Chapter 8
Zipping along in her minivan, Madeline sped past the sagging eight-foot fence, without a thought of slowing to scan for its street address.
The “privacy” fence was so dilapidated it was a joke.
It didn’t shield street traffic from the eyesore stretching out behind it, nor did it protect the contents—should any of them be worth protecting—from anyone who happened to pass by.
More boards were broken and missing than were not, and whole sections had fallen and would’ve lain flat, except for the junk and debris that held them up.
Everything from washing machines and old freezers to tire-less motorcycle bodies and ancient vehicle chassis littered the yard.
Madeline was sure there was uglier stuff too—just that you wouldn’t see it until you were closer.
Barbwire stretched across the top of the boards that were still standing and formed a deadly web in the gaps where panels had fallen.
She shook her head, sorry for whoever it was living in such a state.
They must be horribly unpopular with their neighbors, even if the lots were small acreages, and this dump wasn’t pressed right up against anyone else’s house or anything.
She also felt oddly chastised or warned or something.
She easily could’ve gone this route herself.
Still might, if you’re not careful, Ronny said sharply in her head, her tone only half-kidding.
“Shut up,” she muttered, squinting at what lay ahead. It wasn’t the time or place to kibitz with Ronny.
When the narrow road ended abruptly—no cul-de-sac, no sign saying when or if it continued elsewhere—Madeline reversed in a three-point turn and backtracked more slowly.
She finally saw a house number to use as a reference and then spotted another nailed to a tree.
She slowed as the barbwire atrocity came back into view, and she noticed a tilting post with four faded plastic numbers fixed to it.
She idled by the potholed driveway it marked, then darted a look over her shoulder, half expecting someone to be there filming her reaction or something. This couldn’t be right.
She rechecked the information Grant had entered into her phone.
Maybe he’d accidentally transposed a couple digits?
Maybe there was another Salmon Way or a Salmon Street or something, and her GPS had confused the two?
Either way, something must’ve gotten messed up.
This couldn’t be the place. Surely, Grant would’ve given her a heads-up or an explanation or—
She was about to hit the gas and leave, an excuse already forming in her head, should he return to the store, when a dog she recognized loped into view from around a bend in the long, twisting driveway.
And, of course, because that was her luck in a nutshell, Grant was right behind him. He scowled at her parked vehicle.
Shaking her head at herself, Madeline turned into the driveway, which was more of a country lane really—and a super creepy, horror-show-worthy lane at that—and slowly proceeded forward.
At best, it would be a wasted trip. At worst .
. . well, let’s just say she was glad she’d told Aisha, who was moving in more stock today, her plans to check out Grant’s furniture, along with his address. At least her body would be found.
As her van crept along, however, curiosity started to get the better of her.
She couldn’t help but gawk. There was so much stuff on the property.
Multiple rows of old vehicles lined both sides of the lane, and junk of all sizes and imaginings stretched out in every direction beyond that.
It was . . . bizarre. Grant continued to show no hint of recognition, his frown only deepening the further into the yard she got.
When she was close enough to not have to bellow, she unrolled her window, about to call a greeting—but Grant beat her to it.
“Oh, it’s you.” His tone suggested she was an unwanted guest who couldn’t take a hint and bugger off, despite his many requests for her to do so.
But Madeline didn’t care if Grant was a bear.
She’d worked in customer service in some way or another most of her life, and the world was filled with all sorts.
Grant’s being an ass wasn’t personal. And yet .
. . she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel purposely misled.
It was difficult to believe there was anything that wasn’t an environmental hazard in this rubble yard, let alone anything “really nice,” as promised.
His bizarre rudeness, as if he was the one doing her a favor, not the other way around, was just icing on the shit-cake.
Grover, however, wagged his tail and looked at her hopefully. Grant reached down and rubbed the dog’s ears, and he slumped against his owner’s long, denim-clad legs in pleasure. Now they were both staring at her.
Madeline sighed. Grant really was strangely unpleasant—but almost too over-the-top to be genuine.
He was like a parody of a bad-tempered hermit type.
He seemed to shower regularly enough, however.
Small mercies! His hair and beard were shaggy and overgrown but looked shiny and clean as she’d noted the day before, actually.
He wore well-fitted, faded jeans and a moss-green wool sweater that would’ve looked lovely with his sea-blue eyes and sandy hair, except that he paired them with such a dour expression.
And that was another thing that reminded her of their first encounter.
His intense eyes were sad, not angry; they didn’t match his irate persona.
Grant lifted his hands in an impatient what-are-we-waiting-for gesture, and she resisted the impulse to flip him the bird.
Whether he was sad or just a jerk was irrelevant.
She only had so much patience. He should have his own T-shirt: Grant Graham, Super Grouch!
But she’d learned to trust her gut around people, and she didn’t think he had foul play on his mind.
Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
She sighed, held up a finger, and texted Aisha.
“I’m here. Please call in fifteen minutes.
If I don’t answer, come over like you so kindly volunteered to. ”
Aisha instantly replied with a surprised face, a question mark, and a thumbs-up. Madeline smiled in spite of herself—a smile she dropped when she turned back to address Grant through the open driver-side window once more.
“Show me where to park, and let’s get this over with.”
If he found her new reciprocal brusqueness as off-putting as she found his, his face gave no sign of it. He nodded tersely, turned his back to her, and strode into the shadows of the winding drive, motioning over his shoulder for her to follow him.