Page 142 of Ly to Me

Henry fished a card from his back pocket and wrote his number on it before holding it out to me. “Call me if you find anything else missing, or can give footage of him leaving with that blender.”

I accepted the card and stuck it in my pocket. Henry bowed his back, sticking his gut out toward the ring. “Congrats on the marriage, by the way. Happy to see you settled down. Your dad and mom would be proud to see you finding the right track.”

“Sure.” I cocked my head as he started walking back to his car. He didn't seem to recognize Lyra, but maybe his fading memory would remember the cocksucker she lived with. “Henry, got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“You ever hear about a Chet Walker?”

“Why’re you asking?”

I feigned nonchalance. “Heard his name, didn’t recognize it.”

“You wouldn’t. Not from that side of town.”

A whole mile down the road. A single fucking mile. That was the division between Lyra and me growing up, but that wasn’t where those cruel lines ended.

“What do you know about him?”

Henry let out a low whistle. “Bad man. In and out of lock-up since he came here decades ago. Trash like that don’t belong in my town.” He spit again, and I fought the urge to slam his face into the disturbing wad on my property.

“He in there now?”

Henry rubbed the back of his bald head. “Nope. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in awhile. Not since he tried robbing a convenience store for more money to gamble away.”

“He ever go to jail over a woman?”

Henry paused, his hand tense on his car door’s handle. “I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ you all this. Could lose my job and all. But since your daddy and I used to play poker with each other, I’ll tell you this—Chet put his hands where they weren’t supposed to be. Money, weapons, girls. Wherever he wound up, I hope it’s six-feet under.”

I smirked as he climbed into his car, then rolled his window down. “I’ll file the report for your wife. Don’t worry ’bout needin’ to get her to talk about it.” He waved before rolling the window back up, then turned off the lights and drove away.

I pulled out my cell, searched for the name I needed, then pressed the phone to my ear.

“Can I come get my shit back now? Left my better gun there.”

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Grant.”

“My apologies. Good morning, dollface. Can I come—”

“Tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. Night,” I repeated. “Bring your pj’s too,dollface. You’ll be here awhile.”

Grant snorted. “Game night?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Might need to bring Tallulah with me. Caught signs of more tracks around the woods again. One day, I’m gonna—”

“It’s been a year. If whoever it is was going to do something, they’d have done so.” It was better than telling him the truth.

“Not exactly reassuring,” Grant muttered.

“Give her a gun.”

He cackled. “Tallulah with a gun would be more frightening than what your wife did to your truck.”