Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
“Remind me to give you my number or email before we leave, and I’ll give you the real scoop any time you want,” I offered with a wink, feeling a sense of ease come over me.
Rhodes had been right about Thanksgiving and Amos’s other parents. I didn’t have anything to worry about.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was at the table in the garage apartment, trying to finish this son of a bitch of a puzzle. How many different shades of red were there? I had never really considered that I might be color-blind, but I kept putting the wrong shades of red together and the pieces still weren’t matching up.
This was what I got for buying a used puzzle that had to be at least twenty years old. Maybe it was faded or the color had yellowed with time. Whatever it was, it was making this a whole lot more complicated than it needed to be. And I was cursing at myself over this puzzle that I shouldn’t have bought on clearance at a resale store when I heard the garage door rolling up downstairs.
I had just picked up another piece when I heard Amos yell from downstairs—not this panicky thing of terror but just frantic enough to make me sit up straight. Just in time for him to shout again.
“Am?” I yelled, dropping the puzzle piece to the table and heading straight downstairs. I opened the garage door and peeked my head out. “Am? You okay?”
“No!” the kid pretty much shrieked. “Help!”
I threw the door wide. Amos stood in the center of the garage, head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling with a look of pure helplessness on his face. “Look! What do we do?”
“What the hell,” I muttered, finally taking in what he was freaking out over.
There was a massive stain on the ceiling. Dark, dark gray patches were formed along the Sheetrock. A few drops of water dripped onto the floor at Amos’s feet, just short of where most of his music equipment was.
There was a leak. “Do you know where the water shutoff is?”
“The what?” he asked, still staring at the ceiling like his vision alone was going to be enough to prevent the Sheetrock from crumbling and water from flooding down.
“The water shutoff,” I explained, already whipping around to find what I was pretty sure I knew what to look for. When the Antichrist’s child and I had found the home that he eventually bought—and like a dumbass I had been fine with them not putting me on the deed because someone could look up the records and ask questions—I remembered the realtor pointing at something along the wall in the garage and specifically mentioning a water shutoff in case of a leak. “It’s a lever thing in the wall. Usually. I think.”
There was no way Rhodes would have let him cover it with padding or mattresses. I knew that. I spotted what I thought could be it and ran over, moving the lever down and shutting off the water into the garage apartment. At least I was pretty sure. One more peek at the bulging ceiling had me focusing.
“Let’s get your stuff out of here before something bad happens,” I told him, snapping my fingers when he focused back up. “Let’s do it, Am, before your stuff gets ruined. Then we can make sure it did get turned off.”
That did it.
Between the two of us, we carried the heavier equipment into the tiny bottom landing that flowed into the stairs that led to the second floor. We pushed the big cab up against the door to the outside to leave room and took turns taking the drum set apart and walking it up to my studio. It took us about six trips each to move all the equipment upstairs; we couldn’t put anything outside because of frost and the risk of snow. It was way too cold now.
By the time we finished moving the most valuable stuff out from the garage—even though it was all valuable to Am because it was his—we were both back downstairs and staring up at the awful-looking ceiling.
“What do you think happened?”
“I think it might be a burst pipe, but I don’t know,” I told him, eyeing the damage. “Have you called your dad?”
He shook his head, eyes still glued to the disaster. “I yelled for you as soon as I saw it.”
I whistled. “Call him. See what he wants to do. I think we should call a plumber, but I don’t know. We should call him first.”
Amos nodded, unable to do anything but stare in horror at the damage.
It hit me then that the water was turned off; I’d checked before coming back down. But the water was off, as in I wouldn’t get water to shower or even fill my water filter to drink. I’d figure it out.