Page 183 of Cold, Cold Bones

Katy sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter now that he’s locked up. It was Winky. I doubt he meant me any harm. He’s just a lonely old vet with no one in his life.”

“Speaking of which, how’s it going with your project?”

“Charlie’s partner is great. His name is Storey, but I can get past that. Storey’s helping me set up the trust, structure the foundation, yadda, yadda. I’ve put in a bid on a piece of property and I’m about to hire a design firm.”

Katy had come out of her ordeal more determined than ever to establish a charity for homeless vets. She planned to name the organization the Aaron Cooperton Foundation, and the shelter the Charles Anthony Hunt Center. The venture had already cost memucho.

“Have you bought your pavers?” Katy was selling memorial benches and walkway pavers starting at $1,000 a pop.

“Four,” I said. “In the names Miguel Sanchez, Veronica Justine Kwalwasser, Francis Leonardo Boldonado, and Andrea-Louisa Soto.”

“That’s a nice gesture, Mom.”

“How’s it going with your applications?”

Katy had decided to return to school to earn an MBA. She planned to run the foundation herself and wanted the skill set to do it right.

“It’s pure hell. I feel like I’m in high school again.”

“Speaking of pure hell, shall we get back to the weeds?” I asked.

Katy saluted, then stood.

I drained my glass and we headed down into the garden.