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"Ambitious and fiercely original. Sondi Warner is the exciting new voice we've all been wai...
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August 31 | Saturday Morning
The tires of my pickup truck bit into the coarse gravel of the red dirt road. Driving through tall, stately pines and sprawling oaks, I couldn't get Aurie's questions about Darcy's motives out of my mind. Why would he call her back upstairs? I had a headache from pondering the evidence, but I was no closer to answers.
My good doggo Ajit sensed my mood. The black and white speckled mastiff in the passenger seat lifted his head. "I'm okay, boy," I lied, scratching behind his ear.
In reality, I was worried this case was too much of a guessing game. I thought of the sticky note left on my monitor at work yesterday evening. A reminder Mrs. Edison needed a callback. Neither Aurie's mother nor Mayfield seemed keen on taking time to solve the hit-and-run the right way.
I had always worked by the book, even if the process was slower. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and frowned. Working by the book meant following the evidence, and I didn't like where the clues were taking me lately. I wanted to trust my instincts.
Was Paulie guilty? He had motive and history; however, that would mean Cyprian's moves that night had been pure happenstance. Of all the impossibilities walking the streets of Overlay City, there was no such creature as Coincidence.
I had decided to spend the weekend figuring out how the pieces fit together—Aurie and Haley Edison, Paul Jameson, Darcy Cyprian—at the one place where I could free my mind.
The sun was higher in the late morning sky as I parked the truck at my destination. I had taken care not to be followed, the way I always did when I came to this place. The rustic cabin was exactly as I had left it a month ago. Standing on a wing and a prayer for over twenty years.
It was where my younger brothers and I had spent summers with our grandfather. After Baba Fazil's passing, I had inherited the cabin and surrounding one-hundred acres. Hazeem and Yazeed had always preferred the fast pace of New Orleans, but this was where I found peace.
"Baba used to say there's buried treasure on these grounds," I said teasingly to Ajit. The dog barked in response, not giving a shit about buried treasure unless it was a good ham bone.
We entered the cool interior of the cabin, and I tossed my keys on the oak table and my duffle in a corner. As I moved through the living room area, I shrugged out of my shirt and got rid of my shoes, the belt, the jeans. Bypassing the handcrafted bed, I went out the back door in my boxers to taste the day on the wind. Long, deep inhales carried the smell of freedom. I smiled, relaxing finally.
The wolf within me stirred to life. Come on out, I coaxed. Ajit whined some, but he had seen all this before. He scurried to the other side of the porch, waiting for the transformation to complete.
My canines extended, and I yipped excitedly. Fingers splayed, my nails became sharper than normal claws, and I doubled over in exhilaration as my muscles bulged and reformed. I dropped to my knees with an impatient bark. Finally, I shook out a thick black pelt that shined sleek and healthy in the sunlight, and it was done.
