Satisfied at last that he at least can’t watch me from afar, I head back to the living room, where I spot a small tray in the center of the glass dining table.
I edge closer to it, half expecting its contents to attack me or something. But no. It’s a credit card. A… black Amex card. With my name on it.
Next to it is a pile of twenty-dollar bills. And next to that, a note.
Behave.
What the fuck?
I nearly laugh at the dissonance of it all. Spending money. My parents’ murderer is giving me spending money, while telling me to behave.
Okay then.
My first instinct is to chuck the card and the money in the trash. There’s no way I’m taking a dime from the person who just destroyed my life.
My second instinct is to pocket it, because the truth is, Idoneed money right now. Clearly, whoever killed my parents knows the Days’ reputation.
The poorest family in Astley.
Sighing, I go sit on one of the massive couches and grab my phone from my back pocket. I may be taking the dirty money, but I’ll make the murderer regret giving it to me.
Breathing on my glasses to fog them up, then wiping them onmy shirt, I look upTaekwondoand click on the nearest google maps link. There’s a class two streets over. No price is listed on the website, but that doesn’t matter, since I’m now the owner of a black Amex card.
I’ve never been one for exercise, because it gets in the way of my reading. Same reason I can’t be bothered to wear contact lenses. Or do pretty much anything else that would take a bit of time and keep me from reading.
I haven’t read a single page since my parents died, though, and right now, the only thing I have in mind is revenge.
I’m going to make the murderer pay, even if I have to spend the rest of my days working out in some stupid taekwondo class.
I click on a link to reserve tomorrow morning’s class. I wonder if I’ll still be alive then.
Suddenly remembering the business card Josh handed me, I lean to the side so I can access the backpocket in which I’d crammed it.
My first clue. Maybe.
I dial the number on the card then bring my phone to my ear, my heart beating hard.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hi.” I clear my throat nervously. “I’d like to order a car. Can you pass me to the owner?”
“Just give the details, hon,” says the woman on the other side of the line. “I’ll make the reservation for you.”
“Yes, but…” I clear my throat again, feeling like a Karen. “I’d like to speak to the owner.”
“He’s not in right now, and I can take your reservation,” says the woman patiently.
“Okay.” I lick my lips, wondering what I’m supposed to say now. “Uhm… and how can I pay?”
“You can give me your card details on the phone, or pay the driver directly,” answers the woman. “When would you like yourcar? And at what address?”
“Uhhh… now, I guess. The address is the Astley Hotel.”
“And where will you be going?”
“Uhmm…” I hesitate even longer, then look at the address on the business card. Putting the woman on speaker phone, I quickly bring up Google maps again and choose a place not too far away.
“51 Bell Avenue, Carlton,” I say.
