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Back The Lying House Save as PDF
Chapters (103)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. 85
  92. 86
  93. 87
  94. 88
  95. 89
  96. 90
  97. 91
  98. 92
  99. 93
  100. 94
  101. Epilogue
  102. Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
  103. Excerpt

Lisa stared at him. “I can’t believe you. With Loften on the loose, Vida threatening to ruin your life and detectives asking us about a woman murdered in Cleveland, you refuse to tell them and—”

Blinking back tears, Lisa had looked closely at Jeff’s hand. The wound on his palm was bleeding through the bandage.

“Jeff, what did you do last night?”

What did I do last night?

Now, as the water hissed in the bathroom, Jeff stared at his bandaged palm.

Did I sleepwalk? Did I blank out?

He splashed cold water on his face, and as it dripped along his temples, cheeks, jawline and chin, he stared at his reflection. While the scratches from his fight with Loften had faded, Jeff’s rage hadn’t.

Why is my hand bleeding?

57

Landscaper Alfred Wilson had more contracts than he could handle and needed help.

“You lost everything in a fire?” Wilson asked the man at Blessed Light Mission Center who wanted the job he had just posted on the board.

“Yes, sir.” The man’s eyes held a measure of sadness. “Lost my dog, my wallet, everything in a fire. I’m still working on getting my new license issued to me. It was the apartment fire in Wynwood, was in the news.”

“I don’t have time to watch the news. You say you worked in construction near the airport?”

“Yes, sir, and before that I did landscaping work in Georgia.”

Wilson rubbed his chin, assessing the man—his stubbled beard, bandages on his fingers, the hint of desperation in his face. Like most people at the mission, he looked like he’d had a hard life and needed a break. Wilson needed help so he decided, as he always did when he hired from the street, to roll the dice.

“What’s your name again?”

“Henry, sir. Henry Call,” Loften lied.

“All right, Henry. We’ll try things for a week, see how it goes. I’ll pay you twelve bucks an hour in cash to start. You can start with me today.”

Wilson extended his hand. Loften shook it, then got in Wilson’s pickup.

“You got any ID at all, Henry?”

Loften showed him a Miami-Dade Public Library card he’d found on the street with Call’s signature. “That’s all I got.”

“All right, first thing we’ll do is get you some new ID if you’re going to work with me. There’s a place I use at a strip mall. Let’s go.”

Loften had taken every precaution he could while staying at the mission because he believed the staff would’ve been alerted to his escape. He let his beard grow to cover his pocked face. He bandaged his HELL FIRE tattoos or kept his hands in his pockets. He’d found a pair of framed reading glasses and wore them.