Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Mom had allowed me exactly one week to mourn him after the accident before insisting I was now man of the house. It hadn’t even been enough time for Dad’s body to have been shipped home from New York. I remembered cursing our family’s wealth because without it, we never would have been able to afford to leave Texas. He never would have been in the store that night.
By the time his body had arrived home, I’d done as Mom had asked. I’d stopped crying. In fact, I’d stopped feeling altogether. Numbness had been my stalwart friend in those days, carrying me through the following years at boarding school in a padded haze. What little emotion I had left was spent making sure my sister knew how loved she was since neither my mom nor my grandfather were the affectionate type. When I wasn’t with Rory, I was like an automaton.
If only I could have that numbness back now. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was going to piss myself in terror. Hundreds of visits to a psychologist during my early adulthood finally helped me come to terms with most of the effects of my father’s murder, but tonight it was as if I was back in that horrible moment listening to violence surrounding me.
Crash, thunk.
The wretched noises were followed by the telltale sound of glass breaking. I prayed it wasn’t the few remaining original exterior farmhouse windows or my great-aunt’s beloved Tiffany lamp in the study. Anything else could be replaced, and I’d never been a fan of the delicate crystal in the dining room corner cabinet anyway.
It took hours for the noises to stop. At least it felt like hours. In reality, I had no way of knowing. I sat curled up in a scared ball for a long time after the sound of gravel spitting indicated whoever it was had left. I still didn’t have the guts to emerge from my hiding place until I heard the distant sound of the train passing by. Since the train rumbled through around half past six in the morning, I realized I was most likely safe to come down and assess the damage.
The first thing I did after scrambling for my phone was to call 911 and promptly hide under the bed until the dispatcher told me the responding sheriff’s deputy was at the front door.
I threw a big hoodie sweatshirt on over my lounge pants and T-shirt before slipping on running shoes and making my way out of the bedroom to greet them.
The house was just as wrecked as I’d feared. I felt guilty for being grateful most of the damage was to my great-aunt’s shabby old farmhouse furniture rather than the truly valuable pieces still in her penthouse in Dallas. Even though my great-grandmother had grown up on the Hobie farm a million years ago, it hadn’t been anyone’s primary residence for over eighty years. I’d only ever known it as Melody’s summer home—a place to kick back and let go of real-life stress like worrying about protecting the surface of a Louis XV occasional table or hiring housekeepers specially trained in how to care for antique walnut and mahogany surfaces.
I’d fully planned on bringing all the nice furnishings to the farmhouse in Hobie since it was my permanent home now, but I hadn’t yet secured the appropriate systems and insurance yet to move the most valuable pieces from the city.
Thank god.
Before answering the door, I spared a glance toward the far wall of the living room where my giant display case stood seemingly untouched with the exception of every writing slope it had held in its open cubbies. They all lay in broken pieces on the floor beneath the armoire—hundreds of years of history and thousands of dollars of precious antique collectibles as good as gone thanks to some North Texas assholes who didn’t even know what the fuck they’d had their hands on.
I let out a shaky breath and made my way to the front door. The uniformed sheriff stood in the open doorway with a deputy off to one side.
“August Stiel?”
“That’s me,” I said.
“I’m Sheriff Walker and this is Deputy Diller. We’d like to make sure the premises is secure before conducting an assessment of what’s missing. Would you mind stepping outside with my deputy while I get started?”
I nodded and stepped out of the house, already wondering what it would take for me to ever feel safe in my own home again.
It was only a few days before my sister came up with a suggestion.
Chapter 2
Saint
Being on the receiving end of my boss’s anger was not good.
“Goddamned motherfucking imbecile!” Lanny railed at me and paced behind his desk. I remained seated in the chair opposite his desk with my back straight and my hands clasped in front of me like a good little soldier.