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Fuck me.
This is one thing I don’t miss about small-town life.
Even after Galentron, a drug ring, and a serial arsonist, Langley’s boys still aren’t prepared for worse than someone stealing ice cream from a kid or the odd drunken brawl at Brody’s.
If we’re looking for competent help, I don’t think we’ll get it here.
That leaves me, Alaska, and Blake to get to the bottom of this.
We could bring in Blake’s buddies, too, the other so-called Heroes of Heart’s Edge.
I smile grimly to myself.
When I was a kid, I always wanted to be part of the older boys’ group with Blake and Warren, but I was always just the runt tagging along.
This wasn’t what I had in mind when it came to playing with the big boys. I wish I didn’t have to call on them like this, especially when they’re all men with families now.
Still, if it keeps Libby safe, I’ll swallow my pride and enlist all the backup I can get.
We watch Langley make one more round by the barns, then wave him off in his cruiser.
Standing next to each other beneath the bright morning sun, squinting at the dust plume left behind by his wheels, Libby and I grimace.
“That’s not gonna do a lick of good, is it?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“So what now?”
“Now,” I say, “we call in the cavalry.”
* * *
The cavalry consists of Blake and my niece at the moment.
Andrea’s in the kitchen messing around with Dr. Potter’s old chest of curiosities, whispering to herself in fascination as she picks up one thing after another, reading the labels with wide, curious eyes.
She’s a smart girl, too smart for her own good sometimes.
Which is why we’re out of earshot while we lean over the coffee table like we’re plotting a conspiracy, talking in low voices while Libby and I give the dirty details to Blake.
Honestly, once we’re done telling him about the whole thing, he looks at us like we sprouted second heads.
Who can blame him?
“Let me get this straight,” he whispers, darting a look at his sharp-eared daughter. “There’s a lost ghost town up through the mountain pass. You,” he points at me before continuing, “think it might be the lost bandit town of Ursa. And you think it’s the key to saving Libby’s ranch.”
I nod firmly.
“Okay. But shit, hold up.” Blake points at Libby now. “You think your daddy killed a man before you were born, and his body’s rotting away in the saloon in maybe-Ursa. You don’t want anyone to find out it’s there because Mark’s name will be mud and the cops might seize your land as a crime scene. Plus, your sister’s entitled to half of it and she’s up your ass to sell, and she’s being pushed around by this skeevy asshole who’s been pretending to work for the bank. The same damn bank that’s playing tax collector, breathing down your neck.”
“Yep,” Libby confirms.
“Hell, people. And here I thought all that Galentron shit was complicated,” Blake growls.
“That’s where you come in, brother,” I say. “Declan sent some muscle around to scare up information about the ghost town. He wants to raid it for valuables and sell them since he can’t get Libby to sell the land. You get me?”
“Man, there’s one thing I don’t get,” Blake says.
I cock my head. “What’s that?”
“Sierra grew up here, too. She knows about Nowhere Lane, and she ain’t stupid,” Blake points out. “If she’s with Delcan, she’d just tell him the town’s down there. You said you saw fresh tire tracks out there, so obviously they’ve been there. They saw the body and threatened you with it. So why the hell do they need to muscle you for this ‘treasure’ when they’ve already got a town there ripe for the picking?”
Libby looks puzzled. “I don’t know. I never figured out what they meant by treasure. Don’t think they’re after player pianos and wagon wheels. There must be something else.”
“I didn’t really see anything big worth stealing when I was there,” I say. “Except the dead guy’s Rolex, and I can’t blame them for not touching that.”
“What are we missing?” Libby asks. “There was this old journal from Ursa in Dad’s junk. A diary by a priest named Father Matthew with a lot of pages torn out. Maybe Sierra told Declan about it, so he thinks there’s something hidden in the town?”
“Hm.” Blake raps his knuckles against his chin. “We ought to take a day trip out there.”
“Maybe,” Andrea calls from the kitchen area, “you should take me with you. It’s no fair you get to see this ghost town and I don’t.”
“Maybe,” Blake retorts sternly, raising his voice, “you should stop eavesdropping on the grown-up talk, Little Violet.”
Andrea wrinkles her nose at the nickname and sticks her tongue out. “Grown-up talk? Are you three years old? Jesus.”
