Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“My uncle didn’t die, Brendan. He was murdered.”
I don’t argue that even Dad himself couldn’t find proof. He’s convinced his uncle was murdered, and nothing I can say will change that fact.
“Sixty years ago,” I say.
“Yes. Over sixty years ago. And I may finally find out what the hell happened.”
“How can you when no one is alive to tell you? When you exhausted all avenues decades ago?”
My father doesn’t answer. I wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway because the entire bar erupts in shouts from people watching the game.
“You call that a pass!” someone yells at the television. “My sister can throw better than that.”
“Fucking pussy.” From another.
I scan the bar. It’s hopping, with most patrons glued to the several television sets, watching the game. A few stragglers are playing pool…including Brock Steel and Dave Simpson.
“Could you excuse me for a minute, Dad? I want to talk to Brock and Dave.”
“About what?”
About the rash on my ass. Damn. My mom was right. Dad is getting all worked up again about his uncle. I hate to tell him that he’s chasing ghosts.
“Ava wanted me to give them a message for her.”
“All right. I’ve got the bar covered. Johnny’s in the back. I’ll get him out here.”
“Great. Thanks.” I head toward the back of the bar to the pool tables.
“I need to start laying some money down,” Dave Simpson says to Brock. “I haven’t lost a game in a week.”
“Your winning streak won’t hold out much longer,” Brock says. “You still suck at pool, cuz.” He looks up at me. “Hey, Brendan. What’s up?”
“Maybe the two of you can tell me.”
Brock sets his cue down and takes a drink of his beer from an adjacent table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s Ava. Her father told her a bunch of stuff, and now she’s giving up the tarot. And she may be giving up our relationship as well.”
Brock eyes me. “What exactly did Uncle Ryan tell her?”
“I don’t have a clue. I figured the two of you might. You’re the closest to her in the family.”
“We’re not closer to her than her parents,” Dave says.
But Brock’s expression says differently. His eyes change. They widen just a bit but then go back to normal. I meet his brown-eyed gaze, but I don’t say anything.
He seems to get my meaning. “I’ve got to hit the can.”
“Okay,” Dave says. “Don’t be surprised if this game is over by the time you get back.”
“You guys okay on drinks?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Dave measures out his pool shot.
“All right. I’ve got to get back to work.”
I head to the men’s room by way of the bar. Brock is in there, but we’re not alone. “Follow me,” I say quietly.
I lead him to the secret staircase that leads to my closet.
“Whoa,” he says when we end up in my apartment. “That’s some Narnia shit right there.”
“I got a huge payout from my insurance company, so I really fixed up this place. In record time too.”
Again, Brock’s eyes do that weird thing. “It looks great.”
“Yeah. I love it.” I narrow my gaze. “But we’re not here for social hour, Steel. What gives with Ava?”
“I couldn’t say anything in front of Dave because he’s not wholly in the know about everything yet.”
“What is up with you people?” I shake my head. “You have more secrets than the royal family, I swear.”
Brock sighs. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. Especially if Ava won’t.”
“Here’s the thing. Ava’s not acting like herself. I don’t know what Ryan told her, but he took me aside afterward and mentioned that he told her to keep it in confidence except for me. That she could tell me if she wanted to, but that was it.”
“And…?”
“And…I’m concerned. I don’t want to push Ava, but she’s acting… I don’t know. She hasn’t been eating well, and she decided to give up the tarot and kicked me out of her place tonight.”
“That’s just good sense. The part about kicking you out, I mean.” Brock chuckles.
“Brock, damn it, this isn’t a joke. Something’s going down with Ava, and I care too much about her to let her go through it alone.”
Brock sighs. “I only know bits and pieces, and though I sympathize with you, I’m not comfortable telling you the little that I know. Not without Ava’s permission.”
I plunk down on my couch. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”
Brock raises his eyebrows. “You giving up that easily?”
“What else can I do? I’m involved, Brock, whether Ava wants me to be or not.” I rub at the stubble on my jawline. “I—or my family—got those same messages. I feel like we’re about to fall into a rabbit hole. Like a bottle that says drink me is going to show up.”
“I mean, that secret staircase leading into your closet was pretty Wonderland.”
“Could you be serious for one damned minute?”