Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
TINKER
By the time we reached the apartment building, Carrie had called saying the highway was closed, so she’d have to drive around the long way. That meant two hours minimum before she got back to town, assuming those roads managed to stay open. We made plans for the twins to stay with me at my place, agreeing that if the evacuation order came, I’d take them with me.
Mrs. Webbly ushered Dad and the girls inside to eat lunch while I started making rounds of the building. Several of the tenants had decided to leave already. Sadie and her family had just finished packing up, and the rest already had their plans. This was a huge relief, because no matter how tight we squeezed in, no way I’d be getting more people in my car.
We didn’t need to leave yet, but we might soon. I’d started back across the courtyard when the phone rang.
Margarita.
“Hey,” I said.
“You guys okay?” she asked anxiously.
“For now,” I said. “I’m waiting for Carrie to get back—her girls are with me. Smoke is real bad, and some people are already pulling out. We’re watching for now. I’ve packed as much as the car can hold.”
“That’s good,” she said slowly. “Um, I’m going to text you a link. It’s to one of the news channels, their live stream. Don’t freak, okay? They just announced an interview that’s coming, one you’ll probably want to see.”
“Okay . . .” I answered. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s just watch and see what happens,” she replied, her voice strained. “Then call me back if you need to talk.”
Sheesh. Nothing ominous about that. She hung up, and seconds later a text came through with a link to a Seattle news station. I touched it, bracing myself as the little loading thingie circled around. Then the video started and I saw a shot of Brandon in front of our house.
He looked very serious as a blonde reporter raised her microphone.
“This is Melissa Swartz, live, with Brandon Graham, who is director of the King County Prosecutor’s criminal division. Mr. Graham, can you tell us about your wife and what you know of her situation?”
She turned to him, concern written all over her face. He nodded his head, the portrait of a worried husband.
“Tinker is in Hallies Falls with her father, at their family home,” he said. “We’re very worried about their safety, of course, because officials have just announced a level-two evacuation warning for the town. I think it’s important for all of us to remember that real people are suffering right now, my wife among them. Fortunately, she has a home here in Seattle, so she doesn’t risk losing everything. So many of our friends in the area may not be so lucky.”
My blood pressure started to rise. Friends? Brandon didn’t have any friends here. He’d only come to visit maybe three times in the last ten years, the fucking hypocrite.
“Has it been stressful, seeing this happen? Are you planning to travel to the area?”
Brandon sighed, shaking his head. “The authorities have asked us to stay away. So many roads are closed, and those that are open need to be kept clear for emergency services and those evacuating.”
“Have you been in touch with Tinker?” she asked. “Has she described what it’s like in the town?”
“We’re in close touch,” Brandon told her. “I’ll admit, as a husband, what I really want to do is go to her. But as a public official, I understand how important it is for all of us to work together. This is a state of emergency, and the residents of King County can help most by offering shelter and raising funds to help those in need. We just hope that Tinker’s family home isn’t lost. I know it would break her heart. On a less personal note, I want everyone to know—on behalf of law enforcement and the entire legal community—that we’ll investigate the causes of these fires, and if they’re found to be arson, we won’t rest until the perpetrators are found and punished.”
Melissa nodded gravely as the feed switched back to the main anchor. I stopped the transmission, then took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. The smoke was heavy enough that I started coughing instead.
How dare he?
“That fucking asshole,” I muttered, pushing into the kitchen. I scrolled through my contacts, finding Brandon’s number and punching it.
“Tinker?” he asked. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“You’re still right there with the reporter, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “We’re all so worried about you. Just pack up your dad and come home, all right? I’ll feel so much better once you’re out of there.”
“That’s not my home and you’re the last man I’d turn to for help,” I told him. I heard his hand muffling the phone as he asked the reporter to excuse him.