Page 67 of Unlocking Melodies

I glanced at Mrs. Henderson's flowered wallpaper, now partially obscured by my attempt to map connections between Gary's sudden appearance and Ramirez's attack. The timing was too perfect, the setup too clean. Gary's pressed suit alone probably cost more than most recovering addicts could afford.

My phone buzzed again.

Mia

Your father's asking questions about recent private investigator expenses. Want me to bury them deeper?

Me

No. Just tell him it is for Jimmy. He would understand. I’ll tell you everything later.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of secrets pressing down. The last thing I wanted was to drag Jimmy back into this mess of conspiracy and danger. But keeping him in the dark hadn't exactly worked out well last time.

I texted Jimmy before I could forget.

Me

Rain check on dinner? Corporate fire needs putting out. I typed back, hating how easily the half-truth came.

Jimmy

Let me guess - someone tried to synergize something that shouldn't be synergized? No worries, save some suits from certain doom. Though Melody will be disappointed.

Me

Tell Melody I'll make it up to her with those fancy organic treats she likes.

Jimmy

Now you're just bribing my horse. I see how it is.

Turning back to my laptop, I pulled up Mia's latest report. The numbers painted a clear picture – Gary's recent activities showed a pattern of high-end hotels, expensive restaurants, and transportation costs that no recovering gambler should be able to afford. Someone was orchestrating this, but to what end?

I'd seen enough hostile takeovers to recognize the signs of careful orchestration. Gary's stories about Jimmy's mother, while probably true, had been deployed with strategic precision. Each photo, each memory, each carefully timed emotional revelation felt like moves in a game I couldn't quite figure out.

My fingers hovered over my phone, tempted to call Jimmy, to voice my suspicions. But what would I say? That his father's touching reunion felt too perfectly scripted? That his emotional vulnerability seemed too precisely targeted? That even his nervous habits looked rehearsed?

But I'd built an empire recognizing patterns, seeing the moves before they were made. And everything about Gary's appearance set off warning bells – from his conveniently timed arrival to his pointed mentions of Jimmy's venue network.

Through the window, I caught sight of a car I'd noticed before – expensive but not flashy, parked just far enough away to avoid attention. It pulled away smoothly, heading in the direction Gary had taken after leaving the diner.

My phone buzzed with another text from Jimmy.

Jimmy

Melody says she'll forgive your absence if you bring those fancy apple treats next time. She's becoming quite the extortionist.

The easy warmth of his message contrasted sharply with the cold calculations spread across my laptop screen. How could I tell him that while he was rediscovering pieces of his past, I was finding holes in his father's carefully constructed performance?

Sometimes protection meant keeping your suspicions to yourself. But hadn't that kind of thinking caused enough damage already?

Morning arrived with the kind of clarity that made even Mrs. Henderson's roosters sound judgmental. I dressed methodically, each piece of my sharpest suit feeling like armor being assembled.

At least that's what I told my reflection, which looked significantly less convinced than I'd hoped.

Jake waited outside the local jail, his raised eyebrow at my attire saying more than words could. The building itselfseemed almost apologetically small – more like an oversized sheriff's office than the high-security fortress my imagination had conjured.

Officer Dawn met us inside, her usual warmth replaced by professional distance. “He's been asking about Jimmy,” she said, each word precise and careful. “Says he needs to explain something.”

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