24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Aaron

"I can't believe I agreed to this," I say, placing another board on the sawhorse and bringing down the electric saw. "I hope you know this was my football room."

Lucy smiles at me from her place hammering a nail into a board. Her hair is swept back, and her black sweatpants are covered with paint and dust. "I need an office. Since you insisted on kidnapping me here forever, I need a place to do my work now that I've got my own business."

And what a place it'll be. Pole fitness is booming, and there's not anything like it in our county. Women have been making the drive into Chicago for pole and lap dance classes. My Lucy will make a killing at what she does. We already rented the space with some of the money she had saved up to pay the mafia. A small loan I cosigned for to establish some credit for her is going to lighting, poles, installation, and office supplies. The look of pride on her face as she gets her own financial life in order makes me hate her ex-husband even more, if possible. She also needs a home office. I don't like the idea of her working late nights at the studio. We've been working on the room all week.

I smile as I measure because this room being an office may be temporary. Maybe we'll add on to the house, but we'll need more room for other reasons soon enough. Lucy and I have discussed it. She wants a child, and I want one more while Ruby and Pearl are still young. I don't want them spread out too much in age. Maybe it's too soon, but she's going off the pill after her next cycle. It's not like we need to get to know each other better. I've known her for so long that it seems like we were born at the same hospital on the same day and had a secret code from the beginning.

Lucy's belongings are in storage in my basement since I already had furniture, and we didn't need two coffeepots. After the shooting, Lucy would go down there at night when she couldn't sleep, and I'd wake up to a lonely bed. When she'd pad back tour room, I'd ask her where she was. She said just looking at her stuff in storage to make sure she won't need anything. I know she's thinking about things. Maybe her old life. Maybe she's worried there's another henchman out there with a low bank account balance.

It's been a month since Geoffrey's body was carried out of the house. Since then, Lucy's filed for divorce, citing abandonment in the marriage, and she has the police reports and investigation to back it up. Together with my report to Chicago, the case should move faster than it normally would in these cases. The girls are seeing a counselor, Lucy moved the rest of her stuff in, and I've been a happy man because I have all the women I love safe under one roof.

Mickey skips around at my feet, yipping to get attention, and Lucy drops the hammer to bend down and pet the dog. Lucy's face has been lighter for the past week. There's nothing pulling the smile down. It's like she's finally allowing herself to breathe.

"I'll be back," I say, throwing the pencil that was in my mouth on the table and playfully smacking Lucy on the butt as I pass. "Don't break anything while I'm gone."

She ignores me and turns up the music in her headphones, teasingly flipping me off as I saunter from the room.

When I get to the basement, I pull the string to turn on the single overhead lightbulb. The basement is only partially finished – that's next on the list after Lucy's office – and the lightbulb casts a dim light across the area as it flickers until it eventually springs to full life. I really need better lighting if I'm going to keep things I'll regularly need down here.

I cross to my tool bench, stepping over Lucy's opened boxes and half climbing over an end table. When I get to my tool bench, I open my drawers, looking for what I need.

Levels. I know I have them here somewhere.

I whistle to myself – an old tune from a nineties band my mother liked. Eventually, I find a level that will do and turn to go back upstairs.

My head tilts to the side as I look at the wall, my brows coming together in confusion. There's a small piece of white tape that looks like drywall tape at eye level. Looking around the area, a bucket of paint sits on the floor behind one of Lucy's boxes, a used paintbrush across the top of the can. We didn't buy that color at Home Depot.

I eye the wall again and flip on my phone's flashlight. As I shine it all over the wall, a small square appears from the bad tape job. Did Lucy have something fixed while I was at work?

Carefully, I scrape the end of the tape until I grip it between my thumb and index finger. Once I have a firm grasp, I pull the tape from around the square, watching it slowly peel. If I wasn't so confused, it'd be satisfying to watch. Once the tape is off, I go back to my tool bench, remove a wrench from the table, and shine the light on the square before knocking a hole in my own wall. Why would Lucy re-drywall the basement wall? Did she hide something of Beck's she didn't want to see in her boxes?

Moving chunks of semi-fresh drywall, I freeze and suck in a large breath. My mouth dries until it feels like I'm eating a wad of cotton. I push aside a few pieces of drywall and reach into the rusty toolbox that's seen better days. As soon as the rusty hinges open, I know. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I've known for a few weeks. I just didn't want to see it. It's amazing how our minds make us believe what we want to believe.

But I can't unsee this.

I bend forward, gasping and trying to catch my breath as I stare at the flathead screwdriver. It's clean and just a screwdriver, but I get it now.