Quentin had debated whether or not he wanted to bottom for Augustus, but then he’d reminded himself that not all his experiences with bottoming had been bad. He could take pleasure from it if it was done right. And with the right person. It had been magical to share himself with Augustus, and he’d always treasure the memory.
A pang of pain stabbed his heart. That was all they would have left. Memories. Two more days and he’d have to leave to make it back to California on time. Two more days and after that, only memories. There had to be a solution to their problem, but if there was, he didn't see it. And neither did Augustus, or he would've said something.
“W-would you still w-w-want to find your f-father? F-f-find out if he's still al-l-live?" Augustus asked. Quentin hadn’t seen that one coming.
He rubbed his hands, which were turning into icicles again, even though the temperature was slightly above freezing point. That damn wind here made it so freaking cold.
"I hadn't thought of it to be honest. We know he was guilty, so it's not like it would paint him in a different light. We're way past hope for exoneration."
Augustus dipped his chin. "I unders-stand."
Would he want to see his dad again if the man was alive? "How would we even find him? I'll admit I didn't try very hard from California, but I did spend significant time on Google and couldn't find out anything."
“P-p-pI.”
A private detective. Of course. Quentin had actually considered that years ago, and he'd even discussed it with his mom, but they’d both agreed it wasn't worth the money. Clearly, his dad hadn't wanted to stay in their lives. Of course, now that he knew the truth, he understood why. Granted, the man could've still tried to contact them after his release from prison, but Quentin couldn't fault him for not expecting a warm welcome as a convicted felon.
"They cost a lot of money."
"I know."
Quentin frowned. "I thought you never tried to find your father?"
"It wasn't f-for that. I hired one to f-f-find out the names of my f-father's v-victims and how m-m-much he had t-taken from them."
Quentin studied him for a few seconds. "So you have someone local?”
“G-good guy. He was n-n-nice to me."
The fact that Augustus counted him as a good man just because he’d been nice to him said everything about how people treated him in general, didn’t it? Sadness seeped into his bones. If Quentin thought too long about it, he would get angry all over again, so he pushed it down.
What had seemed abstract before became much more concrete now. Did he want to hire a PI to find his father? God, it was such a loaded question. He had no way of knowing how it would turn out. Maybe his father would be happy to see him, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that he’d reject him all over again. And why, for fuck’s sake, had he started thinking of Leonard again as his father? There was that stubborn hope again.
"Can we call him? Your guy, I mean? Just to get an idea of his price?"
Augustus dipped his chin, and they went back to work.
They took their lunch break at twelve thirty, and after he had locked the junkyard up, Augustus gave Quentin the phone number. He stared at it while Augustus made sandwiches, then finally decided to take the plunge.
The man picked up quickly, and Quentin took a deep breath. "Mr. Hartford, this is Quentin Frost. You don't know me, but I'm a friend of Augustus McCain. Mac. You did some work for him—"
"I remember him," Hartford said. It sounded friendly. Businesslike, but not unkind. "What can I help you with?"
Quentin's stomach rolled. "How much would you charge to find someone?"
"What kind of person are we talking about? Male or female and what age? And how long has this person been missing?"
"Male, and he's been missing for ten years, I guess. He was in prison, and I’d like to know what happened to him after that."
"Frost," Hartford said slowly. "Are you related to Leonard Frost?"
Of course he’d make the connection. If Augustus had hired him to trace the victims, Hartford knew what had happened. He would recognize the names. But did it really matter? In fact, it might even make things easier because the man knew where to start.
"I'm his son."
"Gotcha," Hartford said, and Quentin loved the casualness of that acceptance. "Well, the good news is that I already have quite a bit of information on him. The bad news is that it has been a while, and the likelihood of him having moved out of state is big, considering the tight-knit community he was from. He would not have returned there."
Quentin thought of the women in Northern Lake and how they had reacted to the mere mention of his father's name. "No, he wouldn't."
"It's hard for me to give you an accurate estimate because I can't know how long it’ll take me to find him. If he merely moved states but kept his name, not long. But if he went through a lot of trouble trying to leave the past behind him, things could be more difficult. My rough estimate is anywhere between a thousand and three thousand dollars, depending on whether or not I have to travel somewhere and verify information in person."
Quentin's stomach dropped. Aside from the fact that he didn't have that kind of money lying around, did he even want to spend it on finding Leonard? "Thank you for the information, Mr. Hartford. I'll have to think about this, and I'll get back to you."
"Sure thing." Hartford was quiet for a few beats. "Can I ask how Mac is doing?"
"He's…" Quentin watched Augustus, who was just putting the sandwiches out on the kitchen table. "He's doing well. Better, anyway. And he goes by Augustus now."
"I'm glad to hear that. That was a raw deal he got, being set up like that by his father. I hoped he’d find a way to leave the past behind him."
The concern and care in Hartford's voice warmed Quentin's heart. Augustus might not have known it, but not everyone was his enemy. "He's working on it. On leaving the past behind him. But I'll tell him you asked about him. I'm sure he’ll appreciate that."
He ended the call, and Augustus looked at him expectantly. “One to three k,” Quentin said. "Depending on whether or not he's easy to find and if he has to travel."
Augustus nodded. "What I exp-p-pected."
They sat down at the kitchen table, and Quentin attacked the egg salad sandwich in front of him. Out of all the sandwiches Augustus made for him, that was still his favorite. "It's a lot of money," he said after finishing off half the sandwich in a few bites.
Augustus didn't say anything, just smiled at him. For some reason, the man never ceased to be amused by Quentin's appetite. Not that Quentin minded. More importantly, he didn't think Augustus cared either.
"I'm not sure he's worth it. Spending that much money on a man who stole so much from others and who ran out on his girlfriend and child doesn't sound like a smart investment."
“F-f-for cl-closure?" Augustus asked
Quentin shrugged. "Closure to the tune of three thousand dollars? Maybe closure is overrated. I don't have that money, and even if I did, I’d rather spend it on the future than the past, you know?"