He hadn't said a word about it.
Of course, he wouldn't, would he?
"Well, that's what they said it was. They called it an accident, said he was blasting in his backyard," she said. "Of course, I doubt anyone looked much into it. That man wasn't exactly beloved here."
"No..." I said, less of a question than a statement. He was definitely not beloved by Silas. Silas hated his father. He wanted to get the hell out of West Bend as quickly as possible. I somehow doubted that he was heartbroken over his father's death. And from what Silas had told me about him, I suspected the town felt the same way. "But you don't think it happened that way?"
"Well, I thought it did," Letty said. "And then Esther Saint killed herself. And that got me wondering. It didn't make sense to me that she would off herself after that dirt bag husband of hers was finally out of the picture. Besides that, there was the alcohol- she just wasn't a drinker. And she was seeing the Mayor."
"What do you mean, seeing the Mayor?" I asked.
"I mean, seeing him," she said. "Boning, I believe you youngsters call it."
I laughed. "Yes, Nana," I said. "Boning. Is this something you know to be fact?"
She shrugged. "I have my sources," she said.
"Okay," I said. "What would any of this have to do with the property?"
"Don't give me that look," she said.
"What look?"
"The one that says you think I'm a senile old woman."
"I definitely don't think you're senile, Nana," I said. "You're the one sleeping with half the men in this place."
"Hush your mouth," she said, looking toward the door. "One of them thinks we're exclusive. I don't want him overhearing."
"Nana!" I admonished.
"Don't lecture me," she said. "I'm old."
"You can't use that as an excuse for everything."
"Most of the time it works," she said. "Anyway, like I was saying before, I think there's something hinky about this mining company. I don't know about all of that stuff. It's over my head. But I think the deaths might be related."
I sighed. "All right, Nana," I said. "Do you have any factual evidence?"
"Well, I know what I heard from Esther herself," she said.
"Okay."
"She said her husband knew something that was going to make them rich." Letty made her declaration, then sat back in the chair with her arms crossed, visibly pleased with herself.
"That's it?" I asked.
"That's it?" she asked. "That's everything. Clearly, the father found out something - or knew about what the company's interested in - maybe something on his property, maybe something on the other property here, I don't know. But he told his wife, and his wife said something to the mayor or someone else. And that got her killed."
"You're a regular Agatha Christie," I said.
"Don't sass me," she said. "What do you think?"
"I think..." My voice trailed off, and I chose my words carefully. "I think it's certainly within the realm of possibilities."
"You don't believe me."
"I think it's less likely than the fact that the father was a crazy drunk who was full of shit," I said. "And that Esther Saint killed herself because downing a bunch of pills with alcohol is more convenient and easier than doing it some other way."
"I'll give you the paperwork from the company," she said. "You promise me you're going to look into it."
I sighed. "If it were anyone else, Nana..."
"I know." She smiled. "You'll make a dying old woman happy."
"Nana!" I said.
"What?" she put her hands up. "We're all going to die eventually, Tempest. I didn't say I was dying right now."
Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether the grifter part of me really came from my parents. Or from her.
***
I rode through town, thinking about the possibility of being recognized, even though my head and face were obscured by the bike helmet. I knew it was an irrational thought. Even if I hadn't been wearing the helmet, it had been years since I'd been here and I was an adult now, not a teenager. It was hardly plausible that someone would recognize me.
At least my parents had been smart about who they'd grifted here, taking advantage of the mayor at the time and some of the businessmen, none of whom had even filed a report. All of them had something to lose if they pursued anything against my parents. That was another grifter rule I learned - always find a mark who would lose everything if he were to reveal he'd been conned. Most of the time, businessmen who were grifted couldn't afford to divulge that information - it would make investors lose faith and they'd lose face, or worse, be implicated in possible corruption.
Of course, that didn't mean one of those kinds of businessmen wouldn't just take care of you another way - outside of legal channels. That's where grifters had to watch their backs.
I could just head out of town right now, I thought. I could a flight, lie on the beach, and drink margaritas.
And forget about Silas.
That would be the smart thing to do.
But, instead, I found myself heading toward the bed and breakfast I'd found on my GPS. West Bend didn't exactly offer much in the way of lodging, even after all these years.
This place was cute enough, though, I thought as I pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. It was like something out of a movie: a little white farmhouse, complete with a big wrap-around porch and rocking chairs in the front.
Hell, a border collie even came running up to greet me as I dismounted the bike.
All in all, this was exactly the opposite of the kind of place where a tattooed chick riding a Harley Road King should be staying.
Especially if I were trying to lay low here in town.
But I told myself I was just passing through. This was only for one night, and then I'd be out of here. I was just visiting my grandmother.
That's it.
I was sure as hell not coming back here to revisit my past, out of some sense of nostalgia for my relationship with Silas.
And I was certainly not interested in staying in West Bend after being told that Silas might be here, and not living in Vegas, the way I had assumed.
Certainly not.
"Hey there." I squatted down to pet the shaggy dog, and turned the name tag over in my hand. "Hi, Bailey. Well, you're just a gorgeous girl, aren't you?"
A woman appeared on the porch, and a toddler ran out onto the porch.
"Daddy!" the toddler cried.
"No, no, sweetie," she said, as I came up the steps. "That's not daddy. Are you Molly?"
I nodded. "I called and made a reservation earlier."
She held out her hand. "I'm June," she said. "It's nice to meet you. Little Stan heard the bike and thought you were his daddy. So did I, for a minute there. My husband Cade rides a bike, owns a shop in town. He does custom paint jobs."
"Oh, yeah?" I said. I hadn't pegged this sweet-looking and heavily pregnant woman as the wife of a biker. "I'll have to swing by the shop, take a look."
"Come on in," June said. "How long will you be staying?"
"Only for a few days, I think."
June chattered away as she took my credit card, one of the many fakes I owned, recommending some of the tourist attractions outside of town. She offered to give me a tour to the house, but I declined. "You know," I said. "I'm pretty tired and I have some work to do, so I'll be just fine hanging out in the room."
"Oh, what kind of work?" June pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms. "The bathroom is just inside there."
"I'm an attorney," I said. Or rather, Molly was an attorney. Molly McAdams was a motorcycle-riding entertainment lawyer from Los Angeles with a live-in boyfriend named Tyler and a cat named Alice. Molly was one of ten core identities I kept on rotation, whose details I knew like they were part of my own history, and who served me well.
"What kind of law do you practice?" June asked.
"Entertainment law," I said.
"Oh, that's interes
ting," she said. "I'm sure you've heard that West Bend has our very own movie star."
"I hadn't heard," I said absently. All I could think about was the fact that I wanted to get inside the room and rinse the dust from the road off me. The hotel I'd stayed in the night before, on the road from Vegas, hadn't exactly been the best and I felt grimy.
"We do," she said. "River Andrews. She does romantic comedies. She took up with Elias Saint, moved here to West Bend."
My heart raced at the name. Damn it, I thought. What the hell was with the Saint brothers being brought up at every turn? It was like fate was throwing my fling with Silas right in my face.
"Well," June said, leaning down to scoop up her toddler. "There are coffee and tea in the kitchen - one of those brewers with the individual cups, so you can just help yourself. And there are some baked goods and fruit on the counter. If you haven't eaten dinner yet, I can recommend a few restaurants. And I usually put up a breakfast around nine in the dining room."
"That sounds fantastic, June," I said. "Between the coffee and the internet, I think I'll be all set until tomorrow."
"All right. That's easy enough," June said. "We're in the house next door if you need anything. The phone number is posted on the refrigerator."
As soon as the door closed, I slid my backpack off and unpacked, munching on a protein bar as I drew a bath. I sank into the tub, the warm water enveloping me, and laid my head back against the porcelain, closing my eyes.
I couldn't get the thought of Silas out of my head, the memory of our not-so-distant encounter.
Silas tracing his finger over my shoulder and down my arm as he sat in the tub, facing me. Silas, his face close to mine, his voice barely more than a whisper, sliding his fingers along my thigh and between my legs, then slipping them inside me on the balcony at the hotel restaurant. Silas looking up at me, his face between my legs as I lay on the piano.
Silas underneath me as I rode him, outside by the creek when we were seventeen. Silas, gripping my ass as he spun me in circles, my legs wrapped around his waist, after he won the state wrestling championship. Silas, his face close to mine as he moved inside me, telling me he would marry me someday.
It was like a damned replay, the highlights of my life. And now, being here in West Bend was making those memories even more vivid.
I reminded myself that what happened with Silas in Vegas was just a fling.
A fling I couldn't get out of my head.
Heat rushed through my body, but not from the water, and I found myself sliding my hand over my breasts, then down my stomach. I knew I should be putting thoughts of Silas out of my head, not indulging them.
Instead, I leaned my head back against the tub, and let the image of Silas dominate my thoughts, my hand moving between my legs, sliding over my clit again and again until I finally came. And when I crashed over the edge, Silas' face was the only thing I saw.
***
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SILAS
I wasn't sure how I felt, driving up to the house. I hadn't been back there since after the funeral, since I'd left with Elias to chase after River in Hollywood. Luke told me that we needed to out to the place, clean it out and decide what to do with things. My mother had written out a will leaving everything to the four of us, dated a month before she died, another thing that made me suspicious. Since when was my mother responsible enough to write out a will in advance?
I wasn't buying it.
Still, I also wasn't sure what I was doing here. After all that my parents had done, spending any time giving a shit about whether they'd been murdered seemed like a bad investment of time. But I told myself it would take an hour and I'd satisfy my curiosity.
I could see I wasn't alone as soon as I got to the house. An unmarked white pickup truck was parked on the side. I contemplated going inside the house and getting the shotgun just in case, but decided against it.
It was probably just a utility guy, I told myself as I headed around back. Or some high school kids who knew the place was empty.
Instead, a man wearing an orange construction helmet loitered by the edge of the property, near the old blasting site. When he saw me, he immediately straightened, pulling a walkie-talkie from his waistband and speaking into it.
I was too far away to hear what he said.
"Hey!" I yelled. "What the hell are you doing here?"
A second man emerged from the entrance to the mine, and pulled out his cell phone as soon as he saw me. His back was toward me, but I could tell he was talking to the other guy.
I jogged toward them. "Do you have a reason to be out here? This is my property."
One of the men held up his hands. "We're surveyors, just taking a look at the land."
"So I guess you've got some identification that shows that, then? I asked. "Are you from the city or the county?"
The men looked at each other. "We're just doing a routine examination of the mine."
"Yeah, I understand that," I said. "So who exactly is your employer? And where's your identification? Pardon me if I don't exactly take kindly to strangers thinking they have free reign to poke around my private property."
They exchanged glances again.
Now I was starting to get pissed off.
"You've got two seconds to tell me what the hell you're doing here, and who exactly you work for, or I'm going to walk back to my house and get the shotgun my mother used to keep over the mantle here. How much do you want to bet it's still loaded?" I asked.
"Whoa, whoa," the first man said. He reached into his back pocket. "I'm just pulling out my wallet now. We're from the mining company."
"Who the hell gave you permission to come out here?" I asked, glancing at the identification he held up. "This is private fucking property."
"Don't shoot the damn messenger," the other one said. "We're just doing our jobs."
"Your job involves trespassing on private land?"
They didn't answer, just gathered their bags and began backing away from me. "We don't want any trouble," the first one said, holding up his hands again.
"Well, trouble is what you're about to get," I said. I took long strides toward the house. As far as I could remember, that shotgun was still over the mantle.
"Shit," I heard one of them say from behind me.
They'd better be running, I thought. My mind was spinning as I approached the house. If I weren't paranoid about what was going it on in this town already, this would send up a few red flags. My theory about stuff going on in this town wasn't so crazy when people from the mining company started showing up on my property and poking around.
I stuck the key in the lock to the front door, but stopped when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel in the driveway. As soon as I saw the Sheriff's car, the blood rushed to my head. I didn't even need to wait for the car door to open to know who was inside.
Jed Easton stepped out and ambled up the driveway like he had all the time in the world. I was regretting the fact that I'd taken the time to talk to the two guys outside, instead of getting my shotgun like I should have. "Are you here to arrest the two dickheads over there, the ones trespassing on my property?" I asked.
Jed didn't even glance at the two guys, who were busy getting