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“Mind giving it to him? You’ll see him before I do.”
“Sure.” I slipped it into my wallet, confused. “He was here?” I’d never seen the guy take a sip of alcohol, and between the socializing and the fried food, I couldn’t imagine this place holding any appeal for him.
He nodded. “Hadn’t seen him in a few years, actually. Not since that night I threw him out.”
My eyes widened. I had known Richard since the day I was born. He was the epitome of self-control and respect. Not exactly the type to get thrown out of a bar.
I planted my elbows on the bar and squinted at Jim. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He didn’t look up from where he was wiping down the already clean countertop. For a wannabe dive bar, the Moose was spotless. “You didn’t know? Couple years ago, he came here and made a big scene. He and your dad went out back and had words.”
What?
“So strange, now that I think about it. Your dad, may he rest in peace, never had any trouble with anyone.”
“Especially not his best friend and best man.”
“I don’t know what it was about. My dishwasher heard them fighting, so I went out back. They were yelling. Things got ugly. There were some other men there too. Young ones. Maybe employees?” He looked up and tilted his head for a moment, then went back to cleaning. “I dunno. Anyway. I kicked Richard out. Told him to get outta here before I called the chief.”
“And my dad?”
“Came back in, closed out his tab, and left a hefty tip. Said polite goodbyes to everyone and then left.”
I was dumbfounded. My father never let himself get caught up in arguments like that. He was a sit down, have a beer and hash it out type. And with Richard? In public? It strained credulity.
“Do you remember when this was?”
He shrugged. “Couple of years ago. Not long before your dad passed. It was fall. I remember how cold it was when I went out back that night. And the Patriots had just lost to the Jets, which meant I owed Bernice and Louie free dinner when they came in for their next date night.”
My mind was spinning. I pulled out my phone and found the Patriots schedule from two years ago. The Patriots had played the Jets on November twelfth.
Three weeks before my dad died.
Maybe it was unrelated. They had been friends for decades, and the business had been experiencing troubles for some time, after all. But the timing was a little too convenient.
Richard had taken leave shortly after the argument. He’d been in Florida with his sister when the accident happened. That was why Dad was driving a truck in the first place, because it was the busy season, and he was covering for Richard. Deliveries were delayed, early snow had impacted quotas, and everyone was scrambling.
It had to be connected. But how?
Richard couldn’t have sabotaged the truck. He was my dad’s best friend. He loved him, and I couldn’t believe he’d ever hurt him. Not to mention he had been gone for two weeks when it happened.
So why were all the hairs on the back of my neck standing up?
Chapter31
Parker
The ride up to Gagnon Camp was bumpy and long. Thankfully, Henri had all kinds of stories to share about his kids. The surly man seriously glowed when Alice, Tucker, or Goldie were mentioned. Even talking about the mundane aspects of parenthood made him smile.
He was so much more than the grumpy recluse Paz had described. Maybe marriage had changed him. Or maybe it was parenthood. Two things that had never really been on my radar until recently.
Now my brain was awash with all kinds of things I’d never given much thought to. My independence had always been so important to me. But now, it felt less like a badge of honor and more like a millstone around my neck. Maybe it was okay to depend on other people. Could I start with just one person? And could he trust me in return?
We rode companionably while Henri answered every single one of my dumb questions about logging and machines and roads. After more than two hours of weaving through the dense forest, we reached what I could only assume was the camp. The road widened into a flat, open area that housed several buildings and dozens of vehicles. A creek ran along one side, lending some natural flair to this desolate corner of the wilderness.
The buildings were wide and stout, each with a metal roof and minimal windows. The architectural vibe was definitely Soviet-era prison, but it was teeming with activity. An American flag flew proudly on a pole, men rushed around in brightly colored workwear, and country music was filtering through the air.
Every single person stopped and greeted Henri. Some with waves, but most with handshakes and hugs.
