Secrets in the Moon (Crescent City Werewolves #1)

Chapter Thirty

By the time morning arrived, Cora had pushed all doubt from Holly's words out of her mind. She decided to return to her usual boldness with her outfits as well, choosing a pale pink dress with ruffles at the neck and a white blazer jacket embroidered with gold. The smells of coffee and frying ham reached her while she put on a pair of heels and some earrings, but she resisted breakfast long enough to set aside white kidskin gloves and a hat for later, bubbling with excitement over the idea of spending the day sleuthing with Sam.

She was still smiling while heading downstairs, catching hints of a murmured conversation between Holly and Eve. Butter and jam waited on the kitchen table and so did two half-full cups of coffee, but Holly was already washing the final plate while Eve sat there and nursed the baby with a bottle. The younger she-wolf glanced at Cora and then away again, obviously uncomfortable.

Cora paused in the doorway, assessing the situation. "Did I miss breakfast?"

Holly looked over. The she-wolf had been stiff in her mannerisms before, but now they were absolutely glacial. "Yes. It was at 7:00."

Cora checked her watch. 7:13. Inwardly, she wanted to laugh at the snub but kept her voice serene. "Well, I've always made it a habit to be late, so I suppose I can't complain."

She didn't wait for an answer, instead returning to her room to collect her hat, gloves, and some spare change. In all honesty, breakfast with the others had been dull and strained even when Sam had been there by her side. Missing it this morning felt like an opportunity, not a punishment.

Back downstairs, Holly seemed surprised that she was leaving. "You're going out into Ragbag?"

Cora offered a smile while adjusting her hat in the ancient mirror by the front door. "Oh, yes. I noticed a sandwich shop from my window that's open for breakfast. It's barely a block away. Isn't that convenient?"

"But I didn't mean for you to—you'll get into trouble the moment you step outside."

"I don't think so. It's just a sandwich. I'll be back in a bit." Then she was out the door and gone, navigating the grey, dilapidated structures overrun with weeds and trash piles. As she walked, her white shoes skirted broken glass and the occasional bloodstain. Guttural coughing could be heard from one of the leaning shacks built from ripped cloth and broken boards.

Oh, she wasn't a total fool. Ragbag Way had an unpleasant reputation, and she was alone and obviously out of place. For that reason, she had traded her jewelry for her pistol and had left her purse behind. She had also kept every other part of her outfit completely untouched.

All the buildings she passed were unlit, but she felt the weight of attention from all directions until she reached the sandwich shop. Matteo's, tiny yet alluring with its mouthwatering smells of peppers, fried eggs, and sausage. A man reeking of whiskey slumped in front of the big display window papered with old advertisements for beer brands and pickles, blinking at her when she smiled at him and continued inside.

The interior was worn yet clean, its air greasy and hot from the griddle in the back. The owner was a boulder of a man, with the thick body and broken nose of an old boxer. He stared at her with the same suspicion and bafflement as those eating at the cramped tables nearby, but said nothing while she ordered a breakfast sandwich and paid. In a few minutes, she left with her food without anyone following.

It was hard not to tear open the brown paper and begin eating, but she resisted until she found an old, crumbling wall to sit on. The fenced junkyard behind it meant no one could catch her by surprise, and the view she faced was rather nice: blackberry bushes overtaking a collapsed house. Red-throated birds swooped over the tangled branches, their chirps bright enough to cut through the drone of heavy machinery echoing from the distant docks. People passed by occasionally, but she didn't expect to be approached, and wasn't.