Page 32 of Stay Toxic

“Boss,” Ivan said carefully. “Lev found a name. Casmere Ferriday. How do you feel about bass fishing?”

Bass fishing? I’d actually never given it a single thought.

I frowned. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means this man, Casmere, popped up a few times in a search on Lev’s end. He’s going to be at a fishing tournamenttomorrow morning with a few of his important friends, up from Houston for the day only. What better way to ask him questions than to be in the tournament with him?”

What better way to kill him, and have a very good, plausible cause of death, than at a lake in the middle of winter where I can ask questions and get rid of the body quickly without dirtying my hands too much?

“What do I need to do?” I asked.

“Learn how to fish.” He laughed.

I rolled my eyes.

I couldn’t say that learning how to bass fish had been my priority over the years.

I had the concept down, of course. I’d watched videos.

How hard could it be?

When I say “the other day” it could be anytime between yesterday and birth.

—Brecken’s secret thoughts

BRECKEN

I walked out of my house on tired feet.

Normally at this time of day I’d be getting up for my long run of the week.

Or, at least, I’d be lying in bed, telling myself I needed to get up.

But there I was, dressed in lined leggings, my UGGs, a sweatshirt, and a huge jacket that once upon a time belonged to my father.

It was one of those lined jean jackets with the fluffy white material around the lapel.

One button didn’t button, another was hanging on by a thread, and the pockets had a hole in each liner making it impossible to put anything smaller than my phone in it or I’d lose it.

But it was sentimental.

My dad had owned it once upon a time, and it’d been the one that my mother had stolen from him when they started dating.

It’d been one of the things I’d taken with me when my parents decided to downsize and move into a camper and tour the country full-time.

My mom still occasionally asked about the jacket, and if I was taking care of it.

Thinking of my mom, I handed my phone to my brother when he pulled up and said, “Take a picture of me so I can send it to Mom.”

“Your mother and this jacket have an unhealthy relationship,” Tibbs said.

I snorted and posed, making sure to hide my bottle of beer in my hand behind the car door.

Tibbs handed the phone back to me and said, “Why do you have a bottle of beer this early in the morning?”

“Because I was thirsty, and the only thing I have left is beer,” I said as I twisted the top off and took a swig.

Beer wasn’t my first choice of drink in the morning.

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