Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
And, of course, my attacker.
I slipped on the flats, then looked at August.
“Let’s go. So much time has already passed. Has my father responded?”
“No,” he said, voice soft as he broke the news that, well, couldn’t be good. Right?
It had likely been another hour since I called, give or take. Even if he was busy, wouldn’t he be checking his phone for possible leads or whatever? He’d have seen my texts and voicemail if he had.
“Hey, don’t get too up in your head about all of this right now,” August demanded, pressing a hand into my lower back as we moved into the living room. “We don’t know what we are going to be walking into. Maybe nothing,” he added, but he didn’t sound too convinced of that.
The churning feeling in my stomach said that there was more to this than we could know, that there was no way we would go back to my town, and find that my father had somehow put things to rights while I was in Navesink Bank.
“We heading out?” Milo asked as he held the door open for Lettie to leave, carrying a cookie sheet holding the hot, possibly burnt, lasagne with her.
“Yep,” August said.
“Ah, what about my uncle’s car?” I asked.
“We’ll drive that down,” August told me as we all filed out.
Aurelio and August went automatically toward the stairs, leaving Milo to catch up with a furrowed brow.
“Listen, if you told me it was this car, I would have insisted on driving it back,” Milo said, shaking his head. “What does this go for? One-fifty? More?” he asked, clucking his tongue as he climbed into Aurelio’s car with him.
August was eyeing the car with a strange look in his eye as he held open my door, then climbed in with me.
“What?” I asked as we started to drive.
“Milo is right. This car is expensive as fuck.”
“Oh, ah, yeah. I’ve… I’ve never doubted that Stan is on the take. He lives lavishly like my father.”
“Right,” August agreed, but he seemed distracted and restless as we drove in silence back toward my town.
The drive there felt twice as long as the one to Navesink Bank, back when I was running on fear and adrenaline, and likely a healthy dollop of shock.
This ride felt torturous, with my brain bouncing from one terrible outcome to another, each more gory and horrific than the last.
I was momentarily saved from my thoughts as August handed me his phone, and told me to call Milo, and put it on speaker.
“Yo,” Milo answered.
“We’re going to drive to Traveler’s house first, see what is going on there, what she might have missed. Then we will figure out where we’re going from there. Keep this line open, though,” he said.
I kept his phone in my lap as he drove toward my house with a pretty impressive sense of direction, given that he’d only been there once.
I saw it a split second before he did.
I knew that because he pulled to a stop before I could even widen my eyes at the scene.
Lots and lots of cop cars.
“Fuck,” August said, trying to decide what to do.
Because, on the one hand, the cops meant that someone was working on my case.
On the other, though…
“My dad is worried someone on the force set him up,” I said. “Maybe…”
Before I even finished, August was turning the car down a side street with Aurelio and Milo in tow.
“We’re gonna ditch this car,” August said as he parked and cut the engine.
“But wh—“ I started. He was already climbing out, though, so I moved to do the same, following him to Aurelio’s car, where we piled into the back.
I remembered to end the phone call as Aurelio pulled away, no one wanting to get caught with a very expensive car that may or may not have been reported stolen. And that depended largely on if Uncle Stan was alive, conscious, or not.
“There was an ambulance there,” Aurelio said, breaking the silence. “But I didn’t see the medical examiner,” he added.
That was a good sign, right?
Stan and the cop were probably still alive then.
“What are we doing now?” I asked.
“Let’s make another round,” August suggested. “Police station, your uncles’, and your father’s place,” he said, waiting for me to rattle off directions.
There was a palpable tension in the car, and I was once again under the impression that these three men were having some sort of telepathic conversation that I wasn’t tuned into the frequency of.
“That’s Don’s wife’s car,” I said as we drove past his place, since his was the closest to the police station.
“But his isn’t here?” August asked.
“No,” I said, not sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“Okay. Let’s put a pin in talking to the wife,” August said. “She probably doesn’t have any idea what is going on. She might send up an alarm we don’t want sounded right now.”