“Whoa,” I yelped when I went to place the bottle on the glass patio table, and it tipped over, almost spilling my water. If I hadn’t caught it, the table would’ve landed on my foot. Looking down, I saw that one of the legs was a bit bent, causing the table to be uneven. Noticing a piece of plywood on the porch, I picked it up and stuck it under the leg, steadying the table.
As I rose, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I looked around, noting the vast emptiness of greenery that made up my grandfather’s yard. There was nothing amiss. To the left and right of the property were other residential homes, but they were about two acres away on either side. Fencing separated the properties.
When I looked to either side, the yard of those homes were as empty as mine. I shook the odd feeling off, reminding myself that I was probably feeling out of sorts due to being out of my usual routine, plus the conversation I’d had with Jason Walcott.
The wobbly table leg was a metaphor for my nerves.
I went on with my stretching, thinking about the conversation with Jason Walcott. I wondered what, if anything, his findings could tell me about my grandfather.
Curious, I headed inside, going to my grandfather’s bedroom to search through his belongings. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I’d know it once I found it. Unfortunately, in his bedroom, all I found were old bills that he’d never thrown out, bank statements, and letters from places that went so far back as to when my grandmother was still living. My grandfather was a bit of a packrat. Most of the envelopes were unopened, which wasn’t strange to me, knowing my grandfather.
Yet, none of the forms I found were helpful or informative in any way. On a whim, I chose to go into the bathroom and rummage through the medicine cabinet. I spotted the usual bottle of acetaminophen and the prescription painkillers he took for his back, along with the cream he rubbed in every night.
While rummaging, a folded paper fell out and into the sink. Picking it up, I opened to find that it was a drug prescription from a doctor.
“Fucking doctors and their handwriting,” I murmured because I couldn’t read what the prescription was for, for shit.
Moving to the living room, I grabbed my tablet and settled in at the dining room table. I typed in the name of the physician in the web search bar and held my breath as the results popped up. The first result was a match, and I clicked on the name to find out this Dr. Kenig was an oncologist with an office that was close to one of the local hospitals.
Dread began to fill my stomach, and I started to search for my cell phone to call the doctor and ask why he was giving my grandfather a prescription. Reason set in once my phone was in my hand. Dr. Kenig, like the lawyer from earlier, would be bound by law not to give me any private information on my grandfather’s medical history.
Instead of making the call, I snapped a picture of the prescription and took a screenshot of the website and sent them directly to the number Micah had given me on the back of his business card. Two things occurred to me at that moment. One, there was a lot more going on with my grandfather than I knew. And two, even not knowing him all that well, I was starting to trust Micah Townsend, after only meeting him once.
Chapter Eight
I frowned, annoyed by the buzzing of my cell phone as I exited the restaurant. I was square in the middle of tracking a pair of con artists who ripped off a client. I was within feet of the mastermind behind the deception. It was a man and woman duo. The woman had played her part, romancing my client, and somehow talked him into giving her close to a hundred thousand dollars. Once she had the money, she skipped town. My client wanted his money back, and I was hours away from making that happen.
For the past two days, I’d been tracking this couple down out in fucking Lubbock. Typically, tracking people down didn’t piss me off. It was part of my job. I hated admitting to myself, especially, that what ticked me off the most was this job was keeping me from following up with Jodi Taylor. I hadn’t been able to get the woman off of my mind since she walked out of my office two days earlier.
I told myself it was because her case was particularly interesting to me, and not for other reasons I didn’t care to get into at the moment.
Thoughts of Jodi came on more intensely as I pulled out my cell phone and saw that the buzzing on my phone was due to an email from Sy. Opening the email, I saw it pertained to Jodi’s case. I frowned, seeing what he found wouldn’t be taken well by Jodi. He’d gotten some information on the doctor that Jodi had texted me about the day before.
I hadn’t had much time to respond after receiving her text. I’d let her know that I received the images and would get back to her as soon as possible with more details. When thoughts of her continued to dance around in my head, I reminded myself that I was on a case. A case in which a woman used pretenses of love to bait and steal from a very wealthy client of mine.
By all accounts, my client was a highly intelligent, capable, and strategic man. All those fucking smarts and abilities went out the window when a pretty face was in front of him.
Not me.
I made myself remember that anyone could be a fool in the game of love. I also thought back to that day on my parents’ balcony. The shit always ended in pain. Best to remember that.
My phone buzzed again as I got in my car, preparing to follow the couple as they headed back to the hotel suite they’d rented out for the weekend. This time it was a text from Sy asking if he wanted me to contact Jodi and let her know what he’d found regarding her grandfather.
Me: I’ll do it.
I had no intention of letting Sy or anyone else get too involved or take the lead on this case.
Me: I’m wrapping this Caldwell case up tonight and then heading to Dallas tomorrow. Will be back in the office on Thursday.
I informed Sy before he could reply.
Sy: Leona said you wouldn’t want me contacting Ms. Taylor. She said you’d want that case all to yourself.
He ended the text with one of those fucking emoji symbols with the eyebrow raised.
Me: Fuck you.
His quick response was a bunch of laughing face emojis. I swear if the kid weren’t so damn skilled at his job, I’d kick his ass and then fire him.
