He picks up the phone and dials.
My pulse shoots through the roof. “Wait! I’ll pay for the glass. I’ll volunteer, I’ll do anything you want,” I sputter. “Just don’t—”
Mr. Neely holds up his hand, then says into the phone, “I think we’re all set. Clay and I are just going to have a little chat. Thanks for your assistance.”
I look toward the window but I can’t see a damn thing through the heavy curtains. I hear an engine start. Mr. Neely hangs up the phone and we both sit there listening as the car pulls away, the tires getting fainter by the second. I know I should be relieved, but there’s a glint in Mr. Neely’s eye, something that tells me I’m not out of the woods yet.
He leans back in his chair, knitting his arms across his chest. “What were you looking for?”
“Mr. Neely … sir…” I take off my cap and set it on my knee. “I’ve had a rough night … a rough year, really. I thought I saw something out at your ranch tonight. Something sick. I went to Sheriff Ely and he’d mentioned my dad was talking about some secret room right before he died. I know I’m probably losing it, just like he did, but I had to find out for myself. There’s nothing here. I know that now.”
“A secret room, huh?” The left corner of his mouth curls up. “Would you like to see it?”
My stomach drops.
Mr. Neely rises out of his chair, pressing on the dark wood panels behind his desk. A tall, slender door pops open. It blends into the grooves so well, you’d never even know it was there.
“No one’s been trying to keep you out, son. We’ve been trying to bring you in,” he says before stepping inside.
I push myself into a standing position, but it feels like my blood’s been replaced with concrete. I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.
Mr. Neely flicks on the overhead lights.
And it’s just a room. I step inside to find an old jukebox from the fifties, a couple of poker tables, some cowboy prints decorating the walls, and a sprawling bar.
Mr. Neely stands behind the solid piece of oak, pulling out two glasses. He pours bourbon, pushing one toward me. I look at it, wondering if it might be poisoned, but Mr. Neely sucks it back without a second thought. “Back in the dry years, this place came in handy. Now it’s just good for hiding from our wives.” He chuckles to himself. “Your dad and I had some good times in this room. You remind me of him.” He scratches his chin. “He was secretive, too … always holding everything inside. It’s hard to ever really know a man like that. He had a weakness for the ladies, though. Couldn’t hide that.” He taps the bottom of his glass on the bar. “Don’t worry, he cut all that out by the time you were born.”
I slam back the bourbon. A revolt goes off inside my body, but then a numbing warmth quickly follows.
He pours another round. “What happened with your dad was a lot more gradual than it appeared. We’d been covering for him for months. There was talk.”
“What kind of talk?”
“Well, he was spending an awful lot of time down by the junkyard, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you talking about the Wiggins trailer? Meth?”
“I’m not saying anything,” he says as he raises his hands in the air. “All I know is in the end, he thought God was talking to him.” He downs his drink. “And I think we both know it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”
I rub my neck, thinking about the explosives in the shed. Did Mr. Neely know about that?
I take another shot. It goes down easier this time.
“I loved him like a brother. Sure, we fought and argued, like brothers do. We had a competitive rivalry, like you and my boy, but that’s what makes a man rise to the occasion. Hell, he even gave me power of attorney if something were to happen to your mom. I’d be responsible for taking care of you and your sisters.”
I grip the edge of the bar, forcing myself to listen.
“What I’m trying to say is the founding families have stuck together through thick and thin. We’d never turn our backs on your family. Not then. Not now. Not ever. But it’s a two-way street. This is quite a stunt you pulled tonight, breaking in here.”
I think about Noodle and Jess and Mom and my throat gets so tight I can hardly swallow. This was just another stupid move on top of a dozen other stupid moves. I see that now.
“What are you going to do?”
“The real question is what are you going to do?” He takes a deep breath and stares into my eyes, like he’s pondering my fate.
“I don’t understand.”