Page 83 of Forgotten Path

“He won’t. Look at the way the driveway curves away from the house. Park on the far side of the pavilion. It’ll be fine.”

He was probably right. The outdoor structure was massive, and the parking pad to the right of it most likely wasn’t visible from the house.

Craig swallowed and followed the bend in the drive. When he reached the gazebo, he executed a tight turn and parked with the sedan pointed back toward the road.

He glanced at Bodhi. “Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

“Smart, but we won’t. You’re just going to go in there and talk to him. Once you tell him what Detective Williams told you to say, get out, and the police will take it from there.” Bodhi smiled encouragingly.

“Right.” Craig killed the engine and left the keys dangling in the ignition. Just in case.

He exited the car and trudged past the pavilion with his head bent and his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He turned back and took a final look at the car. Despite his outward confidence, Bodhi was slumped low in the passenger seat. Just in case.

* * *

As Craig rappedon the side door to Fred Glazier’s mansion, Bodhi eased the earpiece into his ear canal and twisted it until it was both secure and comfortable. He wished he had a way to communicate with Craig, but Felicia had nixed the idea. As she’d explained it, there was virtually no chance that either Fred or Chad would notice the minuscule recording devices she’d outfitted Craig and Brianna with. But giving them earpieces was too risky.

So Bodhi wished Craig well silently and settled in to listen.

Craig knocked a second time, waited for a beat, then tried the doorknob. It twisted in his hand. He pushed open the door and stepped into the house and out of view.

“Uh, Fred?” Craig’s raised voice was echoey in Bodhi’s ear.

“I’m in the den,” Fred shouted back, his response faintly reaching the recorder concealed in Craig’s waistband.

“Like I know where the den is,” Craig muttered under his breath.

Bodhi frowned. If Craig was talking to himself, that was fine—he guessed. But he hoped Craig didn’t plan to narrate the meeting for the recording device. Surely Fred would notice that.

“Hey, this place is great,” Craig enthused a moment later.

Fred boomed, “I know.” He gave a self-satisfied laugh. “Take a seat. You want a beer?”

No,Bodhi thought.

“Sure,” Craig said.

The sound of two caps twisting off and hitting a table and the clink of bottles knocking together followed. Then Bodhi heard the gulp of Craig’s first swallow of beer.

“Okay, kid, what’s so important?” Fred asked without preamble.

“Well—,” Craig began, only to be interrupted by an ear-splitting belch.

“Go on.”

“Well, I thought you should know that Gran told me the doctors said Doc Ashland was definitely killed.”

“What?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess the way his neck was broken or whatever, it couldn’t have happened that way from a fall.”

“That sonofa—how sure are they?”

“According to my gran, they’re pretty sure.”

“Damn. Rough way to go for Ashland.”

Bodhi tried to ascertain from Fred’s tone whether the sentiment was genuine, but he didn’t know the man, so he couldn’t tell.