Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Drugs. In addition to a wardrobe worth the cost of an average house, Roger had a stash of drugs.
Monk stared at the box filled with tiny plastic bags, each of those filled with a crystal-like substance.
He’d found the container in a hidden compartment behind the shoe rack.
Along with a gun, a pair of gold handcuffs—an impractical material if there ever was one—and a whip.
He could understand why Roger hadn’t left the handcuffs down in the dungeon where all his “parties” took place, but the whip was an odd one.
It didn’t appear to be valuable, and Roger wasn’t a sentimental man.
Monk didn’t feel the need to pick it up and examine it, though.
Grabbing the gun, he slid the shoe rack back into place, an audible click securing the items back in their hidey-hole. Then pulling out his phone, he tapped a contact.
“Monk.” Mantis’s familiar voice soothed some of his anxiety.
“Yeah.”
“You need company?”
“I found a bunch of drugs in Roger’s room. I don’t know what it is so don’t want to dump it.”
“You made it into his room?”
Monk walked out. “And my old one.” And then, because he didn’t feel the need to hide anything, he added, “I’ve been sleeping in the tasting room, though.”
His brothers knew enough about the castle that Mantis would understand how much he hadn’t explored.
“Dulcie’s there already. I’ll send Lovell, too. One can stay with you, and the other can bring the drugs back. HICC can test it, then we’ll know how to dispose of it.”
He’d spied Dulcie following him from Mystery Lake but hadn’t seen him since arriving, although it didn’t surprise Monk he’d stuck around.
Now that he’d broken the metaphorical seal and made his first foray into parts of the castle littered with memories, it would be good to have a brother with him for the rest.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Lovell told me about Helia. Any news there?”
Monk didn’t blink at the question. There were very few secrets among the Falcon’s Rest men.
“Leo’s looking into it. Flannery was murdered, although they aren’t public with that yet. Two detectives questioned Helia yesterday, but her alibi is airtight. Still, it rattled her.”
“I’m sure it did. How’s she doing otherwise?”
He’d been one of the lucky ones to have someone looking out for him. Someone who cared about him and gave him a safe place when his father started doing, well, what Roger did. Knowing his relationship with Helia and her family made them important to his brothers, too.
“Good. Running an amazing business with her parents. They had a massive wedding yesterday and no one even broke a sweat. I’m talking a four-hundred person sit-down-five-course meal preceded and followed by dancing.”
“Damn, even Dottie would be impressed,” Mantis murmured, referring to their own house manager/house mom. Dottie kept the club running and fed with an efficiency that seemed almost mystical at times.
Monk chuckled as he made his way down to the tasting room. He’d venture upstairs again when Dulcie and Lovell arrived, but he’d had enough for now.
“She’d definitely be impressed.”
Mantis hesitated. Monk knew the next question his club president wanted to ask but wasn’t certain if he should. Taking the choice away from him, Monk spoke. “She’s divorced.”
To his credit, Mantis didn’t take the next logical step in the conversation. “She okay? Was it messy?”
“It was a while ago,” he said. They’d touched on the topic over breakfast the day before, but she hadn’t gone into detail. “I didn’t get the sense it was messy. Sounded more like they drifted apart, then realized they wanted different things. No kids, so fewer complications.”
“Probably still hard, but I’m glad she seems okay.”
Yeah, Monk felt a tad guilty for how good it felt not seeing her cut up about another man. He had no rights to her in that way, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to himself.
“Me, too.”
“The memorial is today.”
“Yep.”
“I assume you’re not going. Do you need anything other than Dulcie and Lovell?”
“Definitely not going and no. I’m going to research where I can donate Roger’s clothes. I’ll get his room cleaned out, then move on to the rest of the house.”
“Dulcie will stick around in case you need him.”
Before going down to the dungeon, was left unsaid.
Monk hated even thinking the words. Aside from the memories, it was such a cliché.
Not that he’d prefer his father to be a less-cliché criminal asshole, but referring to the basement as the dungeon made it sound like a set in a two-bit porno.
Admittedly, it hadn’t been far off. But unlike a professional film, the drugs Roger pushed on people, sometimes without their knowledge, made it impossible for anyone to consent to the activities that took place down there. Himself being a case in point.
“Thanks,” he muttered, shifting a pillow out of place and taking a seat in one of the leather chairs.
“When are you seeing Helia again?”
“You better not start fucking betting on anything,” Monk muttered. Charley came from a large family that bet on everything. It hadn’t taken much to drag the Falcons into it.
“Between Charley, Joey, and Leo, that’s like asking the tide to stop,” Mantis said on a laugh.
Monk grumbled. He didn’t really mind, but the idea of them betting on him and Helia in any way made him think of Helia in that way. A topic that had no business occupying his brain. He’d only walked back into her life after years apart.
“We’re going out for tacos tonight. Some food truck she likes,” he replied.
“I want credit for changing the subject and not responding like a teenager right now.”
“Depends on what you’re going to change it to. I might prefer prurient comments about my lack of relationship with Helia.”
Mantis chuckled. “I was going to make a taco comment, actually. All joking aside, how is seeing her again? She and her family were good to you. They were a big part of your life before you left. But the good mixes with the bad sometimes.”
Monk considered his answer. In truth, he hadn’t really let himself think too deeply about slipping back into her life. Or what, if anything, it might mean to reconnect with the Shaw family. Maybe he should, or maybe it wasn’t worth overthinking.
“It’s not hard,” he replied truthfully. “I’m not reading anything into that, though. Only that it’s easy and they aren’t bringing back any of the bad memories. They’re still the good people I knew; we just look older now.”
“And have more years—more experience—under our belts.”
“That, too.”
Mantis paused. “Okay, Lovell is on his way. He’ll pick Dulcie up and be there in three hours or so. Call if you need anything more.”
He promised he would, then rattled off the gate code and ended the call. Glancing at the fireplace, he considered making a fire, then ixnayed the idea. It wasn’t all that cold, and he’d have to let it die out before heading to the taco truck with Helia. Maybe he’d light it before bed.
Setting his phone on the side table, his gaze lingered on the gun from his father’s closet. Pistol, if he cared to be precise. A pocket Ruger—powerful enough to pack a punch but easy to conceal and carry. He’d never seen Roger carry a weapon or even shoot one.
Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand, his gaze lingering on the serial number.
On a whim, he grabbed his phone and texted the string of digits to Leo, asking him to run it through their system.
When the message was delivered, he set the device down and held the weapon in his palm, testing its weight.
With a frown, he checked the magazine. Why the hell did Roger have a fully loaded weapon in the house?
There could be dozens of answers to that question. He hadn’t seen his father in years. And Roger wasn’t exactly a bastion of good behavior. Who the hell knew what he’d been up to.
His phone dinged, a message from Leo confirming he’d look into it. Not knowing what more he could do or learn about it, Monk set the pistol on the side table and focused on more productive things—finding the right place to donate his father’s clothing and shoes.
Two hours later, he’d made arrangements with a second-chance program that helped formerly incarcerated men find employment, including providing them with interview-appropriate clothing. He’d have to drive to San Francisco to drop it off, but the city wasn’t that far.
Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes and contemplated a nap. He had an hour or so before Lovell and Dulcie arrived and another hour after that before meeting Helia.
The heavy weight of sleep danced on the fringes of his mind when a scraping sound yanked him from Morpheus’s embrace. Keeping his eyes closed, he dialed his hearing in.
Another scrape, a shuffle, then the low mumble of a voice, more a vibration than a distinct sound.
In silence, he palmed the pistol. Maybe Helia had come early. If so, she didn’t need to see it.
That thought—as tenuous as it was—fled when he heard the security code being entered.
Living behind a gate and down a half-mile drive had lulled him into forgetting a very basic security practice.
As the door swung open, he added changing the code, and locks as well, to his to-do list. And while he was at it, he’d install security cameras, too.
Having footage of his visitor’s arrival—and pending retreat—could have come in handy.
“It’s his fucking memorial today,” a voice rumbled. It didn’t sound familiar, but Monk hadn’t expected it to. Napa had changed a lot in the years he’d been gone, and there were too many newcomers to assume he’d recognize someone.
A quiet response followed. He didn’t catch the words, but the intense vibe of the reply had him hooking his finger around the trigger.
“I don’t know who’s truck that is, but no one will be here, not even Alessio,” the first voice said, looking over his shoulder as he stepped into Monk’s line of sight.
“You got that wrong,” Monk said.