Untold

Book 8: A Country Roads Novel

by Shannon Richard

Genres: Coming of Age; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

SOMETIMES LOVE HAS A PLAN OF ITS OWN . . . Brie Davis came to Mirabelle, Florida, for one thing: the funeral of her birth mother-a woman she never had a chance to know. Now Brie must sort through her mother's life to get the answers she was denied. She plans to leave as soon as she can . . . except the sexy veterinarian makes Brie's pulse beat faster than she's willing to admit. Finn Shepherd knows Brie's only in town for a short while, but he can't stay away. Instead he finds himself looking for more reasons to keep her close. Finn's already had his fair share of heartbreak, yet Brie makes him want to take that risk again. Now all Finn has to do is convince her to take a chance on him . . . before she disappears from his life forever. Look for more books in the Country Roads series!

Release date: September 5, 2017

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 450

Sample

Chapter One

Bethelda Grimshaw was dead.

And there was no one to mourn her. She was the only child of only children. She’d never married. She’d never had kids. She didn’t have friends.

She was survived by her cat.

The woman wasn’t exactly what anyone in Mirabelle, Florida, would call well liked…or liked at all, really. She was more like a vulture, quick to swoop in and pick at someone’s misfortune. In life she thrived on causing misery to anyone and everyone.

So no, she wasn’t missed in death. Not even the least little bit.

The thing was, no one really knew why Bethelda was the way she was. She hadn’t always been a horrible human being, but somewhere in those forty-seven years of her life, things had changed.

At one point she’d been a writer for the town newspaper. She mostly did local interest pieces, her stories focusing on the people of Mirabelle. They had the tendency to lean a little on the gossipy side, and when they turned downright defamatory, she’d been fired. It was only a few years later that she found another outlet to spew her hatred.

The Grim Truth was Bethelda’s blog, and it had been around for about a decade now. No one would outright admit to reading it, yet everyone knew when a new story was up. One of those small-town mysteries. She changed the names of the people in her posts, giving them a new moniker that was insulting more times than not. It was always clear who she was dragging through the mud. There was never any doubt.

The night before Bethelda’s funeral, there was some sort of weird memorial service going on at the Sleepy Sheep. It was Mirabelle’s most popular watering hole, a bar built by Owen Shepherd just after World War II. The building had survived many a hurricane and a number of bar fights, but for the most part it wasn’t a rowdy place.

The inside and outside were made of the same darkly stained mahogany, the rich brown walls giving off that Scottish pub feel. Well, what parts of the wall that could be seen. Some of the space was taken up with cartoons of sleeping sheep, and there were signed dollar bills attached to the walls and ceiling.

Over a dozen tables were scattered around the floor with chairs surrounding them, while booths lined much of the walls. Over the years there had been a number of additions to the place: pool tables, a dartboard, a jukebox, and a stage in the far corner where live bands would sometimes play. And those weren’t the only things that had been added on. A couple of years back a small—but exceptionally efficient—brewery had been built.

The founder might have passed away over five years ago, but the business was still in the family and going strong. There was usually some member of the Shepherd family working behind the counter and serving up alcohol to everyone who wanted a drink. That night it was both of Owen’s grandsons: Nathanial “Shep” Shepherd and Finn Shepherd.

It was clear they were brothers, with just a few variations here and there. They had the same wavy black hair, though Finn’s was cut just a little bit shorter than Shep’s. There was a slight gap in their heights, Finn standing at about six-feet-two to Shep’s six-feet-three. The younger Shepherd made up for that inch by being just a tad bit more muscular. The biggest differences in their appearance were that Shep’s arms were covered in tattoos and Finn was sporting a pair of black-framed glasses. But behind those lenses were the same startlingly blue eyes as his brother’s.

And their eyes paired with those sexy smiles? Well, the Shepherd boys were a force to be reckoned with for sure. Though only one of them was still using his good looks and easygoing nature to charm the female patrons. Shep was a happily married man now. He and his wife, Hannah, had a fifteen-month-old son, Nathanial Owen Shepherd III, otherwise known as baby Nate or Nate junior.

Finn on the other hand? Well, he wasn’t settling down anytime soon. Or ever. He had absolutely no interest in that path. None at all.

That hadn’t always been the case, but after one particular woman had taken his heart and shoved it through a meat grinder, he was better off alone. Though that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company of a lady here or there.

But Finn had a strict set of rules that he never broke: no locals, no staying the night, and no repeats.

Mirabelle wasn’t the biggest of towns, either in population or size. It could be a bit jarring to run into someone he’d walked out on in the middle of the night. So nonlocals it was, and there were plenty.

The summer was the busiest season for tourists, but even in the winter people were still coming and going. The water was that stunning emerald green year-round, and a room right on the beach always offered a good getaway.

Though on that particular evening, Finn wasn’t focused on finding someone to let him into her bed. He was too distracted by what was going on at the bar.

It wasn’t a wake for Bethelda so much as a roast. If there was a mean thing to be said about the woman, someone said it.

“Good riddance,” Cynthia Bowers hiccupped as she took a sip of her whiskey sour. “That horrible woman was full of hate.”

“She was vile with a capital ‘V.’” Mindy Trist lifted her glass of cranberry and vodka, clinking it to the rim of Cynthia’s.

It was no wonder neither woman had any love lost when it came to Bethelda. They’d both been targeted in many a Grim Truth article. Cynthia’s husband Rodney had a tendency to end up in other women’s beds, while Mindy had the habit of letting any man into hers. She’d even tried to come after Finn a number of times.

The only reason Mindy and Cynthia were friends was because Mindy had never let Rodney into her bed.

“Hear! Hear!” Shelby and Herald Wiggins lifted their glasses in the air from their seats over in a booth.

It had been awhile since Finn had seen the couple not screaming at each other. They had a tendency to get into rather heated altercations. Heated being the operative word. Just a few months ago Shelby had set Herald’s truck on fire. Bethelda had a field day with that story.

Finn hadn’t exactly been the woman’s biggest fan, either. Far from it. Not only had she tried to destroy his brother’s relationship with Hannah, but Finn himself had been the subject of more than a couple of the woman’s stories. They’d mostly involved his ex-girlfriend Becky Wright…now Rebecca (because it was more mature sounding) Milton. It was fine with him. Becky had been his girl. Rebecca? Well, she was the one who’d shoved his heart into that meat grinder.

Dr. Do Everyone a Little has been back in our small town for over a year now. He returned from his time away getting himself an actual education, unlike his useless older brother Wild Ram. A full-time bartender, I ask you, what kind of a job is that?

But that isn’t today’s story. No, today’s story is about the younger miscreant. Now don’t get me wrong, he is a fairly decent veterinarian. Though, there isn’t a very high bar to compare him to considering the only other man capable of the job isn’t the world’s best, either. And again, that is a different story for a different day.

Years ago, Dr. Do Everyone a Little used to be seen around town holding the hand of Gold Digger. There were more than a few times when the childhood sweethearts were caught with their pants down. They were like animals in heat. But in those years that Dr. Do Everyone a Little was away, Goldie moved on to better and richer pastures.

Tomorrow, Goldie will be walking down the aisle to marry Dr. Smarmy Smile. Apparently, she has a thing for men sporting that Dr. title, even if they are in a lesser field of said title. But Dr. Smarmy comes with much more than a fancy name. He comes with a whole-hell-of-a-lot of money. That family has been in the green for longer than I’ve been alive. And now Dr. Smarmy has a bit of a monopoly on the dentist business in this town. So as he is the one getting everyone’s money, I’m sure that smarmy grin he’s sporting is one of the shit-eating variety.

The breakup between Dr. Do Everyone a Little and Gold Digger might’ve happened years ago, but it doesn’t mean that certain people are over it. I’m sure that a lot of my readers will remember that the two doctors have had a bit of rivalry going. They’ve always tried to one-up each other in all aspects of their lives, since way back when they were children. It appears now that Dr. Smarmy has won.

He got the girl.

Dr. Do Everyone a Little has apparently set himself out on a mission: screw every woman he meets. And he’s doing a pretty good job of it, too. It helps that he regularly works at his family’s bar, the Den of Iniquity. There are plenty of willing women who would be more than happy to drop their panties when it comes to Dr. Do Everyone a Little.

And drop them they do.

That particular article was old. Rebecca and Brett Milton had gotten married well over a year ago, but Bethelda had still liked to write about that particular story every once in a while. There were a couple of stories that were tried and true, and she apparently thought it was her part to keep everyone up to date with the saga. He didn’t give a fuck about it, and he could say that in all honesty now.

These days he might live by the once-burned-twice-shy philosophy, but he was over Rebecca. Really and truly.

Finn pulled his focus from the people cheering Bethelda’s death and moved to the other end of the bar toward his friends. Brendan and Paige King were sitting on one side of the corner, while Jax and Grace Anderson were on the other side.

“You want another?” Finn asked, nodding to Paige’s nearly empty beer glass.

“Please.” She nodded, lifting the glass to her mouth and finishing off the last of the amber liquid.

There was no doubt his friend needed a drink…or five. Paige worked at Adams and Family Funeral Home, had since she moved to Mirabelle five and half years ago. Her job there entailed writing obituaries and putting together the photo tributes for the recently deceased. But it was just one of many jobs she held. She was also a pretty successful artist; her pieces were displayed and sold in many businesses all over town. And then there was the fact that she was raising three children.

Paige only worked at the funeral home three days a week, and that Tuesday had been one of them. She’d been the one putting together the program, prayer cards, and tribute for Bethelda’s funeral. She looked like she’d had the day from hell because of it, too. The freckles on her nose and cheeks were standing out in stark contrast on her skin, and wisps of her long brown hair had fallen out from the messy bun on the top of her head.

When Paige had first come to town, Bethelda had set her sights on making Paige’s life as miserable as possible. For whatever reason, Bethelda had a real problem with people who weren’t from Mirabelle. And she let them know it. Regularly.

It was just too bad for Bethelda that Paige had met Brendan. Once the two had started dating, there wasn’t a chance in hell Paige was going anywhere without him.

But it wasn’t just Paige who Bethelda had gone after. Brendan and Grace were brother and sister, with two different fathers, and a mother who’d died of breast cancer years ago. That story had been written about enough times to be the length of a novel at this point. Jax’s relationship with Grace—and the fact that his parents weren’t the best of human beings and causing drama in their own right—probably made for two books by now.

Hell, Bethelda had written about all of Finn’s close friends at one point or another.

“Today was that bad, huh?” Grace took a pull on the straw floating in the pomegranate-blueberry concoction Shep had mixed up for her.

“It was awful. Going through every year of Bethelda’s life? Putting it in order? Seeing it all laid out? I don’t know. It’s just…” She tried to formulate the words. “She wasn’t a nice woman. Not to any of us. Not ever. But to see her, from when she was a baby to now…” She trailed off again, shaking her head.

“It humanizes her,” Brendan finished for his wife, reaching over and running his hand across her shoulder blades. “Which makes it harder because none of us ever really looked at her like she was one.”

“I think this is just her reaching out from beyond the grave to make our lives more miserable.”

“What do you mean?” Finn asked as he slid another glass of beer in front of Paige, taking the now empty one away.

“How many other funeral homes are in Mirabelle? And she picks Adams and Family. She came in last year and planned out the whole thing. Brought in the pictures she wanted me to use and everything. Me. She hated me. I mean, a case could be made that she hated everyone, but I feel like her vendetta toward me was stronger than, say, Stephanie Freck who works at Lawson and Sons. Or Kendra Barrington over at Sheffield’s. And not only did she pick Adams and Family to have her funeral, she specifically chose the café to cater it. There were five other options and she wants Café Lula. A place that she liked to say on many occasions had the worst coffee in town.”

“Which is such a ridiculous thing to say because everyone knows it’s the best in town.” The frown on Jax’s face was more intense than usual, and rightly so.

Grace and her grandmother Lula Mae owned and ran the café, Lula Mae making more of the savory dishes while Grace was usually in the back baking sweets all day. And it was no wonder Jax was defending the coffee. The man went there every single morning that he was on duty; he’d get a cup before he started his patrol. It was something he’d done well before he and Grace had ever become a thing. He’d used it as his excuse to see her every day.

“Thank you, baby.” Grace patted her husband’s hand, giving him a small smile.

“And it isn’t just that,” Paige continued. “Writing that freaking obituary was one of the hardest things I’ve ever written. How do you honor the dead when you didn’t respect them in life?”

“That is a question I do not know the answer to.” Finn rested his palms on the bar as he leaned forward.

“I thought you were supposed to be the all wise bartender.” Brendan raised his eyebrows as he brought his glass to his lips and took a sip of his beer.

“I don’t work here full-time, so I’m only wise half of the time.” Finn might be a veterinarian for his day job, but he still liked to pull shifts at the bar every once in a while. Kept him close to his roots. “It’s my brother who is full-time wise.”

“What do you need wisdom on?” Shep asked as he sidled up next to Finn, sliding a fresh mixed drink in front of Grace.

Finn grabbed all of the empty glasses and headed over to the bin in the corner, placing them with all of the other dirty dishes before he turned around. His eyes caught on the front door as it opened and someone walked inside. The second he was fully able to take her in, his step faltered before he stopped moving and just looked at her.

She had brown hair. Long, rich brown hair. It fell over her shoulders in soft, thick waves. The desire to sink his fingers into it came automatically; his palms itched to act on it, too. Instead he moved his focus to her face, taking in her golden brown skin, almond-shaped eyes, and a full mouth with the prettiest lips he’d ever seen.

It was the last day of January and that night promised to be a chilly one, already dropping down to the low thirties. She wore a formfitting, black leather jacket. It was zipped up the front, and she rubbed her palms against her arms in an attempt to warm up. The blue jeans she wore were skin-tight, the dark denim wrapping around each and every one of her soft curves. From her hips, to her thighs, and on down. He wasn’t exactly sure how tall she was as she was wearing high-heeled boots—the black leather going up to about mid-calf—but if he had to guess he’d say she was probably five-feet-seven or so when she was barefoot.

This woman wasn’t from Mirabelle. Finn would know if he’d seen her before, and he most definitely had not.

She hesitated for only a moment before she looked to the bar and headed that way, the heels of her boots clipping against the hardwood floors. It was a Tuesday, so even though there was a good crowd, it wasn’t full. There were a number of empty spots at the bar, and the beautiful brunette headed for one a few seats away from Paige.

As Shep was standing closer, it would’ve made the most sense for him to get her a drink, but Finn stepped in and blocked his brother as he took the space in front of her. Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out the raised eyebrow Shep gave him before moving off down to another patron at the bar.

“What can I get you?” Finn asked.

The woman’s gaze moved to his as she settled in her seat, and golden brown eyes focused on him. Seeing her up close, he realized she was tired. Not so much in a physical way, but more in an emotional way, and it was only in her eyes. But the weariness faded away when she looked at him. Her mouth fell open as she breathed in, and it stayed open for just a second, no words coming out.

It was clear she was slightly taken aback by him. Well, she could just join the club, because she wasn’t the only one who was surprised by what—or more accurately who—was in front of them.

She was stunning.

“I-I’d like a beer. What do you guys have on tap?” Her eyes darted to the left and to the line of taps. There were a few brands on there, but what they served these days was mostly what the bar brewed.

“What do you like?”

“Something strong. Do you have a stout?” She had a very slight southern accent that was accompanied with just the right amount of husk. Sexy. Super sexy. The kind of voice he knew he’d really like whispering things into his ear, or moaning his name.

“Yeah.” He nodded, grabbing one of the short glasses they used for tasters. He was more than slightly impressed that she requested a stout straight off the bat. “Here. This one has chocolate undertones,” he said as he slid the little glass in front of her. “It’s one of our own brews.”

“Beer and chocolate?” she asked as she lifted it to her mouth. “That’s how you kill two birds with one stone.”

Finn wasn’t going to lie, he was fascinated with the way her lips touched the glass. And he couldn’t stop watching as her eyes closed in satisfaction as she drank. Her eyelashes were just long enough that they rested on her skin when her eyes were closed. She also had the lightest dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. And her cheeks were pink. He wondered if the coloring was from the cold outside.

It was probably only a moment—just a handful of seconds—that she sat in front of him tasting that beer, but for him it could’ve been a lifetime that he watched her. And he wouldn’t stop watching her if he had any choice in the matter.

When she opened her eyes he forgot himself. They were changing, becoming even more golden. It was the clink of the glass hitting the bar that brought him back to the moment.

“That’s amazing. I would like one of those, please.”

“Coming right up.” Finn grabbed a bigger glass and pulled down the lever, the rich brown liquid filling it up.

“Thank you.” She gave him a genuine smile as he set it down in front of her.

The woman’s smile was killer. Killer. “You visiting?”

“Yeah.” She nodded before she took a sip of her beer and swallowed. “Just in town until Thursday.”

Two nights. He could totally work with that. Though for a fleeting second he wished he had longer to work with. He pushed the thought away; it went against some of his rules. “Business or pleasure?”

“Unwanted business. Unwanted, unpleasant business.”

“Well, if you need it, you now know where to find good beer while you’re here. And if you need any other recommendations on what to drink, I’d be more than happy to be at your service.”

“Is that so?” That smile of hers quirked to the side.

“It is.” He grinned.

“Well, how very chivalrous of you. So who is it exactly that is at my service?”

The way she said service put so many other ideas in his head of just how he’d like to spend a few hours with her. He could show her some service all right. “Finn.”

“Well, you’re very accommodating, Finn.” And there was that smile playing on her lips again. He wondered what they tasted like. The beer most likely, but what else?

“We aim to please.”

“Clearly.”

“So who is it that I’m being so accommodating to?” He flipped the question she’d used to get his name.

“Brie.” She stuck her hand out to him and he immediately grabbed it, their palms sliding across each other’s. Her hand was soft, still slightly cooled from the weather outside, and it fit perfectly in his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Brie.” He didn’t want to let go, but he forced himself to. Mainly because it would be a little odd to hold hands with a stranger from across the bar.

A roar of laughter filled the air, and Brie’s golden brown eyes left his, looking over to the people in the corner. “Someone is having a good time.”

Finn glanced at the group before returning his focus to Brie. Her head was still turned, her long hair brushed back and over her shoulder so that he could clearly see her neck. He wondered what the hollow of her throat tasted like, and he wanted to trace the delicate silver chain of the necklace she wore with his fingertips.

“They’re placing bets,” he told her.

She looked back to him, her eyebrows raised high in question. “On what?”

“Tomorrow’s funeral.”

Something flickered in her eyes, something he thought looked a lot like unease as she set her glass on the bar and leaned forward. “They’re placing bets on a funeral?”

“The woman in question wasn’t exactly…uh…popular with many people here in Mirabelle.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Shep said as he came up on the other side of Finn.

“Brie, this is my brother, Shep. Shep, this is Brie…she’s visiting Mirabelle for a couple of days.”

“Shep…” she trailed off, her eyebrows scrunched together slightly as she studied him. “As in Shepherd?”

“Indeed. Have we met before?” Shep’s eyes narrowed on Brie’s face.

For just a second something hot and possessive burned deep in Finn’s stomach. Yes, Shep was more than taken when it came to his wife, and there was no chance in hell he’d ever do anything to mess that up. But before Shep had gotten married, he hadn’t exactly been celibate, and this might not have been Brie’s first time in town.

“No, we haven’t met.” Brie shook her head. At her words Finn’s knot of tension eased up. “I’m staying at the Seaside Escape Inn.”

Shep and Hannah owned a giant inn right on Mirabelle Beach. It was three stories tall, not including the giant ten-foot-tall pylons it stood on. They’d remodeled the whole thing, keeping the first floor for their house, while the second and third floors had been converted into six individual condos that they rented out.

“Well, in that case your first beer is on the house.” Shep nodded to her glass on the counter.

“It’s delicious, by the way,” she said as she reached for it, taking a sip.

“Thank you.” Shep grinned. “Brewed it myself.”

“Be careful how many compliments you give the guy.” Brendan looked down the bar to Brie. “He already has a big head.”

“That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black,” Jax said as he looked between his friends.

Finn smiled. It wouldn’t be a typical time spent with Brendan, Shep, and Jax without a few insults getting thrown around. The guys had been best friends since they were five years old. Finn had looked at Brendan and Jax like they were his older brothers, and they’d always treated him like a little brother.

“Guys, this is Brie. She’s renting a room at the inn.” Shep introduced her to the group. “Brie, meet Brendan, Paige, Grace, and Jax. So if you need a mechanic, an artist/photographer, a baker, or a deputy sheriff during your time spent in Mirabelle, you know who to talk to.”

“Well hopefully the first and last on that list won’t be needed.” Grace smiled at Brie. “But if you need something to eat for breakfast or lunch, Café Lula is just down the road from here.”

“Best coffee in town, too,” Jax added, making Grace’s grin grow.

Everyone introduced themselves, saying “Hi” to Brie, and she returned the greetings. Another round of raucous laughter filled the bar. Brie glanced over to the group of people causing the commotion before she looked back to them.

“Who was she? This lady who died.” She moved her beer to her lips, hiding her mouth with the glass as she took another sip.

“Her name was Bethelda Grimshaw,” Finn answered.

He thought he saw that unease flicker in her eyes again, but it disappeared a second later. Must’ve been a trick of the lights.

“Why didn’t people like her?” She lowered the glass and set it on the bar.

“Well, let me start by saying I don’t think what’s going on over there is OK.” Grace frowned, glancing to the corner before looking back to Brie. “Bethelda wasn’t exactly what you could ever call kind to me, but that over there is just perpetuating hate with hate.”

“Agreed.” Paige nodded.

“What did she do?”

“She had this blog called The Grim Truth.” Brendan ran one of his fingers across the frosted glass of his mug. “And she liked to write about everyone’s dirty laundry.”

“The dirtier the better,” Shep added.

“Even if she was the one making it dirtier.” This from Jax, who took a sip of beer after he said it.

“She sounds delightful.” Brie didn’t hide an ounce of sarcasm in her words.

“Yeah.” Paige tipped her head to the side. “The woman thrived on creating misery, and though I’d say a lot of the people in this bar were touched by that meanness—all of us included in that group—not everyone is celebrating her death.”

“It just means you all are better people than she was.” Brie’s voice had gone very small as she spoke. She looked away from all of them, lifting her beer to her mouth and taking a long drink of it.

*  *  *

Bethelda Grimshaw was dead.

That sentence should’ve had more meaning to Brie Davis. It should’ve made her sad. It should’ve done a lot of things.

It should’ve, but it didn’t.

Bethelda was a stranger. A stranger who’d given her daughter up for adoption twenty-eight years ago.

Brie had been eighteen when she found out who her mother was. Well, who her biological mother was. Because Brie’s mother was Anastasia “Ana” Davis, the woman who—along with Brie’s father, Marcus Davis—had adopted her when she was two days old. Those were her parents. The people who had raised her. The people who had taken care of her. The people who loved her.

This little venture into Mirabelle wasn’t Brie’s first time. She’d come down ten years ago, right after she’d found out who Bethelda was. It was something she’d been beyond intimidated about, and as it turned out, she was right to have been.

At the time, Brie hadn’t told her parents about the search. Though they did know about it now. Her not telling them hadn’t been because they wouldn’t have been supportive, because they would have. No, she didn’t tell them because she’d wanted to do it on her own.

Bethelda’s name had been the only one Brie had gotten in her search. Her biological father hadn’t been documented on anything. She’d thought she might be able to find out who he was from the meeting with Bethelda.

She’d thought wrong.

Looking back, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d been hoping for when she met Bethelda. Happiness at being reunited? A bittersweet moment filled with the time lost but hopeful for the relationship they could have? Tears of joy?

Yeah, none of those things had happened. To say that Bethelda had been less than thrilled to see Brie would be a huge understatement. She’d been vicious. Told Brie she wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

The whole encounter was probably a total of two minutes. That was all the time Brie had gotten of Bethelda. It had been the most painful, miserable moments of her life. She’d never felt more unwanted.

Yeah, there weren’t any tears of joy, but Brie sure had cried. She’d driven to the closest gas station and sat in her car for an hour, sobbing like an idiot. Those were the last tears she’d cried for Bethelda, and she’d vowed the woman wouldn’t get any more from her.

Brie hadn’t broken that vow, either. Not even when she’d gotten the phone call from Bethelda’s lawyer five days ago. There hadn’t been any tears shed when she’d found out that her biological mother had passed away.

It was a brain aneurysm that had done it. Bethelda was driving back from the store when it happened. Her car had veered off the road and hit a tree. She’d been dead before the crash. The first thought Brie had at the information was that she was thankful Bethelda hadn’t taken anyone else out with her. The lawyer had kept talking, trying to sound sympathetic for Brie’s loss.

Yeah, he must not have known the woman very well.

She didn’t understand why she was getting that particular phone call until he got to the crux of the conversation. Imagine her surprise when she found out her name was in Bethelda