“Alright,” I gritted out. “I’ll just call the police and let themuncomplicateit then.” I reached into my back pocket to grab my phone.
“No!” he spluttered, struggling into a sitting position. The man leaned awkwardly into the dim light spilling from the alley. A pale white face, half-covered by his dark beard, peered up at me. Short, dark hair stood in spikes on his head, like he’d run his hand through it countless times. “Look, there seems to have been some type of mix-up. Just let me explain.”
I pursed my lips, watching him carefully as he shuffled to sit on the edge of the truck.
“My name is Jasper—”
“Quinn! Quinn, is that you? I heard a scream! What’s going on?!”
I gasped as I turned around just in time to see my 70-year-old grandmother, Mary Joy, rushing out of the backdoor with a rifle in her hands. I could tell that she’d been sleeping before, as she had her nightgown on and the hair that wasn’t covered by her crooked bonnet was flying all over the place. If not for the fact that she was already aiming the rifle toward Jasper, I would have laughed.
“Gran!” I stepped in front of him quickly. “Gran, put the gun down!”
“What is going on out here?! I heard you scream and thought someone might be messing with you! Who is this man in the back of your—Oh?” she’d pushed me aside and started aiming at him again before her eyes widened and she quickly put the gun down. “Wha—Quinn, what in the world are you doing with Jasper King in the back of your van?!”
“Jasper King?” My brows shot up toward my hairline. Jasper King, as in the only surviving member of the prestigious King family? “You recognize him?” I turned to look at Gran, surprised.
“Please,” she scoffed, clearly exasperated, as she shook her head at me. “I still have my magazine subscriptions. I read all about the King family in my favorite one, every other Friday! The better question is, why don’tyourecognize him? You’re the one who just provided the catering for his annual gala earlier!”
“I heard the food was excellent,” Jasper added, still wearily eyeing Gran’s gun.
“I-I—” I spluttered, pulling my phone out to do a quick Google search. I’ve seen pictures of Jasper King before, but this man didn’t look anything like him!
Unless I squinted my eyes and tilted my head and…
Damn. Gran was right!
“Well, I—” I shrugged as I tried to explain myself to my bemused grandmother. “How was I supposed to realize that it was him?! Look at these pictures. He looks much better online than he does in person! I—”
“Quinn!”
I winced as Gran pinched me, rubbing my arm in an attempt to ease the pain as I murmured a petulant apology to Jasper, who sent me a pained smile.
“I still don’t understand how he ended up in your truck.” Gran shook her head.
“Yeah, I’m not sure about that part myself.” I sent him a look.
He gave us both a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that. This is all one terrible mistake. You see, my caregiver placed me in here, but then he was called away. I think he mistook your truck for his.”
I frowned. “Caregiver?”
“Yes,” came the clipped response. “I… I normally use a wheelchair to get around.”
“Why do you use a wheelchair?” I asked, wide eyed.
“Because he can’t walk, Quinn, for goodness’ sake!” Gran whisper-yelled.
Jasper was silent for a few moments, then he sighed. His raspy words were more stuttered when he replied. “I have some sort of illness, which affects my mobility and speech. The doctors can’t figure out what it is as of right now…”
Well, him having an illness would explain a lot. The slurred speech, the way he struggled to move, why he looked so different from the pictures I’d seen of him. He was much thinner now, and nearly unrecognizable. It was clear now why there weren’t any recent pictures of him. I probably wouldn’t have gotten out much in that condition either... The media and public can be ruthless online.
“Well,” I mumbled. “I apologize for being rude, Mr. King. It’s just that you scared me. I wasn’t expecting to find you when I opened the doors of my truck.”
“It’s alright, and please, call me Jasper… As I said, this is all just one big mix-up. My caregiver, Nigel, put me in here thinking this was his own van, then he had to leave for a bit and before he could get back, you had already closed the doors and driven away.”
The entire situation was becoming more confusing by the minute. Why did this Nigel guy stash him in a truck, anyway? He was Jasper King, sole heir to the King dynasty. Didn’t he have a million butlers or chauffeurs to drive him around? Had he gone mad since his disappearance from the public eye? Maybe his mental health had been affected as well.
He’s stowed away in the back of my van like some criminal. Screams lunatic to me.
