Page 181 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
I knew I had to go somewhere, though I wasn’t sure where.
So it was as big a surprise to me as anyone when I ended up back at my father’s place. I sit in my car staring across the street at the dilapidated house.
He’s probably working, but if there’s a way to get into his house I’m going to find it. Breaking and entering isn’t a good look on a cop, for sure, but I can always pull the “it’s my dad’s house” line. It’s not even a lie.
Something has been itching at the back of my neck since yesterday. I feel like I missed something.
I pull into the rocky driveway and park my VW Beetle. Then I make my way to the ripped screen door, open it, and knock.
No response, not that I expected one. This neighborhood works during the day, or they keep to themselves.
I knock again, louder this time.
Again, nothing. So I turn the door by knob, and I’m surprised when it opens.
I didn’t think my father would leave his home unlocked. I expected to have to find an unlocked window to crawl through. But it makes sense. There’s nothing in here worth stealing.
I walk inside, and the stench of stale cigarette smoke and sour beer assaults me.
No problem. I’ll breathe through my mouth. Time to have a look around.
“Who the hell is out there?”
I know that voice—that gravelly-sounding cigarette voice.
“Hello, Rainey,” I call. “It’s me. Sadie. Curt’s daughter.”
Rainey comes out from the kitchen, wearing a magenta fluffy robe and holding a cigarette. “Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I did knock. Several times. Very loudly.”
“And then you decided to just come in?”
“Isn’t a daughter welcome at her father’s house?” I counter, although I’m pretty much only a daughter by blood, nothing more at this point.
“Curt didn’t seem to welcome you yesterday. What are you doing here?” Her hair’s up in a sloppy bun and mascara is smeared beneath her eyes.
“I want to see my father,” I tell her.
“He’s on a job. Somebody has to pay the bills around here.” She flicks ashes on the light blue shag carpeting.
“Don’t you work?”
“I’m between jobs, not that it’s any of your business.” She takes a long drag on the cigarette and exhales the smoke through her nostrils and her mouth.
“When will my father be home?”
“Dinner time.”
At the mention of dinner, my stomach lets out a growl. It’s lunchtime—an hour past, actually.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“Do I look like I’ve eaten?”
I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Her diet probably consists of potato chips and cigarettes.
A light goes off in my brain. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Maybe the way to my father’s girlfriend is to get some food into her deprived body. “Would you like to go to lunch, Rainey?”
