Page 62 of The Hangman's Rope
I called Grim, and he picked up on the second ring.
“I’m taking tomorrow off,” I said. “Find a replacement.”
“Copy that,” he replied without a single bit of preamble or wheedling. Just those simple two words and he hung up the phone, likely to call around to get a guy in to do what needed doing.
I got down off the equipment and called out to the guy that was supposed to be helping me.
“I gotta go, family emergency,” I said and he gave a nod and said, “I’ll finish up,” like I was asking instead of telling.
I went for my truck and drove home, pulling down the way and into the outbuilding near the caretaker’s house where we kept the groundskeeping vehicles.
I went up, taking the steps two at a time and stripped, before I even made it all the way through the living room, ditching my dirty clothes in the washer as I went by and getting right into the shower.
I let the lukewarm water cool my overheated skin as I thought, not for the first time, that I was a special kind of dumbass not getting her information to be able to check up on her. I’d put the onus on her and had somehow given her the impression I’d sent her out into the world to fix herself, and that I hadn’t wanted to hear from her until she did and I was put out with myself for that.
I was glad she’d called, sad that it’d taken her this long, and elated that I could finally see her.
I cleaned up, got dressed, and answered my phone as I tied off the laces on my riding boots – “What’s up?”
“She called you,” Synister said on the other end of the line.
“She did,” I said.
“You getting ready to leave out?”
“About to head to the club to get on my bike,” I affirmed.
“Ride safe,” he ordered.
“Hua,” I answered and ended the call. Word got around fast between the club brothers. I was used to it.
I rode out, hitting Highway 17 and connecting with I-95 for the two hour and some change ride.
The wind therapy was just what I needed. Clearing the cobwebs and letting my racing thoughts cool with the rush of the pavement beneath my tires and booted feet. Sweat trickled down my back beneath my jacket and cut, the warm wind blowing in the front of my open leather and wrapping around me, didn’t do much to cool me.
I cranked my music and powered north, following the blue line on my GPS from the club’s door to hers, and I’d probably been to a thousand houses just like it.
I pulled into the circular drive, stopping on the other side of the round white fountain that sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air, the scent of chlorine hanging thick outside the broad steps that led to an arched double door.
I heeled down the kickstand and leaned the bike onto it, sniffing, taking off my helmet and mopping the sweat from my brow with a navy-blue bandanna I liberated from my jeans back pocket.
The birds chirped, the insects sang, and the late afternoon sunlight hung golden and thick around the lush courtyard.
I marched up the steps and rang the bell, waiting patiently for the door to open. When it did, I looked down to the shortHispanic maid standing in the doorway. She peered up at me and frowned quizzically.
“I’m here to see Lorelai Gantz at her invitation,” I said and that seemed to surprise her.
“One moment please,” she said and she shut the front door in my face. I smirked.
With the trust fund I had but didn’t touch compounding a shit ton of interest over the last almost twenty years, I could have bought this place six times over – but I knew I didn’t look it. Add to those millions what I made with the club? Shit, I never had to work a day in my life if I didn’t want to – but I just wasn’t cut from the rich bitch jet set cloth even though I’d been born to it.
Fuck, I pretty much lived for disappointing my dad right up until he and my mom had both died. No siblings, no grandchildren, just me… their washed-up disappointment of a veteran living life at the edge of the cemetery they were both buried in.
All the money in the world couldn’t save them from a bout of carbon monoxide poisoning on a ski trip when the house’s exhaust vents had gotten blocked by the snow.
When it was your time, it was your time.
Now, even though I still owned the house I grew up in, I rented the damn thing out as an event space and wedding venue.
