Free Unexpected Dismounts by Nancy Rue Page A

disclosure in there,” I said.
    “Geneveve stated it in the guardianship document: ‘Father unknown.’”
    “We both know she lied. Sultan is his father.”
    “Was. You were there when he died.”
    “I wasn’t there when somebody made off with his body. We don’t even know if there’s a death certificate.”
    “All the more reason to let Geneveve’s document do the talking for us.”
    I pushed both hands through my hair. Chief caught my wrists in his and held them together at his chest.
    “I’m asking you to trust me, Classic. Can you do that?”
    “I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out.”
    “Does Desmond know you’re freaking out?”
    “No. But I think he is.”
    I filled him in on Desmond’s debate with himself in the kitchen the night before. I could see Chief’s mouth resisting a smile.
    “What?” I said.
    “Desmond thinks you’re a good listener.” He pressed the OPEN DOOR button. “I’d like to see him tell that to Vickie Rodriguez.”
    “Yeah, what is with that woman?” I said as I walked with him across the lobby. “Does she have, like, ice tea in her veins?”
    “Too bad you didn’t rescue her from bullies in high school.”
    “First of all, she wasn’t even born yet when I was in high school, and second of all, I bet she was a bully.”
    Chief stopped to let me pass through the door and into a drizzly rain. “You think she’s that bad?”
    “I think I’m just intimidated by anybody who could possibly take Desmond away from me.”
    The tears in my eyes surprised me. I yanked the sunglasses I didn’t need out of my bag and fumbled them onto my face. The rain misted them at once.
    “I hear ya, Classic,” Chief said. “I hear ya.”

    I had paperwork to take care of for Jasmine’s insurance, but I didn’t head home to do it. I was going to need some distance from my Vickie Rodriguez experience before I felt anything close to competent about forms again. Besides, I had the undeniable urge to make a pass down West King to see if Zelda was hanging around. It wasn’t likely. The street was usually all but deserted until sundown, but I had to start somewhere.
    True to form, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not even the homeless guy who usually slept with his dog in front of the Dumpster no matter what the weather. As I pulled my Classic into the parking lot at Sherry’s dad’s auto repair shop and looked across the street, I saw why.
    A large SALE PENDING sign hung on the door of the tattoo parlor, which until last week had been one of the few going concerns on the block. The real estate agency had obviously cleaned up the place. There was no garbage regurgitating over the side of the Dumpster, and no Dog Man curled up to his canine friend below.
    That wasn’t the only FOR SALE or SOLD or PENDING sign I saw. The entire other side of the street was a veritable gallery of the things. The representing agencies were all different, but the force behind them was as obvious to me as the beer-and-cigarette stench belching from the Magic Moment Bar. It had Troy Irwin and the Chamberlain Enterprises written all over it. Who would give this barely human block a second glance if Troy hadn’t sold his gentrification project to every investor he could lure to his Learjet? He’d warned me in December that it was “on” between us. So far, it looked like he was winning. The people I had hope for were being sold to the highest bidder.
    “You don’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain?” said a voice behind me.
    I turned, already grinning at Maharry Nelson, who stood wheezing in the doorway of his beloved Choice Auto Repair Service with an open umbrella. I met him halfway, dodging pothole puddles as I went. The storm had picked up and water was already running down my neck when I got to him, but I ducked under the umbrella anyway. There was still something of the gentleman left in Maharry, and since he didn’t have a whole lot else going for him, I couldn’t deprive him. Or point