BooksBarbecue
Back The Lying House
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

Cruz was on the phone with Miami PD’s central district, which last night had made another fruitless attempt to locate Vida Warren at Oceanwave Gardens. The fact her phone went unanswered and emitted no signal was a concern. Reddick wanted to go to the motel this morning, get into her room if possible.

Maybe he’d find something to point them to Loften?

His line rang. He answered and immediately regretted it.

Melvin again. “Hello, Detective Reddick.”

“Hey, Melvin, I don’t have much time. I have to go.”

“I did what you asked me.”

“What’s that?”

“I talked to Jesus, and he guided me.”

“Guided you to do what?” Go to Mars? Reddick felt sorry for the kid and checked the time.

“I wrote everything down like you said. I looked at all the newspaper stories about the man you’re looking for. Then I looked real close at the man who stole my money. His name is Clete Loften.”

“Sure. Everyone knows that from the stories, Melvin.”

“He’s got a tattoo on his fingers that he tries to cover with bandages, but I saw it, and it spells a bad place.” Melvin dropped his voice. “Hell, then fire.”

Reddick sat straight up.

“Melvin, you say you’re at the mission—which mission?”

“I wrote it down like you said. The Blessed Light Mission Center.”

Now Reddick was writing things down. “Is it the one just north of the Causeway?”

“Yup.”

“Are you there now?”

“Yup.”

“Is this man there, too?”

“Yup. We’re getting ready to have breakfast. He’s always there for breakfast.”

“Okay, Melvin. I want you to write my cell number down, and I want you to go to the center’s office and stay with a manager there. Tell them to call me and meet me at the office. I’m on my way.”

“Will you be able to get back my money he stole?”

“We’ll work on it. Don’t tell anybody anything. Just do what I asked, okay?”

“Yup.”

“Here’s my number. Take it down, and read it back to me.”

67

Go slow. Take it easy. Take your time.

Buster Etter, an apolitical, beer-loving, die-hard Dolphins fan, adhered to the wisdom he’d gained from twenty-five years as a heavy-equipment operator, specifically a motor grader.

The engine of his Cat hummed, and he checked his grip on the controls. Other guys on the site considered Etter odd, called him the Morning Maestro because he always started around dawn and listened to classical music in his air-conditioned cab. He shrugged it off because his priority was the work, and the music in the morning helped.

Imagining what the finished job would look like, he lowered the toe of his blade, then eased his machine forward for the first pass to build a new residential street. He eyed a stake down along the ditch line to keep it straight.