Page 54 of Don't Say a Word
I liked to change things up. I’ve eaten every burger on the menu except the meatless burger. Today I was sticking with the basics: cheeseburger and fries.
Rick walked in a few minutes after me. He was attractive—short neat brown hair, tan skin from both the outdoors and his mixed heritage. Clean lines, well-built muscles, a chiseled jaw, and a flat stomach. At six feet, he was the perfect height for my five-foot-five frame. But since we weren’t dating anymore, I tried to ignore his demi-god physique.
“You order?” he asked as he sat down across from me.
“For both of us.”
“How’s working with your family?” Rick asked.
“Not as bad as I thought,” I said. Rick was one of the few people who knew and understood why I walked away from Angelhart Investigations three years ago. He’d supported me and I would never forget that. When I really needed him, he had been a rock.
Until he reminded me that I wasn’t Sam’s mother and had no rights or authority over his daughter.
“Jack’s happy,” Rick said.
“Well, he’s falling in love.”
“No, I mean that you’re back in the firm. But yeah, he’s fallen for Laura big-time.”
“Have you met her?”
“Jack brought her to one of Sam’s softball games a few weeks ago.”
My gut twisted. I used to go to Sam’s softball games whenever I wasn’t working. I hadn’t been since Rick and I split at the beginning of the year.
“Her team’s playing at Rose Moffatt this weekend, if you want to come.”
Rose Moffatt was a large softball complex adjacent to Highway17, only a few miles from my house.
“Maybe.” It would be awkward. The last time I’d seen Sam was at her eighth-grade graduation party at the end of May. She’d wanted me there, Rick asked me to come, so I went. But I didn’t stay, because I didn’t know how to make it not awkward.
The cook called my number from the counter and Rick jumped up to fetch the burgers and fries served in paper-lined plastic bowls.
We dug in and ate, the silence not uncomfortable. Made some more small talk, which was also not uncomfortable.
Maybe I could go to the softball game—at least one of them—and not find it super awkward. Maybe I’d bring Jack. That’d make it easier.
I shouldn’t use my brother as a crutch, but I would.
When we were done eating and had wiped our fingers with a dozen napkins each, I said, “The Bradfords.”
“I reread the reports to refresh myself,” Rick said.
“You executed the warrant, right?”
“I was part of the team,” he said. “The prosecutor’s office was in charge, but I supervised the officers. They seized computers, bank statements, files, things like that. Forensics came in and took samples of chemicals, powders, tools. But ultimately, they didn’t find any sign that the couple was prepping the drugs at their house. No trace whatsoever.”
“What was their house like?”
“Nice, in a little gated community near 101 and 17. Clean, well-maintained neighborhood with a park, lots of trees. The kids were well cared for. Neighbors said the Bradfords were good parents, helped organize neighborhood barbecues, no one said a bad word about them.”
“Even nice people are assholes,” I said.
Rick cracked a smile. “Apparently the forensic auditor had a field day with Mrs. Bradford’s records.” He pulled out his small notepad. “She laundered nine thousand a month through her licensed day care that didn’t actually exist—meaning, she had a license, declared the money, paid taxes, but never had kids on site.”
“Wow, great way to launder money,” I said.
He nodded. “Thirty thou in cash in a dresser in their closet. She paid cash for all living expenses, including electricity, gas, groceries, cable, clothing. They had state-of-the-art computers, televisions, gaming systems, and no record any of it had been purchased with credit. The only regular expense that came out automatically from their joint account was for their mortgage.”
