“Auri, this is big,” her mom said.
“Really?”
“Didn’t you say Emily was a poor relation of the Press family?”
“Yes. A cousin. The family said that was why she stole the necklace.”
“I don’t think so. Mrs. Fairborn said Emily’s grandmother left her that necklace in her will and, I’m assuming, what was inside. These are the mineral rights to the Press land in Texas.”
“So, like, salt and stuff?” Cruz asked.
“Not really. These refer specifically to fluid mineral rights.” She looked at them. “Guys, this means that Emily owned the oil rights to the Press land. Those oil wells make millions a year. Clearly, her side of the family never knew.”
“Does this mean they’re rich?”
“It could. And this is definitely worth killing over to keep secret.”
“Billy was never after the necklace,” Cruz said.
“But what was inside,” Auri finished.
“Good work, guys. I can’t wait to dig deeper into this.”
“Me too. I found out Emily had a little brother but, again, they were very poor. I can’t find anything else about him.”
Her mom beamed at her. “We’ll find them, bug. We’ll make sure this gets into the right hands. How are you guys doing?” She asked them both but she looked at Cruz.
He seemed to withdraw again. “I’m feeling better, thank you, Sheriff.”
“I’m so glad. Quincy will be here later today.”
He let go of Auri’s hand and turned toward her mom. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to come.”
“Cruz,” she admonished. “You’re part of our family. He’ll be here. We’re going to figure this out.”
He nodded, clearly unconvinced.
“I’ll be back later, too. We’ll talk about it then. You ready, bug?”
A pang of anxiety cramped her stomach. She leaned over and kissed his cheek before letting her mother lead her out. She missed him the minute she got to the elevator.
They had pizza and cake at home, and she was in the middle of begging her mom to let her go back with her when the phone rang.
“He did what?” her mom asked. “Okay. Okay, we’ll be on the lookout here.” When she hung up, she gave Auri her best mom look.
“What’d I do?” she asked. “I had a submissive hemogoblin. It’s not my fault.”
“Cruz escaped.”
She stood and the floor spun but only a little. “Mom, we have to find him. He got stabbed.”
“Yes, bug, I remember. Did he tell you he was going to leave?”
“No.” She thought back and guilt washed over her. “But I think I know where he’s going.”
“Be careful,” her mom said an hour later as they hiked up the Bear Hollow Trail to Rosita Peak. It wasn’t far, but they knew he was there. Her mom’s friend, Royce Womack, had driven out and checked as her deputies checked Cruz’s house and a couple other possibilities. His dad’s truck was parked at the trailhead.
“Did he tell you he was coming here?” her mom asked.
“No. But his mom’s ashes were spread here.” She fought the trembling her chin. “If he pulled any stitches, I swear, Mom, I’m going to kill him.”
“I know. He’s hurting, baby.”
Tears welled in her eyes again. Every time she thought about what Cruz was going through, how alone in the world he was, her chest hurt and the waterworks started again.
“I’m sorry.” Sun squeezed the hand she was holding to keep Auri steady. “I know you understand.”
“I can’t fully, but I can imagine.”
“Even with your submissive hemogoblin?”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m saying it wrong, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.” She cast a sideways glance to Auri’s other escort up the trail, Quincy Cooper. She was definitely saying it wrong.
“How did he get his dad’s truck?” she asked, dropping the whole thing but vowing to research submissive hemogoblins later. “How did he even get back to Del Sol from Albuquerque?”
“Uber.”
“Wow.”
“Apparently, he was determined,” Quincy said. He took out a flashlight and lit the way. The sun was going down quick.
Her grandparents came up behind them then. “Grandma, Grandpa, what are you guys doing here?” Cruz must’ve been in more trouble than she thought if her grandparents were getting involved.
“We’re here for you and Cruz, peanut,” her grandpa said.
“Here for us?”
Before they could explain, they crested Rosita Peak and Auri saw the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Cruz standing on a massive rock formation with the sun setting just beyond. He was silhouetted by the bright pinks and oranges splashed across the sky.
“Cruz!” Auri said. She tried to run to him, but Quincy held her back.
Her mom eased forward. “Cruz, honey, how about you step away from that ledge?”
Auri hadn’t even considered that. Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized how close he was. He wore old jeans and a loose T-shirt and he was shivering. He was shivering and wounded and in pain and Auri’s heart shattered.
He turned back and looked over his shoulder. “He can’t spend his birthday in a box.”
“Cruz,” Auri said, fighting Quincy.
“Can we come up?” her mom asked.
He lifted a shoulder and nodded.
Her mom gave Quincy the go-ahead and they climbed the rocks together. A few feet in front of him was a chain-link barrier no more than four feet high. If he were going to jump, he would have to climb over it first.
Auri put her arm on his shoulder. He held the box in both hands as if it were a precious thing. His cheeks were wet and dirty and his hair mussed. He just seemed so lost.
Her mom stood on the other side of her and Quincy on the other side of Cruz.
Cruz held out his elbow like he wanted her to wrap her arm in his, so she did. The lump in her throat grew bigger as he opened the box and gave his dad to the wind. He fought for control as a sob racked his body. Quincy wiped his eyes with one hand and she could hear her grandma weeping softly below them.
He put the lid on the box and reached into his jeans. “I did what you said. I wrote a poem.”
“Cruz, he would’ve loved that.”
But he handed her the folded piece of paper. “Would you mind?”
Did he want her to read it aloud? She stood confused until he stepped out of her embrace and eased closer to the barrier. She realized what he was doing.
She opened the paper and, with the help of Quincy’s flashlight, read the first line as Cruz signed it almost bashfully for his dad.
“If you can hear now, Dad, don’t let it worry you.” Her voice broke, but she continued. “The sound of happiness is summer rain as it falls on the porch. The sound of joy is the pop and hiss of a soda can opening. The sound of excitement is paper crumpling on Christmas morning.”
His signing wasn’t dramatic or sensational or boisterous. It just was. It was his message to his dad. A private thing made public, but still a private thing.
“The sound of serenity,” she continued through her constricted throat, “is an ocean wave rushing onto sand. The sound of sorrow is a sparrow singing to her lost mate. The sound of regret because things were left unsaid is thunder rumbling in the distance. It’s half-spoken words. And sometimes it’s no sound at all. But the sound of love is the loudest. It’s the sound of my heartbeat every time I think of you.”