Picked(34)

Seeing Becker’s car pull to the curb, I brushed Justine off with a quick hello, can’t talk. Promising her I’d call as soon as I got home, no matter the time, and I hung up. I stopped dead in my tracks when I giddily opened the door, happy to see him.

“You look as lovely as ever. How are you?”

“Hi, Mason. Where’s Becker?”

“He’s waiting for you back at his house. He had an unexpected call he had to deal with. So. What do you think?”

“Did you help with this? This is crazy. Who does this? You guys know this is like off the top, not real life, right?”

“It’s real life. We like helping people out. It makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Mason teased. “How’s Snowball like his new place?” Mason asked, squatting to rub the meddling Snowball under his neck.

“He loves it. I think he climbed up that thing ten times today.”

“Kitties need things to do. Huh, Snowball?”

He got that, he had plenty to do now. I never had that cool of a toy growing up. The carpeted tree went clear to the ceiling, branching out with dangling toys, holes for him to hide in, pockets for hidden treats, and a cozy bed three feet from the floor. Snowball was in kitty heaven. He had a mansion, just like me. I still couldn’t believe it was my house. It was so bright and clean, un-depressing like it had been the day before.

“Oh, we put the headboard in the basement. We weren’t sure if it was sentimental or not,” Mason explained like he was worried I’d be mad about the old metal headboard.

They could have pitched it. I was with my grandma when she bought it at a garage sale. It didn’t mean anything. My house could get broken into anytime for results like this.

“It wasn’t sentimental. I love this, Mason. Like you don’t even know how much I love it. I can’t even express how much I love it,” I rattled on and on, taking his elbow.

Mason and I talked the whole ride. I was never at a loss of words with him or Becker. He would have been the best brother-in-law ever. They could do stuff, too. Like man stuff. I guess I’ve always had this perception of men with more than six figures in their income to be sort of man-dumb, you know, like they didn’t know how to change their own oil, fix a leaky faucet, or change a tire. Mason and Becker could do those things. I was sure of it. Mason told me how funny it was when Becker busted his knuckles when the bolt finally let lose under my kitchen sink. I loved my new sink and the shiny new handles.

“Where do you live, Mason?” I curiously asked. He seemed to always be around.

“On the same property as Beck. We live about two miles apart. I’ll show you sometime.”

I won’t be around for that, I sighed, looking out the window. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere and I couldn’t have it. It was so close but so far out of reach.

The house, just like before, was quiet. Mason walked me through to a patio area where Becker paced the white concrete. I turned when I heard the faint sound of laughter—girls’ laughter. They were at the far end of the house. I knew it.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Mason smiled with a sad nod. Why did he look like that? Something was going on. I could feel it. I was an investigator, you know.

“Don’t go far,” Becker ordered Mason. What did that mean? I didn’t like the look on Becker’s face. I’d never seen it before. Not that I had witnessed all his expressions, but I could read this one. It made me extremely apprehensive.

“Becker?” I questioned, walking to him.

He ignored me, nodded for me to take a seat, and poured me wine.

I was so confused. I wanted to jump up and down, thank him for what he’d done to my living quarters, and wrap my arms around his neck. I didn’t. I timidly stared up to the expression that I now read as anger. What the hell?

“So, Cassandra. What’s your next step?”

“Excuse me?” What the hell was he talking about?

“Your next step, you know, where do we go from here? Do I need to worry about the feds busting my door down at any second? Your daddy and all his little cop buddies, hiding out on my property somewhere?”

“Becker, what the hell are you talking about?” I asked. I started to get up, but quickly dropped back to my chair when Becker dropped his hands to the table. Hard. I jumped, thinking about my dad doing the same thing to get my attention.

“I’m talking about you, Miss McClelland. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I just wish I would have found out before I dropped seventy grand in your house.”

“Seventy grand?!” I didn’t mean to say that out loud.