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“What’s going on?”

“I think this is what Randall Boggs was murdered for,” I tell her. “He always ran his mouth about having a family treasure, and an Indian princess in the family. Turns out he might not have been lying, but he definitely overvalued the coin.”

“Says here a mint condition could net a grand,” Bristal says, tapping her screen.

“But even that is hardly a treasure,” I counter, but Madison laughs.

“Your life must be nice,” she says, tipping back the rest of her beer. “There’s been days I’d kill for a grand, easy.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a blush rise. “But why would whoever killed him leave drugs sitting on the table? Those had to be worth money.”

“What kind of drugs and how much?” Madison asks automatically.

“A bag of heroin and a bag of coke,” Bristal says.

“Nah.” Her mom shakes her head. “That shit was cheap, and easy to get. If somebody came after Boggs looking to score some cash, they might have passed that up. Plus, that way if they get stopped for any reason, they don’t have drugs on them. No reason for a search. No links to a murder.”

“You’re a really useful person,” I tell her.

“It’s not like I’m a lawyer or anything,” she says, and I jump at the opening.

“Dover said my dad is his lawyer. Is that true?”

Madison goes quiet, then looks at her daughter across the table. Over in the living room, the little girls sing along to a cartoon, their dark little heads bobbing up and down in unison.

“Should I tell her?” Madison asks Bristal, who shrugs.

“She asked.”

“All right, girl,” Madison says, reaching across the table to crack open my beer. “But drink this first.”

Thirty-Four

The beer goes down like acid, and I almost lose half of it out my nose before Bristal pulls my arm down. “Dude, she said drink it. Not slam it.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Am I drinking wrong?”

“Kind of,” Madison says, scrunching her nose at me from across the table. “But how’s the head feel after that?”

“A little fuzzy,” I admit, tapping myself on the chest to encourage the rest to stay down.

“Okay.” Madison nods, then turns to Bristal. “Take the rest of that away from her. You weren’t kidding.”

“Light. Weight,” Bristal says, pulling my beer can over to join hers.

“I’m going to start off by saying your dad is a good guy, all right?” Madison says, lighting up a fresh cigarette. “I’ve been around and I’ve known some men, and Brent Chass is a solid dude.”

“Okay,” I say, anxiety building in my chest. I already knew these things, had believed them my whole life. If Madison is about to tell me something that contradicts that—and it’s certainly looking that way—I’m going to need the rest of that beer.

“Dover said they were drinking buddies. Is that true?” I ask. My dad has never turned down a drink, but I’ve only ever seen him sipping with Mom after dinner or having something around the fire on a cold night. I’ve never seen him drunk, and I got the impression that Dover is the person who doesn’t drink leisurely—he drinks to get drunk.

“They were, but that’s the end of the story. I’m going to start at the beginning. My brother and your dad hit it off back when we used to live out on Far Cry Road. I wasn’t very old at all, but I remember Dover walking in the door with your dad behind him, both of them with fishing poles over their shoulders, thinking they were just two boys enjoying the summer. But they weren’t, and even I knew it.

“Dover always had a high opinion of himself, so I don’t think he ever considered the fact that he was barefoot while your dad had shoes, or that his hair was long and your dad’s was short, because the price of a haircut could make all the difference in a house like the one we grew up in. Dover didn’t see it, and to his credit, I don’t think your dad did, either. They thought they were two kids catching frogs, not realizing that one of them was doing it for fun, while the other one was counting on it for his dinner.”

“Was he at your place a lot?” I ask.

“Quite a bit, yeah.” Madison nods her head. “But things were different then, this was the eighties. Kids left home in the morning on their bikes and didn’t come back until the evening. Now that’s called free-range parenting, but back then it was just how we lived. Your dad would ride his bike out here, or Dover would walk into town. I’ve got to say, I think your grandma tried her best to like my brother. Added him to the family pool pass, and everything. But Dover got kicked out of the pool one day for snapping a lifeguard’s bikini straps, and he was struck from the official record.”