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"This. . . " there was a pause on the other end. "This isn't Marcus, is it?"
"No. This is his partner. " Thomas managed not to hitch over it, though in his mind there was a significant pause in thought, trying to decide the best word to use. It left it open to meaning business, or more than that. Apparently, either one seemed to ease John's concerns enough, though he added the question. "So you know what's going on?"
"Yes. Marcus left for a few minutes. Is there something else you need?"
"Is he. . . okay?"
On that, Thomas was on solid ground, and was able to give the key sense of intimate knowledge that apparently would win John's trust and assumption that he did in fact know what the hell was going on.
"No. He's definitely not okay. "
"Jesus. " John blew out a sigh. "Then maybe you can think of a way to say this to him. I talked to Mom. She says she's going to respect Dad's last wishes. She doesn't. . . hell, no good way to say it. She doesn't want him at the funeral. I mean, she does, but Dad didn't and she's just. . .
"We're going to need another transfer on the burial expenses. His last days were pretty rough, so I tapped out the account for the hospital. He's got to understand, it tore her apart these last days. All she can think about is how much she loved him and misses him, so of course she's going to support his wishes right now.
"Marcus will want to transfer another six thousand in there Friday. That's when I'll need to pay the funeral home. She's worried to death about the farm, but I told her Sue and I can cover everything. Didn't think it was time to lay on her that Marcus has been paying their way out of every tight corner for the past ten years.
"Maybe. . . after this all dies down, he could come home for a visit. I think she really wants to see him. Hell, we all do. He's probably told you how she is, all the Bible stuff about Dad being the head of the household and obeying him. Hell, if I tried to get Suzie to go that way, she'd hit me in the head with a two-by-four. It's just the way they are.
"He was a mean old bastard. Stubborn, but Marcus is like that too. Stubborn, mean when crossed. They never saw how alike they were, even as different as we know Marcus is. I. . . I didn't mean that in an offensive way, okay? I mean. . . I don't know if you're his partner. . . or his partner. Or both. Ah, hell. Don't know why I'm telling you all this. It just. . . it's been a hell of a day. Will you just tell Marcus we love him and when this crap is past, he should come home? He really should. I know he won't, but. . . will you tell him?"
"I will. "
When Thomas heard John hang up, he closed the phone and started to slide it in the front pocket of his jeans.
Iowa. Marcus had a family in Iowa. A farm. A father who'd just died.
But he was also Dodger, somehow connected to Toby. On a hunch, he scrolled through the call history, the phone list, and found Owen's name.
One part of him knew this was wrong, but the larger part didn't care. Pieces were missing, but the pieces that were coming together were goading him into the territory Marcus had always declared off limits. Well, to hell with that.
As Thomas cued up the number, finger poised to start the call, he glanced at Les.
"I'm going to New York for a few days. I need you to make sure the courier gets those pieces. Okay?"
She nodded, her eyes full of questions even as she glanced toward Elaine.
"Marcus' father died," Thomas added.
"Oh. " Les made a little sound as her mother crossed herself, then folded her hands on the counter.
"Maybe he left the phone here deliberately, Thomas, knowing. . . "
"Mom, enough. " Thomas said coldly, stopping his mother mid-sentence. "This isn't a debate. While I'm gone, ask the Brewster kid to come in. He could use the money anyhow. "
He turned to Rory, who'd rolled up close to the side of the counter near his mother, attempting to make a wall of their disapproval. Thomas cocked his brow at him. "While I'm gone, you're in charge of the store. "
A surprised expression fluttered across his mother's face. "Thomas, Rory can't - "
"I can't - "
"Yes, you can. More than that, you will. " Thomas stabbed a finger at him, his brows drawing down. "You chickenshit out and let Mom take over, as she'll try to do to baby you and your wallowing self-pity, I will yank you out of that chair and put a foot up your ass. Your legs don't work, but your brain does, your arms and upper body does, and you can use Les and Brewster's kid when you need a pair of legs. I need a good manager to handle things this week. You're that guy. " He gave his brother an even, take-no-shit look. "You can hold more figures in your head than a rocket scientist. So stop focusing on what you don't have and use what you got. Or I'll tell Amanda Brewster you're really a paraplegic and your dick doesn't work. "
"She already knows it does," Rory snapped and then colored to his roots. His mother and sister turned, a look of consternation on one face, barely suppressed laughter on the other.
"Well, if you've got the brains to use it, you can do other things. " Despite the circumstances, Thomas felt a gut-loosening grin cross his face.
Then his mother's expression shifted back to him. As he met her gaze head-on, he felt a calmness that was new to him. "When I get back, we'll talk. I may be gone several days. You know how to get hold of me. "
