R.L. Killmore

“By her sisterly calculations, that meant Niles had to chauffeur her to Rosie’s tonight to make it even. Niles crossed his arms over his chest impatiently and leaned against the doorjamb of her childhood bedroom. “It’s a basketball game. What can you possibly miss in the first five minutes?” Nia asked. “It’s just dinner at Rosie’s,” Niles mocked. “What does it matter what you wear?” “It matters,” she answered, “because I haven’t seen Jesse since I left. I want to look . . . nice.” Nice, she repeated to herself. No, she wanted to look like a bombshell, but that wouldn’t happen tonight. She realized when she stormed out of Bryant’s home that she’d left all her toiletries behind, including her hair and makeup products. She’d have to run to the mall in Asheville, the next town over, if she wanted to look decent for the rest of her time here. And how much time am I spending here, anyway? she asked herself, but she didn’t have an answer to that question yet. Time would tell. “You look okay to me.” Niles shrugged. “Here.” He tossed a fitted gray sweater to her from her open suitcase. The collar folded down, exposing her shoulders. “Wear these with it,” he instructed, picking up a pair of light wash jeans from the pile of clothes on the floor. “And those.” He pointed to a pair of black, pointed-toe, ankle boots. “Do that curly puff thing with your hair and let’s go, Ni-Ni,” he said, before stomping off down the hall. “You’ve got five minutes before I leave you!” Just”
― R.L. Killmore, Murder at Cinnamon Falls