Page 1 of Stella
PROLOGUE
CALE
Age eight
“Turn around and walk away.”I hear my grandpa cock the gun. “Now.”
“We’re just here to talk,” the man says. “Drop the gun, Larry.”
“Do you think because you have a gun, too, it’s gonna make me piss my panties?” Grandpa laughs. “You don’t know me very well, Bill. You should by now.”
“Pointing a loaded gun at any other officer in this town will get you locked up, or shot, and it’ll be self-defense. Then who’s gonna look after Cale and Nancy?”
“Nancy can hold her own,” he says proudly. “What do you want?”
“We’re not here for the boy. We’ve got news… about Lauren. You may want to invite us inside.”
I peek through the curtains. Sometimes people come to the house, and if Grandpa is in town, Grandma will cock the gun instead, so what he said isn’t wrong, but everyone in this part of Louisiana knows Grandpa has a temper. He’salso protective, and super suspicious of anyone. So much for southern hospitality.
Grandpa’s gruff when he says; “Why didn’t you just say that?” He unlocks the door and stands aside.
The police chief and his deputy, Zack, come in.
Grandpa turns to me before either of them comes into view. “Beat it, son.” But before I can leave he adds, “Call your grandma inside, then go wash up.”
I do as he says. I love my grandpa, but what he says goes.
I go to find my grandma; she’s out by her pottery wheel. It’s what she loves to do. Sometimes she even lets me mold something. We made mugs once. I gave mine to Grandpa, and he still drinks out of it to this day. He said it was the best present anyone ever gave him.
“Grandma?” I call.
She turns her head without turning the wheel off. “What is it, Cale?” She smiles warmly at me.
“Grandpa called for you. The Chief and Officer Zack are here to talk.”
I know who Lauren is. She’s my mom. I don’t know her, I’ve never known her, but it’s what my grandparents fight about the most. From what I’ve heard in whispers in our small town, she’s not a good person. One time she even stole money from Grandpa and Grandma. This was before I was born. Ever since she brought me here, and left me on their doorstep as a baby, I’ve been here ever since. They’ve also never seen her since.
Grandma frowns. “Did he pull a gun on them?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Shit.”
I chuckle, and she gives me a stern look, even though she’s the one who swore. “Did he tell you to go wash up?”
I nod.
She piques a brow when I don’t move. “Then why are you still standing here?”
I take off before she can say anymore. I don’t like being in trouble, not that I really ever do. My grandparents are firm, but fair. Some people are scared of them because they’re old school; whatever that means.
I do as I’m told, but I’m also good at going unnoticed. Sneaking back into the hallway, I listen to what they’re saying. I strain my ears, I can’t be sure, but someone is sniffing. Crying maybe?
“I’m so sorry, DNA results put her death at approximately five years ago,” Chief Bill says.
“Where?” Grandpa sounds mad.
“Shrubbery, out in the sticks near New Orleans. The weird thing is, there were no signs of struggle or blunt trauma. Forensics showed unusual amounts of morphine and codeine; suspect a drug overdose”
