Page 16 of Skin Game
His stomach sinking, Gabe stared downward. This was definitely a serial killer cellar. He didn’t like it one bit. At least Elton knew where they’d gone. Someone would find their bodies—eventually.
“Oh, sorry!” Leaning past the door, she flicked on a light switch above the top stair. A single bulb illuminated the descent. If Lynn thought that made the basement seem less serial killer-ish, she was wrong.
“There, it’s a bit less Bates Motel now. Heidi’s things are stacked over by the water heater.” She made a vague motion to the left of the staircase.
Here goes nothing, Gabe thought.
Lynn always did have a flair for the dramatic, Chance.
“Come on, Ranger Man.” Ignoring the pain radiating from his knees, Gabe started down the stairs. “Let’s get this loaded up.” He wished he’d thought to bring along the entire bottle of pain relievers. After the holly tree incident yesterday, his body was not going to forgive him anytime soon.
EIGHT
CASEY – TUESDAY AFTERNOON
The return trip to Heartstone was unnerving, and there was one single reason for it.
Gabe was quiet. Too damn quiet.
Casey was not used to his—hisGabriel,for lack of a better word—not engaging in an almost endless stream of chatter.
Casey had expected a running commentary on a variety of road trip topics. The significant amount of terrible and distracted drivers. Potholes the size of hippopotamuses, possibly leading to alternate dimensions. Billboards advertising ambulance-chasing lawyers in the most accident-prone section of Interstate 5. Which previously presumed dead seventies bands were playing at the casino or the Tacoma Dome. Even more prodding about Mickie. But no, Gabe kept his mouth firmly shut, appearing to watch the scenery, such as it was, flash past.
A trickle of concern took root and quickly bloomed in Casey’s stomach, driving away all thoughts of stopping for five-star pad see ew or pad kee mao. He briefly considered forcing the conversation, but his last interaction with his brother came to mind, and he decided it was fine to let Gabe brood until they got back to the island.
Gabe played the carefree ne’er-do-well almost perfectly, but Casey knew that he worried, and he cared. Deeply. As much as Casey’s life had been, and still was, upended by Mickie’s wrongful imprisonment and their parents’ inability to deal with it in any remotely healthy way, he at least hadn’t been brought up to unearth people’s weaknesses and take advantage of them. Gabe had been, yet he’d managed to retain his core decency, which, of course, if Gabe knew Casey thought that, he’d make gagging sounds.
But Casey was onto him.
Gabe was Casey’s Charming Fucker, but he wasn’t a natural cheat. He had to work at it. A few months on Heartstone and his con artist veneer had worn away, revealing—well, a man who didn’t mind flaunting the law but only for what he considered the greater good. Gabe’s gift was that people took to him without much effort on his part.
About halfway home, Casey’s cell phone vibrated, and both he and Gabe glanced over to where it sat in the cup holder.Eltonlit up the screen. Casey thought that Gabe might answer the call, but he just turned his head again as they crested Narrows Bridge, his attention focused on the swirling dark waters far below. Casey would return Elton’s call once they arrived at Gabe’s.
Finally, Casey turned into the RV park. They’d made decent time on the return trip, with the sun just now starting to sink behind the Olympics and sending a swathe of red and yellow ribbons into the atmosphere. As always, he felt incredibly lucky to live and work where he did.
“Sorry,” said Gabe, reaching for the door handle.
His first word in a solid two hours, and it was sorry? “I was going to ask if the cat got your tongue, but Keith stayed home,” Casey teased.
“Ha, ha.” Gabe clicked the lock and elbowed the door open. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For driving my sorry ass to Seattle, for braving the serial killer basement of doom and carting this shit back here.” Gabe dragged his fingers across the top of his head, tugging at his hair like he did when he was perturbed about something. “What the hell am I going to do with it? And what the fuck is with that chair?”
Casey pinched his lips together, trying not to laugh, and shrugged. The chair in question was remarkably ugly. “You don’t remember it from when you were a kid?”
“Oh, come on,” Gabe scoffed. “Would you forget a chair that ugly?”
Casey had to admit he wouldn’t. The chair in question was antique, there was no doubt of that, and sort of looked like a throne, except without the gilt and precious gems he randomly associated with something like that. The piece was heavy and awkward too. It had taken both of them to get it out of the basement and to Casey’s car. Jamming it in the back had been an event in itself. Thank god Bowie had stayed at Elton’s.
“Nope, you’re right,” Casey said. “It’s definitely unique.”
“Which then begs the question: What, and I do mean,The Fuck, was Heidi doing with something like that?”
Gabe was out of the car now, his hands clasped together on top of his head, conveying his utter and complete exasperation, as if he’d spent the drive trying to figure out what the stuff they’d picked up meant and yet was still clueless. Casey got out from behind the wheel and came around to join him.
“Maybe you’ll never know. But I’m guessing there’s a clue in one of those boxes.”