Because the man staring at me is a stranger.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Apollo
“Trinity’s dad faked his own death?” I murmur.
I’m still staring at the letter Cass passed me. He read it out, but I’m reading it again. I was hoping I could get something—anything—by the font or type of paper he used.
But it’s a standard font in Word printed on ordinary, cheap, letter-sized paper.
Even the signature just reads ‘Gabriel’ with an indecipherable flourish that could be anything.
Cass blows a plume of cigarette smoke out of the car window. “It would appear so.”
We moved the car to the far side of the parking lot a few minutes ago. We should have started driving already, but we don’t know where to go. Which means we could be heading in the wrong direction, moving further away from Trinity.
“What if he’s lying?” Zach asks, twisting in his seat to scan our faces.
“Gabriel? Why would he?” Rube sits forward a little in his seat. “He’s dead.”
According to Gabriel’s letter, Trinity’s father—Keith Malone—is still alive. And although he states it as a fact, he doesn’t back it up with evidence.
“Then what about her mom? Is she alive too?”
“It doesn’t say,” Cass reminds me.
“Yeah…but…”
“Look, this isn’t getting us any closer to finding them,” Cass says. He flicks the butt of the cigarette out of the window.
“What will?” Rube asks.
Quiet settles down. I’ve been trying to figure that out the past ten minutes, and I’m sure everyone else has too. But we don’t have any leads.
“We’re assuming Gabriel took her, but what if it wasn’t him?” Zach says quietly. And then puts his hand over Cass’s so he’ll stop tapping his nail. “He could have had someone else do it.”
“But how would he know—” Rube begins, sighing as he speaks.
“The lawyer.” Cass snatches his hand out from under Zach’s and clicks his fingers. “She obviously called him when Trinity picked up the key.”
“So? We weren’t followed here,” Rube says. “How would he know exactly when—”
Rube stops talking when Zach lifts a hand and points out his window.
We all turn to look.
“What?” I ask, peering at the house. The garden. The roof.
“There,” Zach says.
And then I see it.
A For Sale sign.
But I don’t get it.
“He’s watching the house,” Zach says. “Trinity’s old babysitter said a young couple moved in across the road. No kids, but the house is big enough for a family of five.”
“So they watch the house. Someone lets him know Trinity’s arrived. He comes and snatches her? And then what? Where does he go? And why?” Cass shakes his head. “What does he—”
“We have to go back,” I say. “Back to her house.”
Zach opens his mouth as if to argue, but then closes it again. Cass and Rube look at him, then at each other. Like there’s a telepathic conversation going on.
It’s fine, I’ll wait them out.
“He’s right,” Cass murmurs. “Everything leads back to that house.”
“But the safe is gone,” Rube says. “What else could there be?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Zach says, “It’s not much…”
I grin at him. “But it’s a start.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rube
My first and only foster family had a study in their house. One wall was lined with bookshelves and old, musty books.
One day when my sisters were all at cheerleading practice and I’d been left alone for the first time in my new home, I was climbing up the walls from boredom. I tried watching television, but it didn’t hold my interest.
So I explored the house, peeking into rooms I’d only caught a glimpse of before.
The study fascinated me. It felt stale and unused—when I opened the door, dust motes shifted through stray beams of light shining in from the window. I felt like I was walking into a crypt.
I went over to the bookshelf and worked my way through the titles. Some of the books stuck together when I tried pulling them out.
Those I left alone, scared I’d damage them and get crapped out.
But some came out a little easier. Titles I’d later learn to recognize, but which were alien to me back then.
Alice in Wonderland.
A Tale of Two Cities.
Casino Royale.
Great Expectations.
I’ll never forget the smell of those books. Or how, when I turned the first page of Alice in Wonderland, I wondered why on earth an adult man would own a book like that.
Since then, I’ve always been drawn to books. My interest moved to bibles when I decided to play the part of a pious kid on his way to becoming a priest as a way to get closer to Father Gabriel without rousing suspicion.
Very little of that interest was feigned.
I found solace in the pages of any bible I read.
Cass is right—there’s no safe in this room anymore. But there is a treasure.
Seems Trinity’s parents collected bibles. Mostly King James, but there’s a Geneva here too. I crack them open, hoping to find a clue, but they’re as barren as the big white one Trinity came to Saint Amos with.
It makes sense—you’d destroy the value of the book by marking it—but a cheap mass-produced King James is just as empty.
I guess the church was just a front for Trinity’s parents.
We split up to search the house. Apollo found a door we assume leads to the basement, but it has a keypad. That combination should be the same one for the safe we can’t find. But Trinity never gave us the code. Apollo’s gone to look around the house and see if there’s another way inside the basement—maybe through a hurricane door or something. Cass and Zach went upstairs.
I said I’d search the study. But there’s nothing in here. I crack open one more bible, but it hits the floor a second later when I hear a rip from upstairs.
Apollo must have just come back inside already—he and Cass are in the main bedroom when I arrive.
We watch, silent, as Zach digs his fingers into the edge of the carpet and yanks up another strip, baring the hardwood floor beneath.
“Hey, Zach?” Cass asks quietly. “Whatcha doing over there, buddy?”
Zach spins around in a crouch, staring at us with a lowered head. Eyes bright, wide. “You don’t smell that?” he spits out. He waves a hand. “It’s all over this fucking place.”
I step forward, sweeping out and arm and using it to herd Cass and Apollo behind me, out of the way. “Smell what?” I ask.
Zach rushes to his feet. He charges toward me, and I almost back up when I see the ferocity on his face. But then he goes right past us, shoves a hand into a closet that’s standing open, and drags out a sweater.
He brings it to me, shoves it under my nose. “This,” he hisses.
I turn my head away, but he follows with the sweater until I take a reluctant sniff at the fabric.