“Furthermore, Packard doesn’t need some drugged up relative causing him problems.”
My turn to ignore. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, waving the paper. I almost made it to the stairs when her voice stopped me.
“Why can’t you just for once do what is expected of you?”
I turned to face her. “What exactly is expected of me in this situation, Mom?”
“He’s probably somewhere getting high. Just stay out of it. It doesn’t concern you. You’d be better off trying to get a good job and make some decent friends.”
I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. “Axton is decent. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I know, and he’s in trouble.” I stepped forward and lowered my voice. “And I like my job, thank you. Just because you were too good—”
She made a slashing motion with one hand. “As far as I can see, you’ve had a pretty good life. We gave you the best of everything so you could make something of yourself, but you’re throwing it away with both hands.”
I rubbed my eyes. We’d had this conversation a million times. We could have it again tonight, but it wouldn’t change anything.
I turned and left the kitchen, made hasty farewells to my dad and Allen, gave Scotty a kiss on the head, and promised my sister I’d call later in the week.
My mother stood on the front step, her arms crossed, and watched me drive away. I felt unsettled, sad and angry at the same time.
But in a way, she was right. Although I’d rather stick a shrimp fork in my eye than admit it to her. Lately, I felt like life was passing me by. I’d been coasting.
I diddled my time away, taking classes like Film Appreciation and Sex Throughout History for the past five years without any direction whatsoever. I couldn’t decide what to do with my life, and it scared me I might never figure it out.
I blew out a breath. What I needed was action, not introspection. I wasn’t going to find Axton by driving around feeling sorry for myself.
I pulled into a Quickie Mart and asked for directions.
Packard Graystone lived on the outskirts of Huntingford in a development so new half the houses were under construction. Silhouettes of backhoes and earthmovers, their jagged claws hovering in the air, bordered the neighborhood. I got lost driving down partially finished streets that led to nowhere. Kind of like my life.
The luxury homes all looked the same in the dark. Cookie cutter housing for the professional set. I finally found Packard’s house — two chimneys, two bay windows, and a four car garage — in the middle of a cul-de-sac. A white SUV sat in the driveway and most of the lights were shining from inside the house.
I grabbed my purse and keys, marched up to the front door, and knocked. Axton’s niece or nephew — I couldn’t tell which because it had one of those floppy haircuts and long eyelashes — answered.
“We don’t want any,” he/she said and started to close the door.
I wedged my foot in the gap. “Get your dad, kid.” Ax never talked about his brother or this kid. Axton was on the outs with this family, even more so than I was with mine. But it was going to drive me batty. Was this kid a boy or girl?
The child looked at me, then my foot, and proceeded to yell at the top of its lungs, “Dad!”
Packard walked toward the door, wiping his hands on a green and white plaid dishcloth. He resembled Axton, but where Axton was small and scrawny, Packard was taller, beefier, and almost fifteen years older. The wiry blond hair was obviously a family trait, but Packard wore his short and full of hair product.
“May I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Rose Strickland.” I waited, but there was no look of recognition on his face. “I’m a friend of Axton’s.”
“Jordan,” he said to the kid, “go finish your homework.”
Darn, I still didn’t know if that kid was a boy or a girl. Jordan could be used for both, right?
When the kid zoomed out of sight, Packard narrowed his cold blue eyes. “Listen,” he pointed a finger at me. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but that little shit has nothing to do with me.”
Chapter 10
My mouth hung open a second before I snapped it shut. “When you say ‘little shit’ are you referring to Ax?”
“That’s right.”
His brotherly concern was underwhelming. “Axton is missing. Like really missing. I’m filing a police report tonight because it’s been forty-eight hours. He’s in trouble, Packard.”
He threw the dish towel over his shoulder and rubbed his forehead. “Is it a drug thing?”
“No, and he’s not really into anything but pot.”
“Hey,” he said, “pot is a drug. It’s an illegal substance.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. Packard was working my last nerve. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but this isn’t a drug thing.” I peered over Packard’s shoulder as a tiny woman walked up behind him.
“Pack, what’s going on? Who is this?” she gestured in my direction. Her brows drew together over light brown eyes.
“She says she’s a friend of Axton’s.”
I smiled and held out my hand. “Hello, my name is Rose.”
She stared at my hand a moment before shaking it. “Hello, Rose. Where’s Axton? Is he with you?”
“She—” Packard started.
“He’s missing,” I said, “and I’m very worried about him.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Sheila, I don’t want to get involved in this.”
She gently shoved him aside and opened the door wider. “You are involved, Pack. He’s your brother.”
I stepped into the house.
“Thanks,” I said, leaving Packard standing by the door. The faint scent of dinner lingered, leaving a garlicky smell behind. Whatever they had, it was better than salmon.
The foyer walls were decorated in soft earth tones and rose into cove ceilings. The wrought iron banister on my right twisted toward the second story.
“As you heard, I’m Sheila.” She walked further into the house. “This way.”
I followed her to the homey kitchen. Copper pans hung on a rack above the island range. Hot pads and a newspaper lay on the granite counter.
Sheila grabbed a mug from the cabinet next to the sink and poured me a cup of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Yes to both, please.” I heard Packard walk in behind me.
“You’d better sit down,” he said.
It was a half-assed invitation, but I took it and hopped up on one of the stools at the island. Sheila passed me the mug and I took a sip. “I take it you haven’t heard from Axton?”
Packard grabbed a stool next to me and Shelia leaned against the sink. There was a long pause. “Actually, he did call me a couple of nights ago,” he said.
“Monday night?”
“Yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively.
My stomach fluttered. “Is he all right? What did he say? Where is he?”
Packard held up a finger. “First of all, I could hardly hear him. And second, he never said where he was.”
“Did he call from his cell?”
“I don’t know. I guess.” He shrugged a beefy shoulder.
“You didn’t tell me Axton called,” Sheila said. “What exactly is going on here, Pack?”
“I didn’t tell you because this isn’t our concern, Sheila.”
“What did he say?” I wanted to beat this guy like a piñata until he spilled all the information he knew.
“He said he needed help. I assumed it was financial and told him no. Either that or he was arrested again. Then we were disconnected. I assumed he hung up.”
“You do a lot of assuming, Packard,” I said. “Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else? Background noises, other voices?”