Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“You’re not innocent, though,” Dad says. “You knew something was going on when your father asked you to get that atropine.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Save it,” I tell her. “Whether you knew or not is irrelevant. They’re framing you. They’ve got a plan all in place.”
“My son is right. They’re not going down, but you are. So your only chance to not go down is to help us.”
“And what do we get in return?” Doc asks.
Dad laughs. It is a sarcastic, caustic laugh. “What do you get? You get to live.”
Doc gulps.
Brittany gulps.
I gulp.
“Dad…”
“I’m not a killer,” Dad says. “I’ve never shot another human being in my life, but I’ve come close. And I’m pretty damned close now.”
“Please, no!” Brittany shrieks.
Doc says nothing. Just stands, and I give him credit for his fortitude. He may have been crying like a baby on the ground earlier, but so far he hasn’t lost control of his bladder.
“Where are the riches?” Dad asks.
“There aren’t—”
“Are you still playing that tune?” Dad shakes his head. “It is so old and tired, and so am I, and my patience is wearing thin. How do they pay you, Sheraton?”
Brittany’s eyes are wide. But something’s wrong. She’s feigning surprise. She’s…something. Ever since I noticed those nails, I’ve just had an itch at the back of my neck. Yesterday, when she and I went to the kennels, I was convinced she was innocent.
Now? I’m pretty sure she’s just a good actress…and her skills are fading.
She knows more than she’s letting on. How much more? And how might it relate to Pat Lamone? That’s what I need to find out.
“Fine,” Doc finally says. “There’s a safe. Buried underneath the kennels.”
“Good idea,” Dad says. “No one’s going to go looking under a kennel full of guard dogs.”
“Right.”
“Back to the car, then,” Dad says. “And then to the kennels.”
It’s nearly lunchtime by the time we take care of moving all the dogs to one side of the kennel so Doc Sheraton can access his safe buried underneath the building.
The floor is made of concrete but covered in an indoor-outdoor carpet-type material. Once we move all the dogs out, Doc takes a box cutter and removes the carpet from the area in question.
And there it is. Instead of concrete, a flat wooden board covers an area of about nine square feet.
Doc Sheraton removes the wooden board and reveals the safe below.
“Open it,” Dad says.
“Give me a minute.” Doc’s hands shake.
“You have two seconds,” Dad says.
Drops of sweat trickle down Doc’s cheeks.
Brittany is shivering as well. “Daddy?”
Doc doesn’t answer. His hands continue to shake as he works the combination, and I, with my perfect vision, watch closely.
Twenty-four.
Forty-seven.
Three.
I have no idea if the numbers are significant at all, but they’re embedded in my brain now. I won’t forget that combination.
Doc opens the safe, and—
“This is it.”
“Take it all out,” Dad says.
The dogs bark from the other side of the kennel. A wall separates us, but it’s not soundproof for sure. I love animals, but right now, the constant barrage of noise is making my head pound.
Still, I’m going to save them. I’ve been thinking about how I’ll do it since I found out about the electric shock collars yesterday. I wish I could take them all home with me, but between Sammy and Zach, I’m not sure we can handle more dogs. Maybe one or two, but not the twenty or so in this kennel.
And that’s not counting the ones in the outside runs or the litter of pups.
I’ll call the Humane Society, I guess. Or the local animal control.
The thing is, though, I don’t want them ending up at a kill shelter. I want them to go to nice homes. Or, if they’re truly good guard dogs, I want them to do their jobs, but for people who will take care of them and treat them well.
Just another thing on my to-do list…
Doc pulls out a velvet bag. “These are diamonds.”
Dad is still holding the gun. “Take a look inside, Brock.”
I grab the bag from Doc Sheraton, open the drawstring, and pour three gemstones into my palm. “They look like diamonds, but I’m no expert.”
“They’re diamonds,” Doc says. “I had them checked out.”
“And no one asked you where the hell you got them?”
“People who appraise gemstones don’t ask questions,” he says. “They do their job, and they’re paid.”
“How much did you pay?” I lift my eyebrows. “Or maybe you just gave them one of these diamonds as payment instead?”
Doc doesn’t reply.
Which means I have my answer.
Doc pulls out the next bag. He hands it to me this time. “Emeralds.”
I return the diamonds back to the first bag, open the second, and pour them into my hand.
The green stones sparkle in the artificial fluorescent lighting streaming from the ceiling of the kennel.
“I don’t know if you’ll believe this,” Doc says, “but my gemstone expert says these are even more valuable than the diamonds.”