Page 39 of Skin Game
He started to move, but Casey grabbed his ankles, stopping him. “Calling Elton can wait until the morning. If Elton learned anything, he won’t forget it by tomorrow. And if he had found out something important from Althea, he would have been here already.”
“Truth.” Gabe blew out a big sigh and tilted into the back of the couch, semidefeated. “Juliet was absolutely trying to con me,and she wasn’t very good at it. Who let the baby grifter out on her own? Where was she between the time she left and”—he waved a hand—“you know. Was she killed because I didn’t fall for her con? I’m feeling obligated, like I was the last one to see her alive so it’s up to me to get to the bottom of what’s happened. No one deserves to have what I saw in that photo happen to them.”
“Gabriel, and I cannot emphasize this enough,” Casey began, “the ultimate responsibility for her death lies with the person who killed her, not with you.”
Casey was starting to see a pattern with Gabe when it came to situations like this one. A dead body showed up, and Gabe would feel like solving the why of it was his burden to bear. For reasons Casey still didn’t quite understand, the murder of “the baby grifter” seemed to be hitting Gabriel extra hard.
“It only makes sense that I’m the one who needs to get to the bottom of this current round of fuckery.”
“Why?” Casey was curious why Gabe felt this way.
“I don’t want to think that this murder has something to do with Heidi, from back when she was a Pritchard, but I’m afraid it might,” Gabe admitted. “Which means ultimately it does have something to do with me.” He gestured at Alfred and the boxes with the last of his pizza slice. “So it only makes sense that I’m the one who needs to get to the bottom of this capital F fuckery.” He popped the pizza into his mouth and began to chew defiantly.
Gabe shifted his feet and stood up, then grabbed the empty plates and took them back over to the counter. “More pizza? Or should I break out the ice cream?”
“Gabe.”
“What?”
“Why do you think there’s a connection between your mother and this person’s murder?”
Gabe pulled another piece of pizza out of the box and took a big bite of it.
Swallowing, he said, “The timing is fucking suspicious.Monday, this Juliet person shows up. I send her away and head off to Westfort.”
Casey made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.
“Yeah, I know, the B and E. Bad Gabe. Then Elton brings that letter over in the afternoon, and suddenly I’m off to Seattle the next day to pick up stuff my mother didn’t want me to have until she was dead.” Gabe looked up, a mix of hurt and frustration clouding his expression. It made Casey’s heart clench. “Why did she make sure I get to Heartstone in the first place and then get all of this”—he gestured at the boxes and the chair—“if she didn’t want me to follow the trail to the bitter end? The timing is fucked. Juliet’s appearance wasn’t random, and I want to know how she found me and why she pulled the dad thing. I need to know. Heidi would be the first to point out that fucked-up timing is no coincidence.”
Instead of returning to sit next to Casey again, Gabe stayed where he was in the kitchen, one hip propped against the counter, the piece of pizza dropped back into the box, forgotten.
“How did Juliet find me? I only put in a change of address a couple of weeks ago. Does that information immediately go public? Was someone sitting around waiting to find out where I really lived so they didn’t have to use Elton as a conduit like our friend Lynn did?”
“Do you still have that envelope?” Casey asked.
“Yeah.” Gabe swiveled his head to cover the entire kitchen with his gaze, as if the envelope would magically jump up and show itself. “It’s here somewhere.”
“Maybe you stuck it back into the fruit bowl?’ Casey suggested. He was starting to learn that Gabe’s filing system was less a cabinet and more whatever container was handy.
“Oh yeah, here it is.” Gabe plucked the envelope out from underneath a bag of oranges. “And why am I looking at this?”
“To see when it was sent.” Casey walked over to standshoulder to shoulder with Gabe, leaning in so he could see the envelope and offer support.
It was a regular letter-sized envelope, although a bit grubby and creased where it had been folded at some point. Gabe flipped it over to the front. There, in the middle of the front, just like Casey had learned in elementary school, was Gabe’s name and Care Of Elton Cox above Elton’s address. The handwriting was shaky, as if the person was ill, old, or both—much like Lynn Schmitt.
“Basic postmark from Seattle.” Casey pointed to the top righthand corner where the postage stamp had been affixed. “Nothing else looking suspicious.”
“That doesn’t explain if Juliet’s tied to it. She showed up before he brought it over.”
“So…” Casey said, thinking out loud. “They got their timing off. Or there are more unknowns in play.”
“I do not like unknowns,” Gabe complained.
Right on cue, Bowie let out a sharp bark and a growl, startling them.
“What’s up, dog?” Casey asked.
Bowie shot to the front door to sniff along the bottom edge, his tail straight up and out, as if someone was on the other side. The hairs on the back of Casey’s neck prickled.