Page 162 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
“What is it, then? I’m…busy.”
Yeah, with your fuck du jour, apparently. “I need to talk to you. I’m coming to see you. Today.”
19
MILES
We pull up in front of a rundown house on the outskirts of Billings. Back in the thirties it must’ve been prime real estate, but now? It backs up to the interstate, and the roof looks one windstorm away from being blown off.
There are more weeds than grass in the front yard. A rusty bucket sits in the cracked driveway. A dog barks from a neighbor’s house as I walk around the truck to take Sadie’s hand.
“You grew up here?” I ask, trying to think of her as a child in this environment.
She shakes her head and sighs. “No. I lived with my mom.” Her gaze eats up the same grim scene as me. “It looked better when I saw him last.”
Sadie didn’t say much on the drive, other than giving me directions. I didn’t push because the answers she’s looking for seem to lie with her father alone. We can talk and talk but we won’t get anywhere.
I open the rickety screen door and Sadie bangs on the door. No doorbells in a place like this.
It’s opened a few seconds later by an older man who bears a passing resemblance to Sadie. Same hair color—although his is mixed with gray. Same eyes, but bloodshot and tired looking. Other than that, Curt Hopkins looks nothing like his daughter.
He scoffs. “I don’t know why the fuck you came.”
What’s with his attitude? The prick.
She holds up a hand so I stay quiet.
“Joey’s dead,” she says.
He doesn't reply—in fact, he doesn’t look all that surprised—just steps back and lets us inside.
The stench of stale cigarette smoke is overpowering. A white porcelain ashtray next to a threadbare couch is overflowing with butts, and the walls are tinged with yellow from the smoke. A haze of it blurs the air.
A platinum blond woman with sun-damaged skin dressed in a stained T-shirt and tiny shorts comes in from what appears to be the kitchen. She skates her gaze over Sadie and focuses on me. She actually licks her lips.
Man, in her dreams. I feel like I need a tetanus shot just looking at her.
Sadie’s dad drops onto the couch, which squeaks beneath his heavy load. He clearly hasn’t exercised in years—his beer belly tells the tale. Is he trying to kill himself with bad habits?
“Rainey,” Curt tells the woman, “get me a beer.”
Sadie tenses beside me but doesn’t say anything to her father about the beer at ten in the morning.
“How’d you hear about Joey?” Curt finally asks.
“Coroner called me.”
Interesting. The coroner didn’t call Sadie. We heard it from Peterson. But perhaps Sadie doesn’t want to tell her father she’s a cop.
Curt doesn’t offer us a place to sit, and Sadie doesn’t move from inside the doorway. We’re not staying long. Good. I feel like I need to take a bath in penicillin already.
Rainey returns and hands Curt a can of Schlitz. She grabs a cigarette packet from under her butt, pulls out a smoke, and lights it.
Sadie clears her throat. “Do you know why Joey might’ve been on Bridger land?”
Curt perks up and wipes his mouth with his forearm after he takes a swig from his beer can. “Bridger? You mean that rich fucker?”
Sadie nods.
