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He sits down on the other end of the couch. “Look, Brendan. I am being serious. I love Ava. She’s like a sister to Dave and me. But I’ve had about all the family drama I can handle for the moment. I’ve seen things I never imagined. Learned things that made me question everything. I need a break. Rory and the band are going on that European tour with Emerald Phoenix, and I’m going along. I need a break from the Steels. If that’s what Ava’s feeling, I can relate.”
“You’d leave even if Ava’s in trouble?”
“She’s not in trouble, Brendan. She’s just questioning a lot of things. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
I cock my head. “Has Ava shared any of her recent tarot readings with you?”
“No. Why?”
“Because that seems to be the focus of a lot of them. She seems to think she’ll be questioning who she is.”
“I don’t put a lot of stock in that stuff.”
“Neither do I. At least I never used to. But Ava does, and it’s got her freaked. And now, whatever her dad laid on her has freaked her out even more.”
“Look, I—”
We both jerk as someone pounds on my door.
I rise. “It’s probably my dad. It’s busy down there, and I’m shirking.”
Brock stands and wipes his hands—are they clammy?—on his jeans. “I should get back anyway. Dave has probably placed all the balls in the pockets, and he’s going to try to convince me that he nailed the shots.”
I walk to the door, open it.
Pat Lamone stands there.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Brock rakes his hands through his dark hair. “What the fuck, Lamone?”
“I came to see Murphy.”
“Looks like you’re going to see both of us, then, because I’m not leaving.” Brock shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Do you two know each other?” I ask.
“Yeah, we do. This jackass drugged my cousin and tried to have sex with my fiancée. We’re not the best of buddies.”
“Wait, wait, wait…” I regard Lamone, my ire rising. “You’re the one who drugged Diana Steel at the bonfire… Fuck, when the hell was that?”
“Ten years ago,” Brock offers. “I was still in middle school. Rory was homecoming queen, and this asshole thought it was a good idea to lace Diana’s punch with angel dust.”
“I thought we’d gotten past that,” Pat says.
“You did? Because I paid off some jerk so you could find out what your grandmother’s alias is? I believe your end of the deal was to leave my family’s fortune alone as long as we cared for your ailing grammy.”
“Right. I stand by that. The woman is all I have.”
I rub my forehead against the headache that’s forming. “Too much information. What the fuck are you two talking about?” I turn to Pat. “And why the fuck are you here?”
“Your dad was tending bar when I came in. He told me to come up here and wait for him.”
Right. My dad wanted to talk to me…about an address for Lauren Wingdam, Pat’s birth mother.
Except… Why would Dad send Pat up here? He’s covering the bar, and—
“So you came to the bar to see my father?” I ask.
“Yeah. He texted me earlier today. Said he had some information for me and to meet me at the bar.”
“My dad didn’t even know he’d be here tonight until I asked him to cover me.”
Pat pulls his phone out of his pocket. “That makes sense. The text says it came at ten after six.”
I look at Brock.
“What?” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about Dave and the game?”
“Someone else will be happy to play him and win. I have a vested interest in anything Lamone here has to say.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” Lamone says. “I came to hear what Sean Murphy has to say.”
“Whatever.” I turn to Brock. “So you’re taking care of this Dyane Wingdam?”
“Yeah. She’s nearly ninety. She can’t last that much longer anyway.”
“Whoa,” Lamone says.
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against your grandmother,” Brock says. “But taking care of her for her few remaining years is a lot better deal than giving you a piece of the Steel pie.”
Right. Dyane Wingdam. Pat’s grandmother, who goes by the alias of Sabrina Smith. Funny. Maybe Dyane Wingdam is an alias too. Sometimes people go by several.
Dyane Wingdam. An interesting name. A name that—
I head to my kitchen, open my junk drawer, and pull out a pad of paper and pen. Dyane Wingdam.
D I A N E W I N G D A M
I need Ava’s anagram maker. But I have a feeling…
Nope, doesn’t work.
Except…
Lamone told me Friday morning. She spells Dyane with a Y, not an I.
D Y A N E W I N G D A M
I move the letters around, looking for words. I could pull up the anagram maker on my phone but—
Fuck it all.
Wendy Madigan
