Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,10
happened between you and Skye? You haven’t insulted my neighbors, have you? They’ve taken fine care of me for the past three years now.”
Jamison wanted to climb under the bed—and maybe have a nurse collapse it on top of him.
“Ach, Jamie, what is it? The truth, if ye please.”
He buried his forehead in the bedclothes, wishing away the last 24 hours. “I was just jealous, Granddad. I don’t like sharing you. I just got you back.” Jamison turned his head to the side.
“Ach, laddie, Skye’s been a boon, I’ll no deny it. But she’s not blood and bone to me as you are, aye?” The old man patted the back of Jamison’s head. “She’s an angel, lad. Be grateful to her for my sake, will ye now?”
“Aye, Granddad.” Jamison sat up and grinned. “I never said I didn’t like having her around me.”
They both laughed until the coughing started.
Kenneth Jamison had lung cancer. In his younger days he’d been a mining engineer; now he was paying the price for years of bad air, he said. Only when the old man knew he couldn’t beat it had he hired a lawyer to write his estranged daughter and asked her to come home, promising the house would be empty when she and her son arrived.
Jamison was relieved when his mother had at least called and talked to the doctors. She’d go see her da when she was good and ready and not before. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
His plan was to keep the old Scot happy and alive for as long as possible. Jamison had just gotten him back and he would let Granddad go meet his maker when he was good and ready and not before.
Jamison would never be ready.
***
Ray’s house looked deserted. The day’s newspaper lay in the driveway. The carport was empty, and by the back door a cat stretched and walked away like he’d given up hope of ever being let in.
Jamison pounded on the door anyway.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
Nothing. No creaking floor, no footsteps.
He found the bell and rang it twice. He could hear it through both the door and storm door. If someone was inside, they’d have heard it.
Nothing.
He pulled out his cell for the hundredth time that day and called the only local number he’d had reason to add to his contacts, Ray’s. It went straight to voicemail.
Along Ray’s road the houses were all on the South side of the street with plenty of space in between. Even a nosey neighbor wouldn’t have noticed if a gang of Somerleds had dragged Ray home to confront his parents, or dropped off a battered teenager.
Then again, if they’d blown him up like the first guy, there wouldn’t be much to drop off, would there?
He didn’t have time to look for Burke. After school he’d walked to his mom’s new job downtown and taken her car to the Recovery Center. He’d barely had time to hit Ray’s before he had to go back and pick her up. As soon as he was home he’d start calling hospitals.
What an idiot he’d been, to believe Skye. If his friends were fine, where the hell were they? Ray had promised to meet him before class, but hadn’t. If he’d overslept, he’d be home, or at least answering his cell. He wouldn’t leave Jamison hanging all day long, not knowing. Not after last night.
They couldn’t be fine. They were either hurt, or being held somewhere, or dead.
What was it about that chick that made him forget? He’d run into her three times that day, and each time he’d put his suspicions on hold, hoped he was wrong, decided to wait and see.
Well, he wasn’t willing to wait anymore. He wasn’t going to slink into the shadows and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, like he had in Texas—like he freaking had last night!
He took a deep breath and huffed it out.
This was his home. Ray was his friend. And Jamison Shaw wasn’t going to be a nice quiet boy anymore.
Before he lost his nerve, he turned onto Granddad’s road, toward the Somerleds. His mom could wait. It was better if she wasn’t around for this anyway; questions were going to be answered, and not hers.
Adrenaline poured out his right foot and onto the accelerator. Luckily, as if they’d been warned away, no cars pulled onto the road to hinder him as he closed the distance...
...except the sherrif’s.
CHAPTER FIVE
Skye sat in the cornfield, her butt between half-dry stalks, the