Page 206 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
The parking lot attendant gave me a retrieval ticket. I shoved it into my pocket and walked down the dock. I’d left my suit jacket and vest in the car, leaving me in a button-down and slacks.
It looked ridiculous as fuck, but I kept a baseball cap on my head. I didn't need the press taking pictures of me headed to an island commonly referred to as Synd City. The boat ride splashed water all over the cockpit, ruining my Giannis and soaking my socks.
I spent it staring at the message Emery had sent me before everything went to shit.
Durga: Tell me your favorite thing in the world.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed out my answer and deleted it. I couldn’t send it until Gideon confessed and explained it all. If I thought it was better that she heard it from me, I would have spilled the second I identified Sir Balty as her sperm donor.
Until then, I’d be here for her.
I found Reed smoking a joint at the beach. As in, my salutatorian brother with the D1 football scholarship. I sat beside him, tore it from his fingers, brought it to my lips, and inhaled.
“Nice hat,” he greeted, shaking shit out of his hair.
The baseball cap had a bug-eyed gray squirrel above the bill, the North Carolina state animal. I’d bought it at a tourist stand.
I held up the joint. “The fuck are you doing with this, kid?”
“Not like it’s laced with LSD, Dad.” He paused, digging his heels into the sand. “The stash you stole from me, on the other hand…”
I noticed that shit smelled funny.
“You running with this crowd now?” I signaled to the group of over-privileged posers playing guitar next to a ten-foot-tall bonfire in broad fucking daylight.
“You said you wanted to meet.” He spread his arms wide, unapologetic and high out of his mind. “This is where I hang.”
“Does Emery know?”
“Know what?”
I gestured at him. “You've turned into this tool.”
Fuck, not how I expected this conversation to go.
“Emery doesn’t judge.” He muttered a curse, swiped the joint from me, and inhaled. “Nah, she doesn’t know.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.”
The least assuring words ever, since they implied he was currently doing or had done something shady.
I followed Reed’s line of sight directly to Basil. Jesus. “Seriously? All this for Basil Berkshire? Why?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
I sat back, listening as he spilled. By the end of his story, I sure as shit didn’t believe him. Katrina Berkshire’s tale of spending two months at band camp over the
summer and returning with a new nose and double Ds was more likely.
Reed laughed, digging the tip of the joint in the sand. “You don’t believe me.”
“I do, but I don’t believe the situation.” Cursing, I snagged a water bottle from the bright blue cooler beside him.
“It’s vodka.”
