Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IVY

I make my way across town to my grandmother’s retirement home. By the time I’m standing in front of Gran’s door, there’s only one question looping through my mind: How does Ross know how valuable the box is?

“Ivy! This is a lovely surprise!” Gran beams, her eyes crinkling as she swings the door open. I gape at the view behind her. Gail, Opal, and Nicolas the cat are seated around a poker table.

I feel like I’ve walked into the craziest cheese-dream ever. “When did this happen?” My voice squeaks while I wave a finger between the three of them. Nicolas is a whole other story, I’m sure, but this revelation is mind-blowing. All along, I thought the three ladies in front of me were just neighborly rivals. But their history obviously runs much deeper, and I can’t help but feel like the world needs to brace itself for the effects of their reconciliation. “Opal…is…is that a cigar ?”

“What?” She shrugs, pointing her cigar at Gail and Gran. “I gave these two first choice between the cigarette, cigar, and pipe. They declined. And Nicolas doesn’t quite have the dexterity of the canines in the painting.” She tsks, as if she’s highly disappointed by this shortcoming.

“Like the Poker Game painting? What’s that got to do with what I just walked into?”

“It’d take too long to explain. Tea, dear?” Gran smiles.

“What’s Gail drinking?” I plop down onto the open seat beside Nicolas, who’s wearing a bowtie and a hat. I gesture toward him, looking up at Gran questioningly.

Is someone secretly spiking the AC air in my car with hallucinogens? Or maybe I’m actually passed out on the floor of Gran’s hidden closet, my mind tripping on the old lead paint fumes. What I’m witnessing right now is like diving headfirst into a Salvador Dahli painting—a whole new level of surrealism unfolding before me.

“Gail has a mojito with white rum. Oh, doesn’t Nicolas look darling, though? He’s such a good boy,” Gran answers, reaching out to stroke him.

Nicolas glares at her, like he’s plotting the murder of everyone at the table. He could also be the mastermind behind this whole thing, though.

“I’ll have what Gail’s having. Maybe it’ll bring me back to reality.”

“Oh, nothing to it, sweetheart,” Gail smiles while expertly shuffling a deck of cards. “We’ve agreed to put the past behind us.”

Gran returns with a mojito adorned with all the trimmings. I lean back to peer behind her. “Are you hiding a mixologist back there? How did you learn to do this?” I ask, tugging on the springy coil of lime hugging the sugar-crystallized rim.

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“Apparently.” I continue to frown over a sip.

“How’s the house coming along? I can’t wait to see it,” she says, her face lighting up with a sunny smile .

“It’s going fine. A lot of work, but I’m making progress.”

“Doesn’t hurt that you’ve got a sexy man helping, either.” Opal smirks under her breath. I bug my eyes, signaling for her to shut it.

“The renters were good people,” Gran muses.

“Those good people made a giant hole in the living room ceiling.”

“Eh, they told me about that. Something about removing one of those dancing poles when they left,” she says with an amused head shake.

“Gran…has Ross asked or said anything more about the music box?”

Her head lifts sharply as her eyes narrow. “He’s asked you about it, hasn’t he?”

“No, but he’s getting desperate. I was just wondering if he’s been bugging you about it.” I love Ross, but I don’t want him peppering Gran and finding out Opal and Gail took it. They don’t need to be bothered over something they haven’t seen or thought about in years.

“You find it—you tell me. Don’t tell Ross,” she orders, pointing a finger at me. “I know you think you can save him, but he’s gotta get there himself.”

My shoulders fall as the bitter truth in her words settles in my stomach. “Yeah.”

Opal taps the cigar that she hasn’t once lifted to her mouth, eyes narrowing in her usual discerning way. “Might be wise to be extra vigilant for a while.”

“Ross would never do anything to hurt me,” I say defensively. For the first time I’m starting to feel the effects—the bone weary fatigue of constantly fighting for someone who doesn’t seem to want my help.

“Not physically, and not intentionally. But the people he’s involved with won’t feel the same, sugar,” Gail adds with her gentle wisdom.

“Yeah. Okay. Does anyone else think Nicolas looks depressed?” I ask, shamelessly deflecting.

Opal waves a hand dismissively. “He’s just mopy because his girlfriend’s at the vet.”

“That makes so much sense.” I nod, not understanding anything. It’s getting late, and I’m dead on my feet.

“I’m gonna go home and…sleep this off.” I stand, gesturing around the room. “Chin up, Nicolas.” I croon into his grumpy face, then hug the flock of eccentric geriatrics goodbye.

“Stay safe!” Gran calls out before I walk toward my car, grateful I’m no longer sleeping in it. Ross’s asshat decisions have already landed me in enough messes. I just hope it doesn’t happen again.