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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

Luckily, my dad comes in and tucks a pillow under my head and covers Lassie and me with a blanket. He hands me a big glass of water to drink and makes me scarf down an energy bar.

Just like old times.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, then wade into the blackness.

:07

Culpeper, Virginia is seventy miles southwest of my father’s house. It has a history steeped in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, which isn’t uncommon among the many towns littering Virginia, but because the town was originally surveyed by a young George Washington, it is revered by many as one of America’s premier historical towns.

This, of course, is all being relayed to me by my father, who has obviously taken a break from Cold Case Detectiving to brush up on his American history.

I’m tempted to tell my dad I’m only interested in one of the “18,247 people who reside in Culpepper, at least according to the last census,” but he just spent two hours driving here and he would spend another two hours driving back.

He’s earned his rant.

I nod along as I take off my sweats and swap them out for jeans, an easy task made impossible by the bulk of Murdock, who has pushed up from the back seat and is licking my face.

“Did you really need to bring Tweetledee and Tweetledum?” I ask, interrupting my dad’s diatribe of how the town went from initially being named Fairfax to its now modern day Culpepper.

Lassie appears magically on top of Murdock’s head.

Meow.

“You are Tweetledee,” I tell him.

Meow.

“Yes, he gets to boss Tweetledum around.”

I shove the pair backward and finish pulling on my jeans.

“Is that the house?” I ask my dad, gazing out the window at the two-story colonial sitting back on a couple acres.

“Sure is,” he nods. “I even did a walk up to make sure the address on the house was the same as on the mailbox. It is. Couple a goats running around on the side of the house scared the bejesus outta me.”

The house, with its green clapboard siding, picket fence surrounding green acreage, and tall oaks, seems so serene and innocent — the antithesis of the man who resides there.

“You want me to come with you?” my dad asks.

I don’t want him to, but I also don’t want to deny him a little adventure.

“You might not like what the guy has to say.”

“I can handle it,” he says, his lips gluing together. “It’s about time I accept who your mom really was.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” I say giving him a soft punch on the arm.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he says, erupting in a soft laugh.

I look down at my cell.

3:03 a.m.

“Okay, dingbats,” I say, turning around. “Try to stay out of trouble while we’re gone.”