Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
And I’m damn sure willing to put in the time, work, and effort to get it. Nora deserves the world, and I’m going to be the one to give it to her.
“You have me,” she says, pressing one last lingering kiss to my lips before once again rolling off me. “But I still don’t have a way to apply for a job.”
Back full circle, I think, sitting up. “Let me check on something and see if I can find a solution, okay?”
“On what?”
“I’ve got an idea,” I tell her, not wanting to dive into the details of it, because she’ll only worry. “You think you can hold down the fort for a bit while I see what I can do?”
“Yeah.” Nora nibbles her lip and then nods. “I can do that.”
I stand and then help her up, pulling her small body into mine for a hug. “I’ll be back soon, Pip. Maybe I can pick up dinner on my way home.”
She pats her ever-growing belly. “I’ll never say no to food.”
“I’m thinking Chinese?”
“Lo mein?” she asks excitedly.
“Anything you want, Pip.” I drop a kiss to her forehead. “Just text me your order.”
The drive out to my dad’s place is uneventful, but I’m on high alert as the house comes into view.
A part of me is expecting to find his truck parked in the driveway, but just like him, it’s nowhere to be seen.
However, the empty yard doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach even a little, because while he might not be here now, the fucker has to be somewhere, and I can’t help but worry about when he’s going to pop back up.
I kill the engine and head for the front door. It’s locked, but I still have my key, so I let myself in.
The house smells stale, like no one’s been here in a while, probably not since the day I asked Ellis to stop by.
But still, I keep my steps light and my guard up—if anyone shows up here, they’re damn sure not going to get the drop on me. Not when I have so much goodness waiting on me at home.
Growing up, I remember my dad having a safe in his closet. I make my way to his bedroom, hoping that it’s still there and—more importantly—that I can get into it.
“Please be there,” I mutter as I enter the closet, breathing a sigh of relief when I see the big, black box in the far corner.
Dropping to my knees in front of it, I try the first set of numbers I can think of—my mom’s birthday—but the lock doesn’t budge. I try my dad’s birthday next, and then mine, but still nothing.
I turn the dial this way and that, trying to think of another set of numbers to try. “What if it’s—surely it’s not…” But I try the numbers all the same.
Sure enough, the lock disengages, sending chills down my spine. The sick fucker’s lock code is my mom’s date of death.
Dread pools in my gut as I retrieve a stack of papers from inside the safe, and it only grows as I shuffle through them.
I sift through a pile of seemingly random newspaper clippings before setting them to the side and opening the manilla folder I grabbed with them.
Inside it, I hit the jackpot, finding not only Nora’s social security card, but also her birth certificate. Having these should make getting her a state ID a helluva lot easier.
I slide those documents into my back pocket before turning my attention back to the safe. I have what I came here for, but for some reason, I feel the need to dig a little deeper.
What I find in the next folder knocks the breath out of me— Mom’s death certificate. Fuck. Even though I know what it’s going to say, I read over it, line by line.
Nothing jumps out at me, until I read the cause of death. Heart attack, and acute toxicity. What in the hell does that mean?
I flip to the next page and find a toxicology report. There’s a whole slew of positive findings, and even though I was fairly young when she died, I know for damn sure she didn’t take as many meds as they have listed.
Shuffling those papers to the side, I see another death certificate… this one is Grace’s. It reads damn near identical to my mom’s. Heart attack, and acute toxicity, followed by an almost perfectly mirrored list of meds.
Does this mean what I think it does?
Something isn’t adding up here. Hell, a lot of things aren’t. I set the reports aside, intent on taking them home with me so I can dissect them later, before returning my attention to the safe.
I pull out the remaining contents, a well-worn brown paper bag, some pill bottles, and a passport.
Inside the bag I find a random assortment of things: a blue hair tie, a glittery barrette, a cross necklace, and so on. Weird but harmless, I suppose.