My head is spinning the entire drive back home. It’s snowing enough that I shouldn’t speed, but every time I check the dashboard, I’ve somehow managed to be going ten miles over the speed limit.
The things Brett said about my mom can’t be true. My mom wasn’t like that.
Yeah, she might have made excuses for my dad and the life he chose, but she always taught Maxton and me the difference between right and wrong. One time, Maxton got caught trying to steal a bag of chips from a convenience store when he was about ten, and Mom wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.
She’d never knowingly help my dad. She wouldn’t entrap innocent people.
But she loved him more than she loved herself.
I give my head a shake. There were limits to what she’d do, even for my father. There’s no way.
Brett lied to me about her, the same way he lied to me about Rowan.
The more I think about the photos Brett showed me, the more I’m convinced they must be doctored.
I glance down at the photo I took, the one that’s now lying on the passenger seat. Rowan wouldn’t pull a gun on someone like that. He’s not violent. Sure, he’s got a hell of a glare, and he can be intimidating, but he’s never been aggressive. Even if Brett interfered with the lease and refused to give Rowan the keys, Rowan wouldn’t threaten him.
But what’s nagging at me is that the gun Rowan is holding in the photo looks just like the gun I saw him stashing away upstairs.
Or does it? I don’t know enough about guns to know if it’s a common model. I try to conjure up a clear image of the gun I saw in Rowan’s hand, but my memory is fuzzy.
I’m too amped up to think straight. I just need to stay calm until I can talk to Rowan. I’m sure there’s an explanation.
Finally, I turn onto our street.
Rowan’s truck isn’t in the driveway.
I park and let out a groan. He’s probably already left for the mall where we’re supposed to meet after my shift. My God, I’m so rattled I didn’t think to just drive straight there.
I’m about to get back on the road when an idea comes to me.
It wouldn’t hurt to check…
I hop out of the car and run inside, straight upstairs to the closet where the gun was.
The drawer’s stuck, and it takes me some time to get it open, but when I do, the gun’s right there, untouched.
When did I see him put it there? It was three days before Christmas Eve. No, four. I walked in on him putting it away right after he came home from going somewhere with Sam.
I look down at the photo I took with me.
It has a date in the corner.
The twentieth of December.
My heart’s banging around inside my chest. So what if the dates match up? It could be a coincidence.
But a flicker of doubt appears. Could Rowan and Sam have gone to Frostbite that day?
My phone rings. Rowan’s name pops up on the screen. My index finger hovers over the screen.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I let it ring. That day, Sam came here and said to Rowan that something urgent had come up. A work emergency. A difficult client.
And when Rowan came back, he had a gun with him. A gun he hid.
He said it was to protect us from Uncle Lyle, but what if he lied?
