life fun; accountability; meaning; give back somehow. And then in handwriting I didn’t recognize—adventure’s the word. Beneath that a phone number.
“I called the number, and this guy named Oscar answered. He only vaguely remembered the bar or me, and didn’t remember the napkin or giving me his number, but when I read the list to him, he was all excited. We made a pact to try an experiment of each taking somebody on an adventure and then meeting somewhere to talk about it. And that, as they say, is how it all began.”
“And the others?”
“We took them on an adventure. They wanted in.”
The food is cold by the time they reach the water’s edge, and although the rain has stopped, it’s even colder with wind coming in over the water. Braden makes no complaint, just starts setting out the food while Phee ties Celestine to a convenient log and gives him his scraps.
She watches Braden’s hands and realizes he is watching them, too, forehead creased in concentration as if he’s driving a robotic arm with a remote control.
“I’m messy,” he warns as he fumbles a plastic fork.
“Celestine likes messy people.”
They each grab a carton and dig in.
Braden makes an appreciative sound. “Mmmmm. This is good.”
“The best.”
But try as she may, Phee is not enjoying herself. Celestine’s eager sniffing, the rush of wind, the sound of waves on the shore—all fail to drown out the phantom music and her granddad’s voice.
“Nothing good can come of this, Phee.”
“Not hungry?” Braden’s voice brings her back.
“I was thinking about my granddad.”
“The man responsible for the deadlock you and I are pretending not to be in right now?”
“He died twenty years ago.”
“Funny how grief hits you out of the blue.”
“Or outrage,” Phee counters. She sighs and munches her last egg roll. It’s cold, grease congealed in the wrapper.
Braden checks his phone.
“Anything?”
“Just another message from my informant. She’s heard nothing.” He shivers.
As an adventure, this one has fallen flat. They round up the cartons and set off back up the trail, damp and demoralized. Even Celestine is subdued. The walk seems to take forever, and by the time they get back to the car, Phee is cold to the very marrow of her bones.
“Thank you.” Braden offers her a twisted smile. “You definitely got my mind off things for a while.”
“Don’t thank me,” Phee says, grimly. “This adventure isn’t over yet.”
Chapter Sixteen
BRADEN
The mood between them has shifted, darkened. Phee has gone remote, withdrawn. Braden is physically weary, unaccustomed to this level of activity. A blister throbs on his left heel.
Phee drives with a doomsday intensity. There’s no joy in her now, no laughter. Her lips are tightly pressed together, hands locked to the steering wheel. A pervasive wet-dog smell mingles with the lingering odor of fried rice and egg rolls.
He checks his phone again for word from Allie. Nothing. Steph also has heard nothing. Celestine’s head rests on his thigh, rainwater and drool further soaking his jeans. Another glance at Phee’s grim face, and the question about where they’re headed now dies on his lips. He guesses he’ll find out when they get there.
If this were a fairy tale, this is the part where he’d get kidnapped by a blackhearted crone disguised as a beautiful woman, dragged away into the deep, dark forest as a sacrifice to some bloodthirsty being. The dog would transform into a preternatural beast with bloody teeth and slavering jaws.
But it’s not a fairy tale. When Phee drives down a familiar street and pulls into a tiny private parking area back behind a storefront he knows well, he sighs his resignation.
“Back to the scene of the crime, is it?”
Her gaze meets his, and he reads equal parts grief and determination. The intensity of the phantom music he’s been hearing kicks up a notch. He can feel the vibrations, a ghostly sensation of strings beneath his fingers.
If Phee is crazy, then so is he.
He doesn’t move when she gets out of the car. Neither does Celestine, whose damp, heavy head still rests on his thigh. Braden strokes the soft ears and the dog sighs contentedly.
“Celestine, come,” Phee commands.
Thumps of the tail, eyes looking up at her pleadingly.
“Celestine!”
The dog yawns and stirs, drawing away from Braden, leaving him cold and unexpectedly vulnerable.
A déjà vu feeling matches the volume of the music and a sense of inevitability. Might as well get this over with. He gets out of the car and follows Phee through a door into the back room of the shop.
A violin lies