Over Jem’s objections andliteralwails, Tean ordered himself a hamburger, no cheese, extra pickles.
“Why?”Jem asked three separate times as they waited for their food.“Why would you make itworse?”
Since Tean couldn’t think of a better plan, they ate in the truck as they drove to South Jordan again.After demolishing a Big Mac, one and a half extra-large fries, and a Coke the size of a gas can, Jem leaned against the door and announced that he was full, sleepy, and thirsty, and that he needed to close his eyes for a minute.
“Because you just ingested enough salt to raise the blood pressure of a horse,” Tean said.“Look up Brennon’s address, please.”
Jem found it quickly enough on a public white page search engine, and Tean plugged the address into his phone.
Instead of the street of smaller, brick ramblers, this time, they found themselves passing newer, larger homes, until the phone announced they’d reached their destination.It was a brick-and-stucco two-story in muted earth tones, with a thick—and weed-free—patch of lawn and a white vinyl privacy fence in back.A satellite dish perched on the corner of the roof, and a gravel drive ran alongside the garage for parking, in happier times, an RV.Even with evening settling over the valley, it was easy to make out a standing stone near the door painted with the words THE LEE HOME – FAMILIES ARE FOREVER.In other words, the stereotypical Utah house from the early 2000s.On the stone, someone had drawn a penis in red spray paint—Tean guessed that was a recent addition.Signs of scrubbing showed a half-hearted effort to remove it.
“It’s a little crooked,” Jem said.
“What?”
“The wiener.”
Tean had nothing to say to that, so he got out of the truck.A faint whiff of something sweet met him—like a cheap perfume, maybe, but it was hard to say because it was lost under the dying eddy of the truck’s exhaust.
Jem, on the other hand, apparently hadmoreto say about it.As they made their way toward the front door, he asked, “What?You don’t think it looks wonky?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”It was hard for Tean to tell if he was hearing outrage, disbelief, or horror in Jem’s voice.“Oh my God, mine doesn’t look like that, does it?With that weird bend in the middle?”
“Jem.”
“Because if it does, you have to tell me.”
“Jem.”
“Nobody’s ever said anything.”Then Jem brightened.“Unless it’s a good thing.”
“Jeremiah!”
“What?”
“Please.Stop.”
In the dusk, Jem’s grin was a sliver of crooked white.
“Oh my gosh,” Tean whispered as he stepped up onto the porch.“I hate you.”
Tean knocked.After a moment, he reared back to study the house again.The windows were dark, and when he strained to catch a sound, he didn’t hear anything except the distant hum of tires.He knocked again.
“Somebody’s home,” Jem muttered.
Tean cast him a look.
Jem shook his head at the unasked question, but his face was set in a wary watchfulness.
“Hello?”Tean called as he knocked again.“I’m sorry to bother you, but my name is Teancum Leon.I wanted to ask a few questions.”
Nothing.
“Stay here,” Jem said.“Keep trying.”Before Tean could ask any questions, Jem trotted around the side of the house.The gloom swallowed up broad shoulders, the pale shine of his hair, and then he was gone.
With no other options, Tean knocked again.“I’m not a journalist, and I’m not with the police.I’m looking into Brennon’s death—”
