Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(45)

“That’s definitely unusual. And to your question, Lon, there is a rumor that comes to mind now. Do you know Peter Little?”

“Former city councilman?”

Father Carrow nodded and explained to me, “He has a luck knack. Folks say that’s how he got his position.”

“Among other things,” Lon agreed. From the dour look on his face, he wasn’t a fan.

“But have you heard that his luck has gotten . . . luckier?” Father Carrow asked.

Lon’s melon-green eyes narrowed. He waited for more.

“He won the lottery.”

Not a surprise for someone with a luck knack, I thought to myself. It wasn’t a common ability, but I knew a Tambuku regular who won a lot of bets at the horse track.

“I heard about the lottery win,” Lon said. “Three hundred grand, right? Last week.”

“Yes, but that’s not the only instance. He’s won three times this month. First was five thousand on a scratch-off ticket. Second was that three hundred thousand you mentioned. And the third time was two days ago.”

“Huh.”

“I’m surprised you don’t know,” Father Carrow said. “It was all over the news. He won the Mega Millions jackpot. Fifty-nine million.”

“Holy shit,” Lon mumbled, then quickly apologized to Carrow, who made a shooing motion with his hand.

“Seems a bit odd,” Father Carrow said. “Even with a luck knack, how many people win the lottery three times in two weeks?” He glanced at the door. “They’re waving for me. Service is about to start. Maybe we’ll talk again later?”

Lon nodded.

Father Carrow patted Lon on the shoulder before squeezing my hand. “Come visit me, Cadybell. I miss chatting with you.”

I did too. I hugged him, then watched his blue halo trail behind him as he left.

“Peter Little,” Lon murmured.

“Is he into drugs?” I asked.

“He’s a dirty politician.”

“Hellfire?”

“No. He doesn’t live far from here, though. We could drop by. Congratulate him. Ask if he’s bought any strange red potions lately.”

Follow the drug, find Telly.

“Couldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

Lon pulled me back against his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist as the organist walked across the stage behind the altar at the front of the sanctuary. I let out a long breath, thinking about Peter Little’s knack, and about Telly’s bottle of bionic juice. Several heads turned when someone walked into the sanctuary. Curious, I glanced to see who was causing all the hubbub and spotted Dare’s shiny bald head. My muscles turned to stone.

The Hellfire leader slowed his already casual gait as he glanced in our direction. I flinched but didn’t look away. Not even when his black, hate-filled gaze drilled into my skull. It only lasted a moment, that look he gave me, before he turned and continued on to the front of the church without another glance.

I knew right then and there that Ambrose Dare damn well hadn’t forgiven me.

I half expected someone named Peter Little to reside inside a toadstool in Smurf Village, but after the funeral, Lon drove us to a fancy condo overlooking the La Sirena boardwalk. The building that housed the condo was five stories high and secured by gate. Instead of stopping at the guardhouse, Lon drove the silver Audi to the striped gate arm and typed four numbers into a little metal box.

“How do you have a security password to get inside here?” I asked as the arm began rising.

He gave me a faster-than-light sideways glance. “Used to date someone who lives here.”

Ah-ha.

“Megan Pierce,” he elaborated, surprising me. “She laughed like a hyena at every damn thing I said. Drove me crazy.”

“Hate her already. Will rip her eyes out if we see her inside. Just a warning.”

“Mmm, catfight.”

“Rawrr.”

He chuckled. “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite person?”

I smiled as he drove toward the building, swerving through empty parking spaces to avoid speed bumps before pulling into a spot near the entrance. Freshly planted yellow and purple petunias lined the sidewalk. I skirted around a misfiring automatic sprinkler and spotted a white van with a Morella Channel 5 logo driving away from the condos. “Father Carrow wasn’t lying,” I remarked, pointing it out to Lon.

“Everyone loves a winner.” He typed in another code and held the door open for me.

The lobby, if you could call it that, was a single room ringed with four elevators. A lush cluster of palms and tropical plants anchored the middle of the room below a skylight. Opera floated from hidden speakers. We took an elevator up to the top floor, then stepped out into a chandelier-lit corridor with two apartments. Lon strode to a door flanked by an umbrella stand and pressed a gently chiming doorbell.

Bass-heavy music thumped through the walls. Lon cocked a brow. Yeah, it didn’t sound good to me, either. This might’ve been a bad idea. After a few seconds, a voice crackled from a small speaker near the doorframe. “Yes?”

“It’s Lon Butler.”

There was a short pause, then the sound of a lock turning. The door flew open to reveal a very tan, very blond man, maybe a few years older than Lon. Long navy board shorts hung to his knees. An unbuttoned short sleeve shirt flapped open to a broad chest dusted with graying blond hair. Mr. Little clearly spent a lot of time at the gym doing ab workouts. He was also in the middle of hosting a party, it seemed. A girl in a bathing suit walked past a doorway behind him, and I could hear distant laughter from somewhere deeper inside.