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I took a step toward them, outstretching my hand. “Is everyone okay? Is somebody hurt?”
The relief I felt when he shook his head was immediate and intense.
“No, nobody’s hurt, Keaton.” My worry resurfaced, growing as the look on his face deepened. “You know a guy called James Jordan? Works for you on the site, he says.”
“Sure, I know Jimmy, one of the first guys I hired after Windley ran him off his stoop. He’s from Houston, been hitching this way over a year, right?”
A solemn nod. “He’s just turned himself in. Confessed to wrecking your site.”
Shocked, wounded, relieved. “Jimmy? I …” I raked a hand through my hair. “Jesus, Jensen. Need me to come down with you?”
“Yes, but …” He shook his head again, warring with words. “Keaton, he said you paid him to do it.”
My ears rang, my heart beating so hard, the ache radiated from my ribs. “What?”
“He says you paid him to do it so you could collect the insurance on it.”
“He what?” I shot. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Another shake of his head, and he explained that Jimmy, a homeless guy I hired on getting kicked off Doug Windley’s stoop, had turned himself in, unable to live with himself, he’d said. He detailed an elaborate plan, including providing him the materials with which to commit the crime, which he’d brought with him and did appear, in fact, to be mine. He’d been paid in cash in an amount I’d recently withdrawn in cash from the business, for the business, though I didn’t tell Jensen.
I held my breath steady until he was finished.
“I didn’t do it.”
“I figured you didn’t. But Keaton, I need you to come down to the station with me.”
“Am I … are you arresting me?”
“No, but we need to talk. Have your brothers meet us at the station. We’ll get it all cleared up.”
I nodded, checking my pockets for my keys, following them to the driveway, then downtown with my guts twisted in fear. Fear that I’d be charged, fear that I’d be tried. And the deepest, darkest of fears—insurance wouldn’t pay our damages.
And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it but pray.
23
THE LURCH
DAISY
The kitchen was silent.
I sat at the island with my hands threaded on the surface, my eyes on my fingers. Carson sat at my elbow with the bottom half of his face in his hand. Cole paced, Cade took a seat at the breakfast table. And Keaton stood across from me, his palms planted on the surface and his head too low to see his eyes.
I’d gotten the call from Keaton to tell me all that had happened, though he didn’t know much then, only that he and his brothers were on their way to the police station. Statements were taken, and an investigation was opened. I’d met them here at the house, rushed into his arms where he crushed me with a mix of fear and relief and fury that left me dizzy.
He hadn’t said much since. Just told us what he knew, which was very little.
His head rose, but he looked toward the office. “I need to call the insurance company.”
“What are you going to tell them?” Cole asked, suspicious.
“The truth.”
Cole shook his head. “How does this even work?”
“Jensen said the insurance company will have a special investigations team come down to determine whether or not I did it. Until then, they won’t be paying for our repairs.”
“How long does that take?” Cade asked gravely.
“Months probably.”
We all shifted at the same time in our discomfort.
Carson let out a long sigh and scrubbed his hand over his face. “You didn’t do it. They’ll figure it out. And in the meantime, we have equity. We can pay the bills ourselves and they can pay us back.”
Keaton stiffened almost imperceptibly, trying so very hard to keep his composure. “After rig transport and the rest, we’re looking at near a hundred thousand.”
A long pause stretched between us.
“We’ll sell equipment. Scale back for a while,” Carson offered. “We’ll get through it.”
Every muscle in Keaton’s body was taut as he lowered his head, his shoulders rising and falling. “We’ll get through it,” he echoed darkly before pushing off the island. “Lemme make some calls.”
With that, he strode out of the room, and the four of us watched him go. And when the doors to the office clicked shut, we let out a collective sigh.
“Of all the fucking things,” Cade spat. “Keaton committing fraud? Surely nobody believes Jimmy. And after everything Keaton’s done for him.”
“Wonder if he’d tell the truth if I turned his face inside out?” Cole mused. “Seems worth a shot.”
But Carson was dark as midnight, his brow low. “The only person who would set us up is Doug.”
“Doug doesn’t have the money or the sense,” Cole countered. “The only person who would do this is Mitchell.”
