Page 17 of Lethal Weakness

“Native American?”

He nods.

“And, O’Connor?”

“Irish.”

“That’s an interesting combination.”

His shoulders tick in a shrug.

“Well, it works.” I turn away from him before he can see my eyes widen in shock. Why did I just say that?

I scurry away and distract myself by opening my mail. Inside is a letter from the Social Security Administration, a Social Security card with my name, and another one with Avery’s name.

My jaw hangs open. I’ve been trying to get these replaced for months. And here they are? Just showed up on a random day…

In my neighbor’s mailbox…

Something akin to concern trickles down my spine.

My gut is telling me that something isn’t right about my neighbor, but I can’t pinpoint what it is.

He’s nearly as closed off as I am, and I can’t blame him for that. He doesn’t owe me anything.

I search his yard, but he’s already back behind the hood of his truck, doing whatever it is he does at the edge of his garage. I’ve never seen him go anywhere. I’ve never seen anyone at his house.

Who is Jack O’Connor?

And why do I really want to find out?

* * *

Another dreaded phone call from Merrill asking to see Avery. Just speaking to the woman takes five years off of my lifespan from stress.

She insisted that I allow Avery to have dinner with them at some fancy restaurant in Noddingbell. And of course, a new dress was delivered by her assistant.

As soon as I walk through the doors that are being held open by a member of the staff, I know I do not belong in this restaurant. It is way too fancy for my type.

Edmund is standing in the lobby in a dark colored suit, staring hard at his phone like a man in his 60s who forgot his readers. Because that is exactly what he is. He’s also always the buffer between Merrill and me. His wife is always a problem when I’m around her, and we avoid each other when at all possible.

“Ah, there’s our Avery.” He smiles and Avery waves kindly, keeping her other hand in mine.

“We should only be about an hour or two,” he says dismissively, holding his hand out for Avery’s.

“What? You are expecting me to wait out here?”

“No, of course, not. You can leave and come back around eight.”

“Eight? She goes to bed at eight.”

“Okay, 7:30.”

“I didn’t realize I was agreeing to an unsupervised visit.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, Linden. We’re her grandparents. Turner isn’t here.”

I scoff at his dismissiveness. “Who is here?”