Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Ava doesn’t look much like her father. She looks more like her mother, Ruby. But her creativity? That comes from her father.
Ryan Steel is the most creative of the Steels. His wines are legendary, and apparently some of the grape combinations he used were frowned upon by most vintners, but he made them work. He has a gift that allowed him to spin straw into gold—at least in the art of winemaking.
He was the last of the Steel brothers to get married. His wife—Ava’s mother—is a former police detective. When she married a Steel, she no longer needed to work, but she did use her knowledge as a private investigator sometimes. She still does.
Which makes me wonder…
Why hasn’t Ava asked her mother what this text message might mean?
Perhaps she has.
The biggest question is…why did she and I get the same message?
What is the connection?
I smile at the word connection. Ava and I definitely have a connection, and it has nothing to do with some peculiar message.
My God…
Last night was—in a word—nirvana.
I can’t wait for tonight.
But in the meantime, I’m going to try to figure this out. I pull out my laptop and fire it up, typing in Darth Morgen.
Nothing except some Star Wars references, and I’m not a fan of the franchise.
Morgen.
Lots for that. Most notably Morgan le Fay from Arthurian lore—the sorceress who seduced and betrayed her brother.
I smile. Ava is certainly no sorceress, and she doesn’t have a brother to betray, but she does read tarot cards. Though Ava wouldn’t admit it to me, my mom has asked for a reading on occasion and told me that Ava doesn’t charge anything. She does it for the love of the art. And while I’m not sure my mother takes it seriously, she does say it offers some peace of mind sometimes.
Maybe my mother is as good a place as any to start with these questions.
I leave the house and walk outside to her garden where she’s digging up some bulbs for the winter.
“Hey, Mom.”
She’s on her hands and knees, her graying blond hair pulled back in a bandana, and she looks over her shoulder.
“Brendan. When did you get home?”
“Just a little while ago. Do you have a minute?” I crouch down to her level.
“Of course. If you want to grab some work gloves from the garage, I’d love some help.”
I just showered, but what the hell? I am living here free of charge. I’ll shower again before I meet Ava tonight.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
I grab some work gloves and another handheld spade from the garage, and then I return and sit down beside my mother.
“What did you want to talk about, honey?”
“Did Dad tell you about the email Hardy got?”
She nods. “I have to say I’m stumped.”
“Me too. Apparently Ava Steel got the same information in a text.”
“Ava? That’s strange.”
“I know. There doesn’t seem to be any connection between our two families. Except for Dad’s uncle.”
“Yeah,” Mom says, “and that was so long ago. This can’t possibly have anything to do with that.”
“That’s what I was thinking. So you have no idea?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t. I wish I did. I know how much things like this are going to eat away at you and your father. The two of you are like cats, you know?”
“Cats?” I let out a laugh. “I’m not sure I see a connection there. You know we’re both dog people.”
“I mean like the old saying. Curiosity killed the cat. Not that I think this is going to kill either of you. But you’re both so curious. You just can’t let a puzzle lie.”
“I know it always bothered Dad that he couldn’t find any answers about his uncle.”
“You’re telling me. He still talks about it to this day.”
“Are you saying there are no stones left unturned with regard to Great-Uncle Sean?”
“Nope. Your father’s done all he can. He traced it as well as he could. There’s nothing left. He’s gone through all the medical records, everything.”
“He must’ve missed something.”
“No. This is your father we’re talking about, Brendan. You know he doesn’t miss anything.”
I sigh. Mom’s right. Dad’s focus on something gives new meaning to the phrase beating a dead horse. He’s loath to let anything go.
“The big issue that I see with this new development,” Mom says, “is that it has opened up the whole Uncle Sean thing for your father again.”
“Maybe there is something he missed,” I say.
“There absolutely can’t be, Brendan. Your father picked it to death.” She sighs, removes one of her gardening gloves, and rubs her brow. “It almost cost him his marriage.”
I drop my jaw. “You can’t be serious, Mom.”
“He and I met here, as you know. I’ve been a small-town girl my whole life, and I fell hard and fast for your dad, a big city boy. That handsome red hair of his that you inherited. He had a personality to match his hair color, and I would follow him anywhere. But he made himself sick over his uncle, Brendan. I finally told him to stop.”