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Elena C Remmington was in that little silver font.
Shaking my head, I tossed the cards back inside and slammed the leather cover back down.
Seeing the garage door opener now attached to my visor, I hit the button, tapped pushed to start, and made my exit.
As I circled around the drive, I realized Mateo’s pretty blue classic Mustang and flashy SUV were in the garage, but his blacked out Wraith was missing.
He had a great habit of vanishing and reappearing at the most opportune times–for him that is.
I wasn’t sure if it was the car or that Mateo had given them permission to let me pass, but none of the guards tried to stop me from leaving.
I headed towards my parents’––my––estate. My grams or uncle were the only two people who would have answers to any of my questions, aside from the enigmatic kingpin I was marrying.
Like, how he ended up with my sister’s damn phone. Or, how they couldn’t possibly have known where she was when my grams number was one of Eva’s last points of contact with ten minute conversation the day same she went missing. She’d boldy lied to my face when I asked her if she knew anything.
Every single one of my missed calls and texts were logged as seen, letting me know that Mateo was fully aware I was looking for her.
It made me question what their true relationship was wi
th one another. Maybe Eva was sleeping with both Mateo and his father?
I banished that disgusting thought the second I considered it.
Mateo would never share anyone he was seeing regardless how serious they were–– that just wasn’t his M-O.
Not five minutes later, I was pulling up to the estate. Taking a good look at it, I began to see just how much it stood out in the midst of the other Remmington Hill homes and all the minor details that hadn’t been maintained like they should have since my parents’ passing.
Getting out, I made my way to front door and knocked twice before ringing the bell.
Not receiving a response or hearing any movement inside that indicated someone was coming, I tried the door.
I became slightly concerned when it swung right open. Regardless of how safe the neighborhood was, when you lived amongst killers and thieves you never left your doors unlocked.
“Hello?” My voice carried, and the responding silence was deafening.
I checked the first level and my concern grew. The house was filthy.
The garbage disposal had a curdled milk smell emanating from it, and there were a few unrinsed dishes in the sink.
In the living room there were three empty beer bottles and an overflowing ash tray. This wasn’t the way my grams would live. Ever.
The garage was empty, making me believe that neither she nor my uncle were home––but it didn’t explain the condition of the house.
On the second level, I checked each room, my level of concern growing even more when I saw the bloodstains on my uncle’s bedroom wall and his messy unmade bed.
Heading for my grams room next, I pushed open the door and saw her bed was made and everything else was in place.
The only thing immediately noticeable was the box that sat in the center of her bed. Of course, it was white with the typical blue ribbon tied to the top of it.
I was over seeing these things already. They never led to answers, only questions.
Questions led to Mateo, the most infuriatingly elusive person I’d ever met.
Walking to the box, I begrudgingly unwound the ribbon and flipped off the lid. The only thing inside was another joker card and the copy of a birth certificate that had definitely come from a different timezone than mine.
Lifting it up, I examined the names of my grams and grandfather listed as the birth parents.
“This isn’t right,” I mused to myself, when I read the name of the child: Ricardo Rias. In the box meant to specify birth, triplets was checked.
