Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Is what? This is Pat Lamone. How many numbers do you think he has?”
Callie chews her bottom lip.
“Callie…what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I need to talk to Donny. Right now.”
“You will not. You will not leave me hanging like this. That’s not fair, Cal.”
“It’s just… I feel like our problem is almost converging with the Steels’ problems. Has Brock told you anything about what they’re going through yet?”
“No.”
The thought jars me more than a little. Brock and I aren’t serious. We’ve had all of two dates, maybe four or five if you count all the times we’ve been thrown together. There’s absolutely no reason why I should think he’d confide in me about all his family issues. Still, it irks me. I want to be involved. I want to help him if I can.
I’ve got to get out of that mind-set. I have my own issues to deal with—naked photos of me potentially spread across social media.
“Sorry,” Callie says. “I’ve got to talk to Donny. I’ll only be a minute, Ror.” She rises, leaves her desk, and walks into Donny’s office without knocking.
What now? I plunk my ass down in her chair, which is surprisingly comfortable with good lumbar support. Several manila folders are splayed across her desk, and her computer is open to—
I wrinkle my forehead. The computer is open to the county page. She’s looking up properties. Properties here. In Snow Creek.
The property displayed on her screen? It’s owned by Carmelita Mayer—the same property where Pat Lamone is currently renting a room.
But even that isn’t the most interesting thing about the house.
There’s a lien on the property, held by the Steel family.
Held, specifically, by something called the Steel Trust.
What the heck is she researching?
She returns a few minutes later. “Donny has to talk to Dale and to Brock.”
“What for?”
“I gave him the number, and he’s going to work on tracing it. Then I asked if I could tell you what was going on with his family.”
“I don’t want to pry,” I say.
No lie. I’m not nosy or gossipy. What I do want, though, is to help Brock if I can. I don’t know why I feel that way. After all, we’ve only had a couple of dates, and I have my own issues to contend with.
“I know you don’t, but to tell the truth, Ror, I’m aching to confide in you. But I have to respect his wishes. Dale didn’t answer when Donny called, and apparently Brock is in Wyoming today with his father.”
I raise my eyebrows. “He is? He didn’t bother telling me.”
Callie’s cheeks blush a little. “I’m sorry, Ror.”
“Don’t be.”
“Is there anything I can do?” my sister asks.
I stand and return her chair. “Yeah. You can tell me why Mrs. Mayer’s property has a lien on it held by the Steel Trust.”
CHAPTER TWO
BROCK
I’m going to puke.
Seriously, I’m going to upchuck right here in the middle of my father’s pickup as we drive to Wyoming looking for dead bodies at GPS coordinates. As if that isn’t reason enough to lose the contents of my stomach.
Lamone.
My father didn’t just say Lamone.
“He claims to be a grandson,” my father continues.
“Let me fucking guess. His first name is Pat.”
“Patrick, yes.” Dad turns and stares at me, but then he moves his glance back to the road. “How the hell do you know that?”
I gulp audibly. Do I tell him what’s going on with Rory and Callie? I don’t exactly have their permission.
“Where’s the guy live?” I ask.
“He’s in Snow Creek. He’s been there for a while…a couple of weeks at least.”
“What about his father or mother? Which side is related to the Steels?”
“His mother’s side, apparently. That’s about all we know right now.”
“Pat Lamone went to school with Callie and Rory Pike,” I say.
“Yeah, he’d be about the right age. His parents lived in Snow Creek, but they moved after his junior year.”
“Yeah.”
“You know this guy?”
“Callie and Rory do.”
“Yeah, they probably do. They went to high school with him.”
“Have you talked to Brad? Brad would’ve been in high school then.”
“That was the year he was homeschooled,” Dad says. “Remember?”
Right. My brother was in a bad riding accident the week after school started his freshman year. Actually broke his back and couldn’t walk for nearly a year. Mom homeschooled him that year. After Mom’s laborious education and his doctors’ rigorous physical therapy, Brad went back to school the next year knowing more than any of his classmates and physically stronger than they were as well.
Damn. I’d forgotten all about that. Funny how the worst years of your life crawl into a corner in your mind and you ignore them. It happened to Brad, not me, but it was hell on all of us.
Will all of this someday be one of those memories that we never think about?
And is that part of the reason Dad and my uncles chose not to tell us about all the shit that went down twenty-five years ago?