Page 180 of The Spider & the Storm

The phone was answered almost immediately by a gruff, impersonal tone. I explained the situation all over again, and the cop on the line listened intently before sighing. He asked for mybrother's name and did a little digging on his end, typing on a keyboard and grumbling incoherently to himself.

Then, he finally said, “Ah, yeah. We picked him up back in September, on the twenty-ninth.”

“Right. Um … you wouldn't happen to still have his body there, would you?” It felt ridiculous to ask, like they just kept dead bodies lying around.

The man was silent for a moment, then said hesitantly, “No, we, uh … we released the body to the next of kin.”

What the fuck?

My brow creased immediately. “ButI'mthe next of kin,” I replied. “He was my brother. We're the only two left in our whole freakin' family. So, if you didn't release his body to me, then—”

“Sir, if you want to come down and bring the proper identification with you, we can talk about this further.”

I shook my head as my heart took off at a pace I knew couldn't be healthy. Stormy sat beside me, her hand clenched around mine, as her eyes watched my reactions, concerned and worried.

“My brother didn'thaveanybody else,” I pressed further, panicking and growing exceedingly angry. “Who the hell did you give his body to?”

Bizarre scenarios filled my head as I imagined Ritchie and Tommy's mother, Mrs. Wheeler, going down to the police department, claiming to be my brother's next of kin. Scenarios in which she gleefully celebrated her unexpected, unplanned vengeance for her oldest son's untimely death. Scenarios where she praised the big, mean man who'd inadvertently done her dirty work for her.

“Listen, I shouldn't be giving you this information without seeing some ID,” the cop said, dropping his voice close to a whisper. “But I don't know where you're located, and I'd hate for you to drive all the way here just to show me your license. But if you're sayingyou'reyour brother's next of kin, then there's either something really weird going on here or your brother was keeping some pretty big secrets from you.”

I didn't want to mention that it'd been five years since I'd seen or last spoken to Luke. I was sure there was plenty that'd happened within that time that I had no clue about. But then again, my life had been at a standstill throughout most of that time, and I hadn't been the one in prison. What reason would I have to believe Luke had done more with that time than me?

“Why do you say that?” I asked, my gut rolling around an angry bundle of nerves.

“Because the person who came in here, claiming to be his next of kin, was his wife.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CONNECTICUT, PRESENT DAY

A wife. Luke has awife.

Had, I reminded myself amid the shock.

The initial emotion that bowled over me was anger. He had been married—in prison, no less—and I'd had no clue. I felt betrayed, lied to. But that anger was quick to dissolve as I almost immediately reminded myself that he'd done nothing wrong by living what little life he had left. It wasmyfault for forcing a divide between us with all of that time and distance. It wasmyfault for not coming back, the way I'd said I would. The way I'dpromised.

So, after hanging up with the police officer, I allowed myself a few minutes to lean against Stormy and cry—again—through every bit of regret and sorrow I held in my beaten heart. I cried harder than I'd ever cried before in my life, until my throat was raw, my head ached, and there was nothing left to cry. And after, when I knew there wasn't anything else I could do, I asked Stormy to give me a ride.

Initially, it was a long shot—I knew that when I'd suggested it—but now, as I stared out the window of her car, I realized that my uncanny intuition had been right yet again. But that didn't mean it wasn't fucking with my head to stare out at the house I'd grown up in—the house Luke and I had unwillingly allowed to fall apart and then abandoned—and see this clean, painted, well-manicured home with a car in the driveway and a toddler's tricycle on the lawn.

And I thought,No way. There's no fucking way, because denial was somehow an easier pill to swallow than the truth. That my brother had married someone with a kid—or was the kidhis?—and that wife and kid were now living their lives in this house I still paid the taxes on. Cleaning it up, fixing it up, making it a home.

Respectful squatters.

“This was your house?” Stormy asked, following my line of sight.

I cleared my throat past an uncomfortable swelling of emotional distress and said, “Yep.”

“What are you going to do?” Stormy asked in a hushed tone, looking out at the house with wonder and disbelief.

“I don't know.”

“You can't just kick your brother's wife out.”

I glanced over my shoulder at her, sitting behind the wheel. “Did I say I was going to kick her out?”

“No, but you look like you want to.”

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