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A pause. A long one. Finally, “Yes. That’s fine. But I have to ask for discretion.”
“You have it. I’ll see you around two. Will that work?”
“Yes, but not at my house.”
“Fine. You name the place.”
“A coffee shop. I’ll text you the address.”
“Good enough.”
“Thank you,” she says. “And…I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For… We’ll talk soon.” The call goes dead.
She’s sorry? This can’t lead to anything good.
I quickly text Dale and Brock that we’re going to the city tomorrow afternoon.
Finding out who shot my father is more important than anything.
The missing ring and the feather will have to wait.
The secrets in the old barn will have to wait.
I close my eyes, inhale, exhale, inhale once more.
I should be high on life right now. I’m in love with the woman of my dreams. She knows all my secrets.
I inhale once more and then open my eyes against the images that want to invade my consciousness.
Good. That’s good. I can deal with all of this. Callie and I together.
But inside my mind, inside my nose, I can still smell the sweetness of human decay.
I close my eyes and picture the black horse and the colorful bird for which he was named.
The phoenix—the bird that turns to ashes and rises again. A phoenix has feathers.
Ring. Feather. Barn. Safe-deposit box. A secret brother. Liens everywhere.
Nauseating but sweet aroma.
Secrets.
Secrets and more secrets. Secrets and lies.
Spark turns to flame and flame turns to blaze.
Blaze turns to ashes—ashes from which we must attempt to rise again.
I swallow. My throat hurts. I know…
The ashes are coming.
