For You (The 'Burg #1)(64)

“That is?” Sully asked.

“This place has five frickin’ fireplaces. All of them burn wood, not gas, not fake, real wood fire places.”

Colt knew where this was going.

Chris continued. “They all got stacks of wood beside them, all of them, and a big row of wood down the back of the house, three rows deep. So much wood, shit, they’d need five years to get through it all. There’s also a stump for choppin’. Looks like Denny Lowe chopped his own wood and it looks like he did it like a freakin’ hobby. A hobby he liked, like, a lot.”

“This guy is whacked,” Sully muttered.

“Yeah, choppin’ wood as a hobby puts the icing on the cake of this guy bein’ whacked,” Chris said and jerked his head toward the bed.

Colt was thinking of a man who earned a better than modest living but chopped his own wood. He could have had the wood delivered but instead he had to have to have full logs delivered. This neighborhood, the cops would have heard about some fanatical log-chopping neighbor who was cutting down all the trees. Folks in this neighborhood didn’t mind complaining. They paid big taxes and they felt they should get their money’s worth. They called the cops if a neighbor’s kid was playing his stereo too loud at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Hell, it was a miracle they hadn’t received a complaint about the noise made by Denny chopping wood all the time.

Most men chopped wood because they had to, not because they wanted to. Seemed to Colt, Denny Lowe had a lot of rage he’d been workin’ out for some time.

“We need this place combed, someone needs to talk to the neighbors,” Sully said to Chris. “You need reinforcements, let me know, we’ll call ‘em in. The Feds are heading back here and I’ve no doubt they’ll get men on it too.”

“Gotcha,” Chris said on a nod and took off.

“Strainin’ our resources, you on ‘consultative capacity’, Marty havin’ half a brain and needin’ to pull the boys from the task force in every few hours. No cops on the street, we’re gonna miss our quota this month of speedin’ tickets,” Sully joked.

Colt smiled at him. “This guy’s gonna hit the history books, Sully, you’ll have your own page on online encyclopedias.”

Sully smiled back. “Better get Lorraine to take a decent picture of me.”

Colt slapped him on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Then they walked out of the bedroom and made their way down the hall, avoiding the path of blood, and Sully stopped at the top of the stairs.

“How’s Feb doin’?” he asked when Colt turned to him.

“She’s holdin’ it together.”

“She’s surprisin’ me, and everyone, thought she’d flip and take off.” He paused. “It’s a good surprise.”

“Yeah.”

“She gonna be able to see it through?”

“She’s got help.”

Sully looked closely at him. “Yeah. She does.” He took in a breath and said, “Listen, man, rumor is all over about this shit and you and Feb and now I heard from Lorraine that Melanie –”

“She called this morning.”

Sully swayed back in surprise. “Fuck, really?”

Colt nodded.

“Colt… man, you should know the rumor –”

“Rumor’s true. She called, wanted to have dinner, talk about things.”

“You havin’ dinner?” Sully asked quietly.

“Nope.”

Sully’s eyebrows went skyward. “That’s it? ‘Nope’?”

“That’s it.”

“Jesus.”

“She shoulda called three years ago, Sully,” Colt told him.

Sully gave him a look then grinned and said, “Feb.”

Colt saw no reason to deny it and confirmed, “Feb.”

Sully rocked back on his heels, still grinning but now grinning like a crazy f**k, he was so happy. “What chance you think you got?”

“Don’t know. You’ll have to wait and find out, just like me.”

Colt wasted no more time, he was late as it was. He gave Sully a “Later,” turned and jogged down the stairs.

Sully called after him, ribbing in his voice, “Spendin’ the evening at your spot at J&J’s?”

“Spendin’ it at my house with Reggie’s, beer, a pool cue and Feb,” Colt called back not looking up as he spoke, not giving a shit who heard. He hit the bottom, strode through the elegant foyer and right out the door.

* * * * *

Colt carried the six-pack to the front door, Feb carried Reggie’s pizza box.

The minute they hit the room, they were assaulted by paint fumes.

“Oh shit,” Feb muttered and Colt smiled.

He closed and locked the door behind them and when he turned she was already headed toward the kitchen. He got there as she dropped the box on the counter. He put the beer in the fridge, grabbed her hand in his and tugged her out of the kitchen.

She tugged back while she said, “Colt.”

Wilson hit the living room and let out a loud meow.

“Quiet pookie,” Feb said to her cat.

“Pookie?” Colt asked over his shoulder, dragging her into the hall.

She gave him a look and asked, “You wanna tell me why –”