In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,7
I had seen a pay phone at the front. And where there was a pay phone, there’d be a phone book. Yes, an ancient phone book, complete with Yellow Pages.
Mom had bought me a basic phone without the bells and whistles most kids had. Guess that was another way she punished me, so I resorted to desperate measures. When I found what I wanted, I looked over my shoulder and waited until I knew I wouldn’t be caught tearing a sheet out of the damned phone book. I folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket of my jean jacket.
I couldn’t stay the whole night at Grams’s, not when it was my first night here. I had too many things on my mind. And sleep had become a waste of time.
“Honey? You ready to go?” Mom’s voice made me jump. “What were you doing?”
I turned and kept everything off my face as I helped her with the groceries.
“Nothing. I was flipping through the phone book, looking for a few friends.”
“Did you find anyone you know?”
I had to give Mom credit for effort. She knew I didn’t have many friends two years ago—and certainly none who had stuck by me through the worst of it—but she’d given me the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe it made her feel like a better mother if she thought she hadn’t raised such a complete loser.
All I said was, “No.”
In his open garage under a dim light, Derek Bast sat on his weight bench working on biceps curls when his cell phone signaled he had a text message. It was the third one he had ignored. He took his workout seriously and jumping up every time he got a call or message wasn’t something he did during the off-season. His grades were only marginal. And the only way he’d get a college education was through football.
“Dude. Spot me, will ya?” His buddy Justin was setting up for the bench press and needed him to stand behind him, ready to help if he got into trouble with the larger weight.
But when another text message came within seconds of the last one, curiosity got the better of him. He hoisted up his sweatpants when he stood and wiped the sweat off his face and arms with a towel before he went looking for his phone.
“Hold on. I gotta check this.” Derek glanced down at his cell to see what all the fuss was about.
911 brenna nash was at homeland tonight
why is she back???????
meet me at usual place…NOW!!!!!!
Derek grimaced and clenched his jaw when he saw the messages.
“You gotta go, Justin. Go on, beat it.”
“What? I was just…”
“I said beat it, shithead!” He glared and threw his sweaty towel at the guy’s face. “I got things to do.”
Justin backed down and didn’t argue. He wouldn’t dare. He put his damned tail between his legs—like a whipped dog—and headed out without saying another word. Derek knew he had a reputation for losing his temper and it worked to his advantage. He got off on knowing people called him “Alpha Dawg” for a reason.
After Justin took off, Derek shut the garage door and headed for his bedroom to shower and change. If Brenna Nash was back in town, that bitch had the potential of screwing with his life.
And he couldn’t let that happen.
By the time Mom and I got to Grams’s it was almost too dark to see, but the old Victorian home was easy to spot at the end of the street. It was the biggest house on the block and not quite how I remembered it. In the past few years, Grams had let the place go. The yard and flower beds were overgrown with weeds and the house needed painting. Brick steps that led to the front door needed repair, the wraparound porch railing could use paint and the bay windows and gabled roof looked scary at night without lights on. The place was real creepy and reminded me of a slasher movie.
Very cool. I could totally shoot a video here. But I had a bad feeling the inside would need work if Mom expected to sell it.
“Wait by the car till I get in and turn on the lights.” Mom had parked in the driveway and was fumbling through her purse for house keys as I got out. “No telling what it’s gonna look like in there.”
“Come on, Mom. What if it’s gross? There could be—”