“Junior,” Alistair scolded.
Noah scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to erase the vivid images his mind was not so helpfully creating.
“Oh, right.” Junior grimaced. “Condolences and all that shit.”
“What in the fuck?” Crybaby shouted, bolting toward them with Mace and Erasmus behind her. She saw Landon. “The fuck?” Then she saw Patrick’s hand. “The fuckin’fuck?”
“Mr. Star?” Erasmus asked sharply. “Are you all right?”
“We’re fine.” Alistair sighed. “I’m going to need you to call Rafferty again.”
“Three in one week.” Mace whistled. “He’s gonna be in a great mood.”
“What the fuck happened, Mr. Star?” Crybaby asked exasperatedly.
“Medina’s secret accomplice was one Landon Thompson,” Alistair replied. “In exchange for Medina killing Patrick, Mr. Thompson was—”
“Hold up, Mr. Star! Patrick isdead?”
“That’s Patrick over there in the mulch, I’m afraid. Medina and Mr. Thompson concocted a most bizarre and convoluted plot to set us up to spin our wheels searching for a dead man.”
“Convoluted or not, it worked.” Mace planted his hands on his hips and huffed. “Hmmph. I told y’all I smelled something nasty!”
“Wait a second. Mr. Star.” Junior furrowed his thick brows. “Medina couldn’t have killed Jason. Yous tellin’ me that yappy lil’ fuck down there did it?”
“He did,” Alistair confirmed. “I hope it brings you some comfort to have been able to serve justice for our friend.”
Junior nodded, but he didn’t honestly look like he felt that great. He looked like he was gonna spew.
Noah could sympathize. He wanted to throw up some more, but there was nothing left in his stomach. He wheezed and shook his head, asking, “Can we maybe skip the whole Scooby-Doo reveal party thing? I really,reallydo not wanna be here.”
“Of course, dear boy.” Alistair hugged Noah close and kissed his brow. “Go get your things. Junior, if you’d please assist him.” He looked to the others. “I’ll answer your questions as best as I can…”
Noah walked away so he didn’t hear what Alistair said, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
The whole story sounded insane as it circled back through his mind—Landon plotting his demise for years, getting tangled up with Medina, the two of them making up this crazy plan to murder Noah and his family and that Carbone guy.
And for what?
A big commission? Greed? Revenge for an accident that wasn’t even Noah’s fault?
He closed his eyes as he walked by Patrick’s body. He thought he should have been more upset about Patrick being dead, maybe need to cry or something, but he was only experiencing an aching emptiness that demanded all of his other emotions as tribute until he was totally numb.
Junior was unusually silent as he walked upstairs with Noah to his bedroom. He stood by the door while Noah grabbed two big suitcases and a duffel bag, looking down at his hands every few seconds as if he couldn’t believe what he had done.
Noah would have asked him if that was the first time he’d killed someone, but he didn’t see the point.
He was already sure it was, and he didn’t expect Junior to answer him anyway.
After stuffing both suitcases and his duffel bag until they were bursting, Noah was ready to go. He completely forgot about his socks and underwear, but he didn’t realize it until he was already halfway down the hallway. They were all designer brands, of course, and he started to turn around to go back for them.
Then again, it didn’t matter.
None of this stuff did.
The thought struck him in a weird way, and he knew now that there hadn’t been any real reason to come back here. His expensive clothes, the fancy cologne, his overpriced hair products, the shiny jewelry—it was junk. Every last bit of it was utterly worthless. After all, these precious bounties of his materialistic life had meant absolutely nothing when Landon was aiming a gun at him.
The real treasure was a man named Alistair.
