Page 92 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“We’re going to drive to Traveler’s house first, see what is going on there, what she might have missed. Then we will figure out where we’re going from there. Keep this line open, though,” he said.

I kept his phone in my lap as he drove toward my house with a pretty impressive sense of direction, given that he’d only been there once.

I saw it a split second before he did.

I knew that because he pulled to a stop before I could even widen my eyes at the scene.

Lots and lots of cop cars.

“Fuck,” August said, trying to decide what to do.

Because, on the one hand, the cops meant that someone was working on my case.

On the other, though…

“My dad is worried someone on the force set him up,” I said. “Maybe…”

Before I even finished, August was turning the car down a side street with Aurelio and Milo in tow.

“We’re gonna ditch this car,” August said as he parked and cut the engine.

“But wh—“ I started. He was already climbing out, though, so I moved to do the same, following him to Aurelio’s car, where we piled into the back.

I remembered to end the phone call as Aurelio pulled away, no one wanting to get caught with a very expensive car that may or may not have been reported stolen. And that depended largely on if Uncle Stan was alive, conscious, or not.

“There was an ambulance there,” Aurelio said, breaking the silence. “But I didn’t see the medical examiner,” he added.

That was a good sign, right?

Stan and the cop were probably still alive then.

“What are we doing now?” I asked.

“Let’s make another round,” August suggested. “Police station, your uncles’, and your father’s place,” he said, waiting for me to rattle off directions.

There was a palpable tension in the car, and I was once again under the impression that these three men were having some sort of telepathic conversation that I wasn’t tuned into the frequency of.

“That’s Don’s wife’s car,” I said as we drove past his place, since his was the closest to the police station.

“But his isn’t here?” August asked.

“No,” I said, not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Okay. Let’s put a pin in talking to the wife,” August said. “She probably doesn’t have any idea what is going on. She might send up an alarm we don’t want sounded right now.”

“Right,” I agreed.

I didn’t know Don’s wife as well as Don. But she was a strong, intelligent woman. Someone with a good moral compass. If Don was on the take, there was no way she knew of it. And she wouldn’t approve of him associating with my father or other uncles if she knew they were dirty either. Regardless of their lifelong connections.

I rattled off the next closest address next.

Chuck.

But his place seemed abandoned too.

“My father’s is next,” I said, giving Aurelio the address to his modern stucco home that kind of reminded me a lot of August’s apartment, save for on a bigger scale.

I had to give my father credit on some things. And the man kept a very nice home. The lawn was meticulously cultivated. With chemicals I constantly begged him not to use, and sprinkler systems that I reminded him were a huge waste of natural resources. But you had to admit that it looked nice, even if grass lawns went against everything I believed in.

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