Chapter 8
EIGHT
CASEY – TUESDAY AFTERNOON
The return trip to Heartstone was unnerving, and there was one single reason for it.
Gabe was quiet. Too damn quiet.
Casey was not used to his—his Gabriel, for lack of a better word—not engaging in an almost endless stream of chatter.
Casey had expected a running commentary on a variety of road trip topics.
The significant amount of terrible and distracted drivers.
Potholes the size of hippopotamuses, possibly leading to alternate dimensions.
Billboards advertising ambulance-chasing lawyers in the most accident-prone section of Interstate 5.
Which previously presumed dead seventies bands were playing at the casino or the Tacoma Dome.
Even more prodding about Mickie. But no, Gabe kept his mouth firmly shut, appearing to watch the scenery, such as it was, flash past.
A trickle of concern took root and quickly bloomed in Casey’s stomach, driving away all thoughts of stopping for five-star pad see ew or pad kee mao.
He briefly considered forcing the conversation, but his last interaction with his brother came to mind, and he decided it was fine to let Gabe brood until they got back to the island.
Gabe played the carefree ne’er-do-well almost perfectly, but Casey knew that he worried, and he cared.
Deeply. As much as Casey’s life had been, and still was, upended by Mickie’s wrongful imprisonment and their parents’ inability to deal with it in any remotely healthy way, he at least hadn’t been brought up to unearth people’s weaknesses and take advantage of them.
Gabe had been, yet he’d managed to retain his core decency, which, of course, if Gabe knew Casey thought that, he’d make gagging sounds.
But Casey was onto him.
Gabe was Casey’s Charming Fucker, but he wasn’t a natural cheat.
He had to work at it. A few months on Heartstone and his con artist veneer had worn away, revealing—well, a man who didn’t mind flaunting the law but only for what he considered the greater good.
Gabe’s gift was that people took to him without much effort on his part.
About halfway home, Casey’s cell phone vibrated, and both he and Gabe glanced over to where it sat in the cup holder.
Elton lit up the screen. Casey thought that Gabe might answer the call, but he just turned his head again as they crested Narrows Bridge, his attention focused on the swirling dark waters far below.
Casey would return Elton’s call once they arrived at Gabe’s.
Finally, Casey turned into the RV park. They’d made decent time on the return trip, with the sun just now starting to sink behind the Olympics and sending a swathe of red and yellow ribbons into the atmosphere. As always, he felt incredibly lucky to live and work where he did.
“Sorry,” said Gabe, reaching for the door handle.
His first word in a solid two hours, and it was sorry? “I was going to ask if the cat got your tongue, but Keith stayed home,” Casey teased.
“Ha, ha.” Gabe clicked the lock and elbowed the door open. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For driving my sorry ass to Seattle, for braving the serial killer basement of doom and carting this shit back here.” Gabe dragged his fingers across the top of his head, tugging at his hair like he did when he was perturbed about something.
“What the hell am I going to do with it? And what the fuck is with that chair?”
Casey pinched his lips together, trying not to laugh, and shrugged. The chair in question was remarkably ugly. “You don’t remember it from when you were a kid?”
“Oh, come on,” Gabe scoffed. “Would you forget a chair that ugly?”
Casey had to admit he wouldn’t. The chair in question was antique, there was no doubt of that, and sort of looked like a throne, except without the gilt and precious gems he randomly associated with something like that.
The piece was heavy and awkward too. It had taken both of them to get it out of the basement and to Casey’s car.
Jamming it in the back had been an event in itself. Thank god Bowie had stayed at Elton’s.
“Nope, you’re right,” Casey said. “It’s definitely unique.”
“Which then begs the question: What, and I do mean, The Fuck, was Heidi doing with something like that?”
Gabe was out of the car now, his hands clasped together on top of his head, conveying his utter and complete exasperation, as if he’d spent the drive trying to figure out what the stuff they’d picked up meant and yet was still clueless.
Casey got out from behind the wheel and came around to join him.
“Maybe you’ll never know. But I’m guessing there’s a clue in one of those boxes.”
“Har, har.” Gabe dropped his arms and turned to glare at the moving boxes visible through the passenger windows. They’d been packed long enough ago that Casey suspected the moving company was out of business and, by the look of the logo’s style, had been for at least thirty years.
“How do you want to do this?” Casey asked.
Gabe was quiet for a moment, then a more familiar mischievous glint lit up his eyes. “Gasoline would probably work best. A couple of gallons and poof! My problems would be solved.”
At last, a glimmer of his Charming Fucker. A man willing and ready to torch his problems with gasoline. And god help him, Casey loved him. Hadn’t said the words to Gabe yet, but the truth was there.
Gabe was probably just kidding, but in case he wasn’t—
“You would regret not finding out what your mom thought was so important that she stored it safely with a friend and did her best to make sure it got to you at some point.”
Casey stepped in close to Gabe, his hands landing on his hips so he could tug him even closer.
The bruise on Gabe’s forehead had darkened, making Casey wonder once again if he had a headache.
Gabe would never admit it if he did. “Although I have to admit that the fact she made it happen after her death is a bit worrisome.”
“See! That’s what I’m talking about! And I didn’t tell you what happened yesterday morning!”
Casey lifted both eyebrows. “You mean something more than going one round with a tree and losing?”
“Yeah—”
The crackle of gravel interrupted them before Casey could ask him what exactly had happened. He dropped his grip on Gabe’s hips and twisted around to watch Elton’s truck pull in and stop behind Gabe’s Honda.
“How did he know we were back already?” demanded Gabe. He sounded a tad outraged, a bit more like his usual self.
“You’re the one who bought him a phone with tracking capabilities and spent hours teaching him how to use them,” Casey reminded him. “I’m sure he knew exactly where we were the entire day. And he did call, I just didn’t answer.”
The incident late last fall when Casey had been attacked up near Gordon McDonald’s place had finally convinced Elton to get a cell phone, and not just the burner one Gabe had picked up for him.
The old man didn’t welcome all the “fancy interwebs shit,” but he did like to know where his family was.
Casey wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to slip from friend and into Elton’s family group, but he was fine with it.
They watched Elton let Bowie jump over his lap and out of the truck, then the man himself slowly emerged. Bowie raced over with a waggle and proceeded to give Casey and Gabe a good sniff over.
“Bowie probably smells all the bodies that woman had hidden down in that hellhole of a basement.” Gabe then huffed a hearty sigh, still watching Elton. “Fine, you’re right. I’ve created a monster teaching him how to use his phone.”
Elton started inching his way to the ground, and Gabe murmured, “The man seriously needs a ladder. Why haven’t we made that happen?”
“Or a vehicle that isn’t four feet off the ground,” Casey said out the side of his mouth.
“How was the trip?” Elton asked when he was closer.
“Fine,” Gabe lied, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It was—interesting,” Casey filled in. “We were just discussing next steps.”
“I’m all for ignitable petroleum products, but Casey says that a big no. Spoilsport.”
“That’s my middle name, Casey ‘Take the Fun Out of Everything’ Lundin.”
Elton’s eyebrows drew together. “There’s something that Heidi wanted you to have or at least know about. Aren’t you curious about what it is?”
“Of course, I’m curious. Am I breathing?” Exasperation dripped from Gabe’s tone. “But I’m also considering the Pandora’s box angle. Do I really want to open these? Also, why now? Why didn’t she get them to me when she was still alive?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Elton asked, ignoring the unanswerable questions. He jammed his hands into the pockets of the puffy jacket Gabe had bought for him and walked toward the house.
“You ask this question like there aren’t multitudes of answers,” grumped Gabe toward Elton’s back. “And with my luck, I won’t like any of them.”
“Start unloading and I’ll get the coffee going.”
Keith must have been watching them through the window because Casey saw the cat jump away, presumably to hide under the couch or Gabe’s bed, as Elton used the key Gabe had given him to unlock the front door.
“You only like me for my fine espresso machine,” Gabe yelled after him.
Elton, wisely, did not respond. Bowie bounded inside ahead of him.
“This is all of it,” Casey told Elton a few minutes later. He accepted the hot espresso held out to him and wrapped his hands around the mug.
“That’s quite a chair,” Elton commented, eyeing the oak monstrosity.
Black with age and grime, the piece of furniture took up a significant amount of floor space in Gabe’s front room.
They’d done their best to place it out of the way, but Casey suspected that soon enough one of them would stub their toe on the damn thing when the lights were out.
Bowie was certainly eyeing it with distrust.