that had nothing to do with all the pancakes he’d eaten.
“Happy to have been of service,” he said, then stared down at his plate, afraid she’d go all psychic and know what he was thinking.
Wyrick, completely unaware she’d stirred up more than pancake batter with Charlie Dodge, took a sip of lukewarm coffee and then finished her breakfast.
“We have leftover pancakes,” she said. “What do we do with those?”
“You can reheat them. They’re not as good, but they’re worth keeping,” he said.
“Awesome,” she said and got up to hunt for some plastic wrap.
“You cooked. I’ll clean up,” Charlie said.
“Deal,” Wyrick said. “I need to check the stock market, call my broker and finish up a new game for PlayStation VR.”
Charlie blinked. “I’ll just be here washing dishes,” he said.
“’Kay,” she said and walked out, completely unaware of how unbelievably awesome she was.
“Well, she couldn’t make pancakes,” Charlie muttered and began cleaning off the table.
* * *
The following day was Monday, and by daylight the forensic team from the Texas Bureau of Investigation was on site at the old Burch property east of Dallas.
By 9 a.m. they’d found the first body. It took hours to photograph and dig it up and bag it.
They found the second body just after three and again, they spent hours photographing and bagging the remains.
The sun was setting when they found the third body. But they were old pros at this, and simply set up floodlights and proceeded as they had with the others, photographing all they could before dark, then carefully removing the remains of the last one with artificial lighting.
By the time they left the property, Sonny Burch’s fate was sealed. He just had to go through the court system to find out where he’d be spending the rest of his life.
* * *
The following day was a Tuesday, and Barrett Taylor’s day did not start off with pancakes. He had jailhouse oatmeal before being cuffed and shackled and transported to the Dallas County courthouse.
His lawyer, Marsh Fielding, was in the courtroom when the guards marched him in. He took a seat at the defendant’s table with his lawyer and sighed. He’d been this way before, and every time he’d gotten out, he’d sworn he wasn’t going back, but Barrett had failed himself again.
He lowered his voice and leaned toward Marsh.
“Any idea of the sentence coming down?”
Marsh shook his head.
Barrett nodded. He’d agreed to this, so it was what it was.