Page 19 of Shattered Fate

I straighten. Those are the best kinds of jobs. The, “Everything looks right, but my gut tells me something’s off,” kinds of cases. Kind of like Zarah’s situation, but in that case, there really is nothing wrong. Just a lot of fucked up history that will need years to right itself.

“What’s up?”

Pop nudges today’s paper toward me. I have to admit, me reading the paper was another thing that fell to the wayside after Max’s death. I was proud of him, big-shot reporter. I couldn’t handle not seeing his byline anymore, and I avoid the paper whenever I can.

The article he’s referring to isn’t above the fold. The front page story always pertains to what the Blacks have done. If anything, the Blacks gave theKing’s Crossing Chroniclefodder for years. No matter how many reporters they have on staff, they’ll never run out of shit to print.

No, this story is little, just barely an inch.

QUIET MEADOWS’ PATIENT DIES

JodiAnne Donnelly passed away in her home surrounded by loved ones on November 5thof natural causes. A former client of Quiet Meadows, Donnelly was a resident at the assisted living facility when Ashton Black’s involvement in the sanatorium was discovered. Since the closure of the facility, the American Psychiatric Association has been working closely with the FBI to measure extent of damages. Donnelly’s death is not connected to her stay at Quiet Meadows, and no further investigation will be forthcoming.

“This is our job? An old lady who died of natural causes?” Doesn’t seem like much of a job, and Pop doesn’t pick up a casejust to keep his hands busy and bill the hours. If it’s not legit, he passes it by. We aren’t fraudsters.

Pop tapes the envelope closed and scrawls an address on it. “Except she wasn’t old.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Zarah’s age.”

Pop throws the envelope in a pile of outgoing mail. We don’t have a scale in the office, and we’ll need to stop by the post office later.

He doesn’t say anything and I ask, “Who called you?”

“Her mother. She thinks something isn’t right. Besides her mental health issues, why she’d been in Quiet Meadows in the first place, she was healthy.”

“Why did she call us? I mean, us specifically?”

Pop huffs a laugh. “She found our website online and apparently we have good Yelp reviews.”

I don’t find it as amusing as Pop but anything that will keep us in jobs I can’t complain about. “When are we going to see her?”

“This afternoon. JodiAnne’s funeral’s in a couple of days and her mother wanted us to start sniffing around before she’s buried.”

“Sounds like she has a brain in her head.”

“Or she’s suspicious by nature.”

We’ve had those jobs a time or two, where people are bored and they make shit up, or they want to be in the middle of something to feel important. They don’t feel important after they get our bill in the mail. They feel broke. We’re not raking in the dough, but after hourly and expenses, we’re not cheap, either.

There’s nothing else to do but wait, and I poke around online doing some busywork for other cases. Usually that’s Pop’s wheelhouse, but I’ve got nothing else going on and help him out.For a late lunch, we bring Baby to the park and buy hotdogs from a vendor near the entrance.

“Your mother called looking for you. Not answering your phone again.”

“I don’t have anything to say to her.” Can’t get any truer than that. You might think it’s because Max was her favorite and we don’t have a relationship, but if I agreed, that wouldn’t be fair. She loved us equally, and not many siblings who have both parents in common can say that, much less brothers who have different dads. Mom doesn’t hate Pop, she only admitted this was all he wanted to do with his life and she wanted more. She married a politician instead, and the life she lives as the wife of Senator Rourke Cook, R-Minn, is more her style.

He lives part-time in DC, she lives it up full-time in King’s Crossing, and everyone’s happy. Since Max’s death, he’s been spending a lot more time in the city, and I avoid her to avoid him. Rourke’s okay, but he’s not Pop and never tried to be. We’re polite acquaintances at best, and at worst we don’t talk to each other. No one complains.

“She misses you.”

“Because Max is gone.”

“That’s not true. You should go see her.”

“Maybe.”

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