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“Hello? This is your son on the phone. Your son doesn’t need to hear this.”
“Truth be told? I’m not hard for him to catch.”
“Mom?”
“Oh stop being such a prude. Be happy for us.”
“I am. Really. I can just do without the visuals.”
“What’s wrong with the visuals?”
No point. “So I guess Dad is feeling better?”
“Yes. Everyone called. Your brother. Your sister—oh, and she’s coming in from Seattle tomorrow.”
“That’ll be nice.”
“It will be. And Terese called.”
Myron started south along the path.
“She’s growing on me, Myron. I like her a lot.”
“I’m glad.”
“She’s substantial.”
“She is.”
“You know I had worries.”
He did. Terese can’t have kids. His parents already had three grandchildren—his brother Brad’s son Mickey being the oldest—but Mom and Dad knew that Myron had always wanted children too.
His phone beeped that another call was incoming. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was PT.
“Mom, I have to take this, okay?”
Mom picked up on the tone of his voice. “Go,” she said quickly.
She hung up before he did.
“PT?”
The gruff voice did not sound happy. “Anything you need to tell me?”
“Like?”
“Like we found a receipt for a burner phone bought at a Walmart in Doylestown. Do you know where Doylestown is?”
Doylestown was, Myron knew, an hour north of Philadelphia.
“Yes.”
“Oh good. This particular burner phone called the Prine Organization and made threats. With me so far?”
Myron did not like where this was going. “I am.”
“Guess what we just did, Myron?”
