Page 64 of Skin Game
“Where he ran into Randy Witherspoon, or Randy was following him.” Casey had added. “He didn’t find much, so he started digging around online this morning and found some article about an art robbery in the late seventies.”
Casey then scribbled more on the list, muttering, “Gabe sure has been at the center of all the events that have happened on Heartstone since he showed up.”
He could almost hear Gabe correct the word “events” to “fuckery.”
Elton had chuckled. “We can’t lay everything that’s happened in the past few months at Gabe’s feet, but I concur. His arrival seems to have coincided with a falling-dominoes effect when it comes to the criminal element that has been quietly operating in and around Twana County for years.”
Now, lying on the spine-mutilating couch, Casey supposed that Elton had it right. With their uncle’s help, the Perkins brothers had been running on the wrong side of the law while their mother looked the other way. John Stevens and Rizzi had been up to their criminal activities even longer. Who else was feeling the heat?
Beside him, Bowie released a deep, heartfelt, doggy sigh. After enduring a thorough hose-down, he’d scarfed down some kibble and crashed out on his “away” dog bed. Casey’s restless stirring had woken him up.
“You’re no help,” Casey complained. “Isn’t this when you run off and find Timmy in the well?” Bowie didn’t acknowledge Casey’s taunt. He didn’t even bother lifting his head. All Casey got in response was another soft snore as the dog went back to sleep.
It didn’t feel right to sit and wait for morning. Gabe was out there right now.Somewhere. That was the problem. Sure, Casey could hop in the Jeep and drive around, but where to?
According to his phone, it was 2:43 a.m. Sighing, he checked his weather app and saw that the storm was starting to wane. He decided to take another power nap and reconsider his options when he woke up.
A strange soundforced Casey to open his eyes. He’d been dreaming, he wasn’t sure about what. Mostly he’d been running around worried, looking for Gabriel and not finding him.
“Coffee?” Elton asked, shuffling into the living room.
“Yeah,” Casey said with a groan. He sat up and immediately regretted falling asleep with his head in a funky position. “I could use the caffeine.”
Automatically, Casey checked his phone. Again. It had been three hours since the last time he’d looked and he’d managed maybe two of whatever that had been, but it hadn’t been sleep. No notifications. Nothing from Gabe since yesterday afternoon. Because duh, Gabe wouldn’t be calling from his phone, which was now sitting on the coffee table. Elton needed to hurry with that coffee.
Pausing at the kitchen doorway, Elton asked, “Did you get any rest?”
“Not really. You?”
“No, but I’m old. I don’t sleep like I used to.”
Bowie bumped Casey’s hand with his cold, wet nose, his way of informing Casey that rain or shine, it was time to go out and do his business. Rising to his feet, Casey tugged his boots and coat on.
“I’m taking Bowie out for his constitutional,” he told Elton.
“Morning Joe will be ready when you two get back.”
The rain had slowed down around midnight, but it hadn’tentirely stopped. The world was damp and cold, droplets of water that clung to naked tree branches catching the light from Elton’s porch. Daybreak was on its way, slowly and occasionally seeming to retreat and dim a bit before the light would increase again. Casey inhaled a deep breath in through his nose and let it slowly out, reminding himself that remaining calm was imperative. He watched Bowie trot across the grass ahead, his nose just inches from the ground.
“Hurry it up. We’re out here for you to take care of your business, not chase nocturnal squirrels and get soaked.”
Bowie acknowledged Casey’s comment with a brief glance over his shoulder, very close to an eye roll. Then, as if to say FINE in his best Gabriel Karne impersonation, the dog found the proper shrub for his purposes.
Even his dog had felt the Gabriel Karne Effect over the last few months.
“Here’s your cuppa.” Elton handed him a mug when Casey and Bowie returned inside, bringing a bit of the cold and damp early morning air with them. “Shut the door, it’s cold.”
Accepting the mug, Casey savored the warmth of it against his cold fingers for a moment before raising it to his lips and sipping at the molten liquid.
“What’s the plan?”
Elton always had a plan of some kind. Casey often felt a bit like an interloper—Gabe and Elton were the ones to plan escapades together, and Casey was a poor substitute.
“I think we should go back over to Gabe’s. We might see something, catch what the sheriff may have missed. Not to say that Bree and her team aren’t adequate, but another set of eyes never hurts.”
Casey glanced out the window; even since coming back inside with Bowie, it was lighter outside. Not bright but a hint that the sun was planning on rising regardless of the steady mist.
“Let’s go.” Action was better than sitting around waiting for news.