“Hey, love—” he started to say, but I shook my head.
“I got a call from Faron just now,” I said. “He’s in trouble. He’s hiding out at the Carlton farmstead. He’s afraid that Daisy might think he had something to do with Lucretia’s death. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could.”
Bran’s smile faded. “Do you really think Daisy Parker believes that Faron killed his wife?”
“I doubt it, but I don’t want to call her until after we’ve talked to Faron because I want to hear him out first.” I paused, then asked, “You’ll come with me?”
“Of course, I’ll come. And I can’t imagine Faron hurting his wife, either.” He hustled to fasten his belt, then slid on a pair of boots. “Go grab my coat, would you?” he asked, leaning down to tie his laces.
I double-checked to make sure I’d turned off the oven, then—after fetching Bran’s coat—talked to Fancypants. “Bran and I are heading out to talk to Faron. Don’t tell anybody who might ask, not Grams, not May, if they should come over. Watch the cats, if you would.” I quickly fed him and the cats, then turned as Bran entered the kitchen.
“We can grab coffee on the way,” I said, tossing him his coat.
“And breakfast,” he said, shutting the door behind us.
We took his truck, and stopped at the nearest coffee shop to go through the drive through. I ordered a quad-shot mocha, and Bran, a triple shot macchiato. We also ordered a large coffee for Faron, and five sausage cheese muffins—two each for the men, one for me.
The Carlton farmstead was long abandoned. The Carltons left it to rack and ruin. They didn’t even bother trying to sell it. The house had burned down one night, taking several members of the family with it. Luckily, their cat woke them up and guided two of the kids to safety before the house vanished under the lash of flames. Carlton and his wife lost their lives trying to rescue the other two children.
Now, twenty years later, there was only the blackened shell left, along with a barn that had managed to escape the fire. Rumors were rife that the mother and father were still there, haunting the charred rubble with the two children who had died.
While most of the walls had caved in, the basement was still intact, though charred, and the stairs leading down to it looked weathered, but still sturdy enough to use.
“This way,” I said. “He’s down there.”
I cautiously approached the stairs, carefully picking through the half-burnt timbers and debris scattered under the snow. Taking a deep breath, I put my foot on the first step. “Faron?” I called out. “It’s Elphyra.”
My boot slid a little, the steps were icy. I hesitated. I could easily break my neck if I stepped wrong. I eyed the rest of the steps, debating the wisdom of attempting the descent.
“Are you alone?” Faron’s voice echoed from the basement.
“Bran’s with me,” I called back.
“I’ll be up. Don’t try to come down here—it’s too dangerous. Hold on!”
I stepped back, standing beside Bran. A moment later, Faron emerged from the depths of the house. Beneath a puffy parka, he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sweater. His long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes—normally sparkling—looked bloodshot.
“Faron,” I said, taking a half-step toward him.
He crumbled, then, staring at the floor, a look of mingled pain and sorrow filling his face. “I didn’t hurt her,” he whispered. “I promise you.”
Right then, I knew he was telling the truth. “Of course you didn’t.” I glanced at Bran.
Bran let out a sigh. “Faron, come back to the house with us. Please, we want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I guess I have no choice. Last night, when I heard Lucretia was dead, I lost it. Given that I’m no longer the king of the Olympic Wolf Pack, and I’m expected to move, I was already stressed.”
“You have to leave the Pack?” Bran asked.
Faron nodded. “Like most Packs, the Olympic Wolf Pack doesn’t keep ex-kings around. Well, if the king decides to retire on his own, he’s welcome to stay. But the council called me last week. They ordered me to take a fertility test,” he said, staring straight ahead. “If the queen isn’t pregnant by the end of the first year on the throne, the council demands fertility testing from the king. Lucretia was already checked out before the marriage. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Talk about nosy,” Bran muttered.
“Right, but it’s our duty to provide an heir as soon as possible. The results came back. The council informed me I’m sterile. I can’t father a child, and that’s formal grounds to remove the king from the throne.” Faron grimaced. “I failed them.”
“You didn’t fail,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not, but in the eyes of the Pack, I’m not perfect. Pack law doesn’t recognize weak rulers, and given I can’t produce an heir, that makes me weak.”
