Marching over, I ripped open the bottom drawer of his desk, looking for anything that could tell me who owned that land in town. For as much as I disliked my biological donor, I had to admit he was blessedly anal with his filing system. Even the little labels on top of the file folders were typed out. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.
I pulled the folder and put it on the desk, opening it and spreading out the pages to see what I was looking at with this plot of land. My grandfather had held the title until my father took it over decades ago. Another flip of the page and a new title lay there. A title that had my name on it as the owner. Dated eight years ago.
Eight fucking years ago.
The land was mine and had been for quite some time, and my father hadn’t said a word to me about it. What an ass—
Holy shit.
I stood straight up, shock pulsing all the way to my toes. The land was mine. The gold was mine.
The tip of my nose went numb and I wondered if I might pass out. Scrambling now with shaky hands, I pushed all the pages back into the file and closed it, tucking it under my arm. I turned to leave in a mad rush and bashed my shin against the open file drawer.
“Shit!” I said out loud, pain reverberating up my leg.
I leaned down to slam the drawer shut when another file folder met my eye.
Megan Lizzarro
I’d never heard of her and being raised in a small town my whole life, I would have remembered her name. Why did my father have a whole folder for her in his home office? If it was official city business, wouldn’t he have kept the folder at his office in the City Hall building?
I snatched the folder up and opened it, part of me wondering if I’d finally catch Dad in something shady that I could use as leverage against him. Unfortunately, all I saw was row upon row of dates, dollar amounts, and addresses. None of it rang a bell, but then again, why was my dad receiving money from some lady named Megan? And it wasn’t just a paltry hundred dollars here and there. We’re talking six figures in payments.
The slamming of a car door out front of the house had my head snapping up. Tingles of alarm raced up my spine and I knew my time alone in this house was up. I shoved the papers back in the folder, put it under my arm with the other folder, closed the drawer as silently as I could, and slipped out of the office. Thankfully, I knew this house like the back of my hand. I knew which floorboards to step over to avoid a loud groan and exactly where the back door was located.
The front door slammed shut and Dad’s voice echoed down the hallway, probably barking at some assistant on the phone who worked her tail off for minimum wage and daily abuse. I didn’t plan to stick around long enough to hear his latest drama. I had my hand on the doorknob of the back door when I heard him rattle off instructions.
“Book a hotel room again for M. Smith at Hill Hotel for day after tomorrow. She’ll pay for the room with cash when she checks in, like usual.”
I turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door, cringing over a tiny squeak that sounded louder than a gunshot. Sliding out the door, I paced myself closing it again, escape so close I could taste it. The second the door was closed, I turned and ran, hopping over the fence and hightailing it down the street to where I’d parked my truck. Thank God my parents had always yelled at me for parking that ugly thing in front of their house. I’d gotten used to parking down the street just to save them from the embarrassment. The file folders went under my seat where they’d stay protected until I figured out what I wanted to do with them.
My heart and lungs thundered, not comprehending the danger was gone. As I zoomed down the road, the windows rolled down to let in the fresh, salty air of Auburn Hill, I fought with unfamiliar emotions. Elation, the kind I hadn’t felt maybe in forever, mixed with the anger that always simmered below the surface when it came to matters of my father. I was still pissed at him, but now that I knew that land was mine, I also had hope. The kind of hope that made me feel like I was flying down the road on a cloud.
Even more strangely, the only person I wanted to talk to right then and there was Hazel Redding. So I did.
“Rip? Everything okay?” she said by way of answering the phone.
Her voice held her normal overexuberance, but it also held concern. For me. And that lit up something else in my chest. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. But I have more info on the, uh, arrowhead.”
“Huh?” She paused and I wanted to throttle her through the phone. This whole subterfuge was her idea in the first place. “Oh! Wait! Yes, the arrowhead. Okay. Awesome.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Barely.
“I’m driving to the marina right now. Can you meet me there? We can head out to sea for a bit and chat there where no bionic ears will hear us.”
“Ooh! A cruise? Heck yes! In fact, I’ll bring the turmeric carob cookies I just made and a jug of sangria. We’ll make it a booze cruise!”
I pictured her face, probably split in a huge grin, bobbing up and down as she bounced with excitement. My stomach revolted at the sound of those cookies, though. Hazel’s baking, even something normal like chocolate chip cookies, was less than appealing.
“I’m, uh, watching my sugar intake. Maybe just bring some water?” The sign for the marina was just up ahead. I made the turn and felt my muscles relaxing at the sight of the ocean.
Hazel snorted loudly into the phone and I felt chastised instantly.
“Water? Are you kidding me right now? Boring, Bennett.”
Whoever said words couldn’t hurt was dead wrong. “You don’t have to call me names,” I grumbled, climbing out of my truck.
“Huh? I didn’t call you a name, I just said your water idea was boring. So I’ll bring the cookies and the sangria. See you in fifteen.”
She hung up and I held my phone out in front of my face as if it would explain the mysteries of Hazel Redding. I guessed I jumped to conclusions about her calling me names. It’s just I’d been teased a lot in high school about behaving like an old man. Told my name Rip was the most exciting thing about me. Boring Bennett had been uttered under someone’s breath on more than one occasion. It was only natural to be a little sensitive.
It’s not that I didn’t want to have a good time with Hazel. If I was being honest with myself, I desperately wanted to spend time with her. At least, the way we used to be before junior year of high school and all that happened back then. It’s just the idea of adding alcohol to the mix when it would just be her and me, alone…well, it scared me. I could deny my attraction to her when I was dead sober.
I wasn’t so sure if I had liquid courage flowing through my veins.
4
Hazel
The plate of cookies wobbled dangerously on top of the canister of sangria, but alas, I only had two hands, so I’d have to chance it in order to get my bag out of the Jeep, along with the goodies. A seagull shrieked above my head and I gave it the evil eye. Damn bird had probably already sniffed out my cookies. Well, tough luck, sea chicken. These cookies were for humans only. Once the bag was safely on my shoulder, I closed my car door and rescued my precious cookies. These babies were not only yummy, but healthy with inflammation-dousing turmeric and low-sugar carob. Rip would love them since he was watching his sugar intake.