Page 33 of Code Violation

Veering right onto the long driveway that ended at his house, Forrest passed by fields of Lavandula angustifolia, Lavandula latifolia, and Lavandula officinalis. Currently, they were just gray mounds but in a few months, they would be a million different shades of lavender, white, and purple.

Purple Phaze Farm was Forrest’s pride and joy. He knew he was lucky; there wasn’t much similar acreage this far down the peninsula. Sequim, one hundred miles to the north and often referred to as the Palm Springs of the region, was where most of Western Washington’s lavender crops grew.

When Ernst Cooper died, he left the house and land to both Forrest and Lani, to which Lani’d reacted with, “Have at it. I’m not interested in dirt.” They’d found her a cute cottage in town with very little dirt around it.

Neither of them cared about the small house their mother had been raised in. After all these years, it still sat empty. If any structure could be malevolent, Forrest swore that building was. Maybe it was time to tear it down and build something new in its place.

As he approached his rambler, Forrest’s phone lit up. But he continued driving past the pay-as-you-go flower kiosk and parked next to the detached garage before checking to see who’d messaged him. He doubted it was Nero, not so soon.

Yes, the bus is still available.

The small frisson of excitement at the text made him feel guilty. Ned was dead, Blair Cruz still missing, and her brother Levi was losing himself to grief.

But a few weeks ago, Forrest had been driving back from his monthly browse at his favorite store in Elma. The owner called it a used bookstore, but he collected and sold everything from vinyl records and guitars to small pieces of furniture and eclectic clothing. Forrest had picked up an AC/DC t-shirt to add to his collection.

On his way back home, he’d taken a different route, one that passed by an old farmstead, and what he hadn’t known he’d needed in his life had been parked right there, in front of the barn. Even better, a big For Sale sign was stuck on the side.

A custom-painted 1963 Greyhound bus.

It was love at first sight. Someone with a great deal more talent than he ever had shown had painted a luscious pink and lavender mermaid along the side and surrounded her with sea stars, octopuses, a few colorful fish, seaweed, and kelp.

The owner hadn’t been home but Forrest had dared to trespass, taking a peek through the windows into the interior, which was fully restored and also gorgeous. Before leaving, he’d taken about fifty pictures of it with his phone.

On the way home, he’d come up with a bunch of scenarios to fit the bus in with the farm. He’d keep the mermaid art but have someone transform the seaweed and kelp into strands of lavender, a sea of purple flowers. Maybe Liam could do that kind of work—a true renaissance man, he seemed to be able to do almost anything.

Once they figured out what fucker had murdered Ned Barker.

Ned had seen the photos and immediately loved the bus too.

“Go for it.” The mischievous sparkle in his eyes had been bright. Forrest’s breath caught at the memory.

Once he was parked, Forrest texted back, offering a lower price but cash up front. Yes, he still felt guilty about being excited when Blair was missing and Ned was lying on a slab somewhere.

But then he thought of Ned’s attitude and Blair’s smile. If a person wanted to own a custom 1963 Greyhound bus, why not? Life was too short. A person could wake up dead one day.

Five minutes later, Forrest was the proud owner of yet another vintage vehicle. Lani would hate it, for sure. He imagined her scolding him about wasting his money, his safety, and whatever else she could think of.

It wasn’t until he automatically stopped at the mailbox only to find it empty that grief turned to anger again.

“Fucking fuck you, whoever is responsible for this.”

Ned Barker, Cooper Springs’ happiest letter carrier, was dead, murdered. The man wouldn’t be stopping in for lavender iced tea, bitching to Forrest about mailboxes being vandalized by high schoolers or sharing pictures of his grandchildren.

Forrest didn’t like small kids that much, but he appreciated that something happened to previously normal adults after children or grandchildren were born. He’d enjoyed teasing Ned about how unfortunate it was that his grandkids had managed to take after him.

Angrily, Forrest slammed the front door shut behind him, hard enough that it rattled in the frame.

Someone was going to pay for this.

Without thinking too deeply about it, he punched the cell number Nero had given him into his landline. With luck, the other man would have service today.

THIRTEEN

Forrest – Saturday Morning

“Thanks for coming.”

Nero smirked at him. “It didn’t sound like I really had a choice.”

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