Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Just want to make sure everything is still here,” he’d mumbled, almost to himself. I’d rolled my eyes, trying not to flash back to all the times in my childhood he’d been a controlling, micromanaging bastard, and I’d headed into the kitchen to put water on for tea while he’d rifled through the letters or took whatever ridiculous inventory he’d felt he needed to take in order to determine whether or not I was an irresponsible good-for-nothing.
When I’d returned to the living room, the box was locked back up, and Grandfather looked noticeably more relaxed.
At the time, I’d truly thought of it as an annoying checkup on me the same way he’d once made me bring home every single assignment from boarding school one semester to prove I was working to “Stiel potential.”
But now I wondered what the hell he’d wanted with a bunch of old love letters. When he’d left that night, he’d strongly suggested I keep the slope in the floor vault in the barn.
“You can never be too careful, August,” he’d said with narrowed eyes. “After the break-in, I would think you wouldn’t want to take any chances.”
It took me until now to wonder why he hadn’t suggested the same care and safekeeping for the set of ten Japanese Meiji chargers I had on display in the glass-front George III corner cabinet in the dining room. The charger collection alone was worth over twenty thousand dollars, and Grandfather knew it because he had purchased the set as a gift for Melody on her eightieth birthday. Or why he hadn’t insisted I present and properly store Melody’s 1940s Cartier Art Deco enamel and jade bracelet that had to be worth over forty-five thousand dollars. The amount of high-value items in my house right now was shocking, really. The last of Melody’s belongings from the Dallas penthouse had been delivered to the farmhouse as soon as the new security system had been activated. I’d quickly stored many of the small valuables like jewelry in the barn safe, but there were plenty of expensive collectibles still on display around the house.
Was he envious that I owned this piece of family history? That concept didn’t hold with the Jonathan Stiel I knew. He’d sold his wife’s wedding dress when someone had requested it to use in a movie. For enough cash, my grandfather would do almost anything. So why be more concerned about the love letters than the expensive antique jewelry and collectibles?
I pondered over it for several hours until I received a call from my cousin Brett.
“It’s my mom’s birthday today,” he said without preamble.
“I know. I already called her this morning,” I said. “We’re having dinner next Friday night at Grandfather’s house, right?”
“She wants to have dinner tonight at The French Room. She’s craving fois gras. I suggest grabbing a burger on the way since their portions are the size of a grain of rice. At least, that’s my plan.”
“Grandfather said there were no plans to celebrate on the day because Aunt Prima was going to a charity fashion show or something. I can’t just leave work again on short notice.” It was a lie. My part-timer was due to arrive any minute, but Brett didn’t need to know that. I was annoyed at the repeated command performance so soon after the last one.
“You know what a cow she’ll have if you’re not there. Persona non grata and all that. Suit yourself, Augustine.”
And with that, he hung up on me.
“Fuck,” I spat. I fucking hated my family, but even worse, I hated how ingrained it was in me to not rock the boat. I knew without stopping to even argue with myself that I’d be there. For all the hassle my uncle had given me over the years, Aunt Prima had never missed my birthday.
When I arrived in Dallas a few hours later, I decided to valet park my rental car at a nearby hotel so I wouldn’t have to go into a parking garage alone. As soon as I approached the restaurant, I felt like I was being watched. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten that eerie feeling, but because of everything that had been happening to me, it was the first time I’d actually thought there could be something to it. Sure enough, I looked around and spotted someone looking at me from twenty yards away.
The man wasn’t much to look at, actually. Normally he wouldn’t have stood out at all, but he was clearly watching me. When he saw me notice him, he looked away quickly. Did that mean he was watching me for nefarious reasons? Surely not. Maybe I had wet paint on my ass or something. Maybe he thought I looked like someone he knew. Hell, maybe I was someone he knew. But the encounter left me feeling shaky and unsure nonetheless. Instead of heading into The French Room, I ducked into the nearest place I could find which was a cell phone store.