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“What?” I asked.
“Do you think he’s in some sort of trouble?” he asked. “Serious trouble?”
“And, it’s so bad that he’s lashing out at his sister and his friend?” I asked. “I don’t think so. Brent is an idiot, but he’s harmless. He’s just in one of his moods.”
“It’s a mood that’s lasted a very long time,” Phil said.
“He’s probably short on pot.” I shrugged.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Phil nodded. “And I know he’s still in touch with Harvey.”
“Harvey?” I asked curiously.
“He’s a pot dealer I used to know back in the day,” Phil admitted. “I actually met Brent through him.”
“I thought you said you never really did drugs.”
“Does pot count as drugs?” he asked, with a laugh.
I frowned. “Yes.”
“I may have smoked a little pot when I was younger,” Phil admitted. “But I never did anything harder. And I stopped smoking up years ago. But I stayed in touch with Harvey because he was a decent guy and we got along.”
“So you think… What exactly?” I asked.
“Brent hasn’t got his weekly fix, and he’s moody because of it,” Phil said. “I flushed his pot down the toilet around the time you first moved in with him actually. Maybe that’s why he’s been sort of resentful with me. He ran out.”
I frowned. “Something’s not right.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Phil said, sidling up to me and kissing my neck. “Brent’s a big boy. He can fend for himself.”
I smiled and turned into Phil’s body. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Phil
“Thank you so much!”
She was a slight little thing with silver-white hair and eyes that were brown and filmy. She had glasses that were too large for her face, and her face and hands were lined with veins. She seemed so fragile that it felt that if I blew she would just tip over. She stood before me with a look of profound gratitude on her face as she thanked me for what seemed like the tenth time.
“Ma’am,” I said gently. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. This is my job and more importantly it was my pleasure.”
She smiled. “You’re a nice boy,” she said. “You remind me of my husband when he was young.”
I smiled. “He was a looker, was he?” I teased.
When she laughed, I could imagine the woman she had been fifty years ago. “Yes, he was, as a matter of fact.” She nodded. “He had beautiful hazel brown eyes, just like yours. He’s been dead for nine years now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said soberly.
“We had a wonderful married life together,” she continued. “But we never managed to have children. So we had dogs… We must have adopted over fourteen dogs over our forty-six-year marriage. Alfie here is the last dog we adopted together.”
She hugged the spaniel to her chest and
despite how fragile I had thought she was, she managed to keep a firm grip on him. The spaniel turned his nose around and licked her across the face with affection. I reached over and patted Alfie on the head. The dog turned to me and gave me a lick, too.
“He’s a beauty.”
