Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Chapter 36
We bundled into Nonna’s car, and Bud sped off, looking in the rearview mirror at me. “What do you mean Oliver needs help?”
I quickly dialed Oliver, but the call went to voicemail. “He said Donny McLerrison fell and refused to call an ambulance, so he headed home. It was a quick text. He probably did it while he was driving.”
My heart thundered. McLerrison was a stubborn old guy, and I could see him doing just that. I chewed on my lip. “Maybe we should call an ambulance just to be certain.”
Nonna looked over her shoulder. “We don’t know that he’s hurt. Call again.”
“Okay, Nonna.” I called Oliver again, and it went directly to voicemail like last time.
“He could be driving through the storm.” She stared out the window. The wind had picked up; snow billowed all around. It would be a white Valentine’s Day.
“Better safe than sorry. I want backup as well.” Bud clicked on his radio and then stopped. “What’s the address?”
I quickly rattled off the farm’s address. “We’re only a couple of minutes away.” It was a good thing we were out in the middle of nowhere. I knew some life-saving techniques, but Bud was probably an expert. I was glad we were close.
“All right.” Bud called in the request for an ambulance and backup. We soon turned down the long drive along the fenced area and headed toward the farmhouse. Oliver’s truck was parked haphazardly to the side.
“Backup?” I asked.
Bud nodded. “Yeah. All cases like this when we call in an ambulance, and all cases concerning you require backup.”
Fine. My phone dinged, and I looked down to see the pictures from Lisa. I scrolled through several of a much younger Richard Basanelli, doing everything from waterskiing to hunting, and then paused on one of him in front of the river, holding up several largemouth bass. I frowned, peered closer, and then widened the picture.
Bud screeched to a stop and slid several feet. “You two stay here while I go see how badly he’s hurt.”
“No way.” I jumped out, and Nonna did the same, her trench coat and sunglasses back in place. The chilly air washed over me. I leaned over to Nonna. “Aren’t these the Wilson brothers with Richard?”
It kind of made sense, considering they all worked the mine back then.
She paused and lifted her glasses. “Yeah, of course.”
I shook my head. But the picture didn’t make sense. I could tell who was who, even back then. Wayne’s nose was hard to miss. But in the picture, Wayne had red hair, and Spencer’s was dark. “I don’t understand.”
“What? That’s Wayne and Spencer Wilson. I’d forgotten how good-looking they were when they were younger,” she said.
“Yeah, but Spencer has red hair in real life these days, not Wayne.”
She leaned back and looked at me. “Not true. Wayne always had the red hair. Spencer was dark-haired.”
It hit me then. They’d switched hair color? I hadn’t had Nonna label them when we put the pictures up in my laundry room. I shook my head, my gaze catching on the knife in the redhead’s hand. Nick’s knife. Even his initials were visible in the photograph.
She snorted. “Come on, let’s find the farmer.” She slipped her arm through mine and pulled me along in the snow.
My instincts flared awake. “Why would they change hair colors this late in life? Is the red hair symbolic of the family?”
Nonna kept tugging. “Oh, well, they’re not related by blood, sweetie. Their mom already had Wayne when she arrived in Silverville. I believe Jack Wilson adopted him.”
My thoughts came screeching to a halt. We reached the front door, and Bud knocked, opening it.
Nonna gasped. “Oliver?” she breathed.
I looked up to see the tall main Cupid dressed in his black outfit right before his hand shot out, and something sizzled. Bud dropped like a stone to the snowy front porch, his body twitching wildly.
Oliver? Did my grandma just say Oliver? I hurriedly pushed her behind me. The Cupid raised his other hand to show a silver-plated nine-millimeter.
I tried to remain calm. “It looks like you’ve moved on from arrows.”
He shrugged, so much taller than me that I could easily rush and hit him full-on in the gut. “I wouldn’t,” he said, the voice still tinny. “Come inside.”
I looked at Nonna. “Run,” I whispered.
“You run? I shoot.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.
She straightened to her full height. “Now, listen, young man—”
“Inside,” he barked.
I looked down at Bud, who was still twitching, and then at the stun gun in the ripped Cupid’s other hand. “Oliver?” I asked, trying to make sense of Nonna’s statement.
Nonna pushed me inside, and I smoothly slid by the Cupid, hitting a button on my phone to forward the picture to Aiden before shoving it into my back pocket, not my purse. Then I gasped.