Page 76 of The Dearly Departed

Asshole, I thought, but I wasn't convinced that the title was fitting. He might've been a hired thug—Gerald's obedient little lacky—but the mean look I saw in the eyes of others was missing from his.

"My boy," Gerald greeted me boisterously as he appeared where Analise had been standing moments before.

He sounded exactly how I’d expected him to.

Like he had been anticipating my arrival.

He was shirtless with a towel around his shoulders. From the waist down, he wore a pair of black sweatpants. His body as an older man was, of course, a far cry from what I remembered of it from when I had been a small child.

He was bulkier now.

Fed.

"Good to see you again," he said, descending the stairs, a smile on his face. "And so soon!”

I sighed, rolling my eyes at the gleeful sound of his voice.

“You're making this a habit, huh?” he continued, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “Careful there, kiddo. You might give people the impression that you actually like me."

He laughed, looking from me to Dean, as if expecting us to join in. But Dean only offered a polite, forced smile, and I did nothing but ball my fists tighter to keep the urge to punch him in the throat at bay.

Gerald cleared his throat and resumed rubbing the towel against his damp hair as he asked, "What can I do for you?"

"We never finished our conversation the other day," I replied.

"Hmm," he murmured, nodding slowly. "No, I suppose we didn't. Come. We'll talk in the library."

He was already leading the way when I said, "I'd rather not," as I remained where I stood at the bottom of the stairs, my back against the wall.

"What?" He turned, a clueless expression on his face.

Then it must've dawned on him, and he laughed, holding a hand over his stomach.

"Is something funny?" I asked, glaring at him through the mask.

"Ah, you're too sentimental, kiddo. You get that from your mother," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "But … fine, fine, we can talk in the dining room … unless you have any traumatic memories tied to that room too?"

I ignored his mockery, ignored his shit-eating grin, and brushed past him, leading the way toward the dining room.

"Will you look at that, Dean? He already knows his way around the place," Gerald mused wistfully from behind me.

"I see that, sir."

They followed close behind as Gerald said, "He'll fit in just fine here, wouldn't you say?"

"I would, sir."

I spun on my heel. "What was that?"

But Gerald held out a hand, gesturing toward the dining room doorway. "Please, take a seat, son. Let's have that conversation."

***

He has to be lying.

The thought had crossed my mind countless times since I’d taken a seat in the dining room, now only holding one table as opposed to the three that had been here the night of Leonard’s murder.

With every question I asked and every answer Gerald provided with ease, my grip on the respect I'd held for my dear old friend slipped a little more until only my smallest finger clung to the ghost of his.