When Devils Sing(93)

“Fuck this,” Sam whispered.

With a sly move of her hand, she poured the vial’s contents into one of the cups, watching as it dissolved completely. She then walked the tray to table one with a saccharine smile on her lips, careful to place the spiked one directly in front of Jonah. The group of boys barely acknowledged her as they made animal noises at the TV before mindlessly sipping the drinks.

From across the room, Sam then watched as Jonah picked up his glass and knocked it back in a greedy, indulgent gulp.





CHAPTER 38NEERA




26 HOURS


It was the day before the Fourth, and Neera didn’t want to face the world. She’d found Sam’s note on the table when she awoke—Can we talk later?—then promptly turned her phone off.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Isaiah. She needed time to think, to really consider what it meant that Grant had Ajay’s guitar pick. That he was, quite possibly, the man behind Second Sons. That he was responsible for the debt terrorizing her family, all the while dangling a golden carrot of opportunity over her head. It didn’t make sense.

Why is he doing this?

And then there was Sam’s story from last night, when she’d found her dad covered in blood three years ago. Neera felt as if a horrible truth was forming before her.

But she was determined to get real answers that day.

Neera’s gaze stayed fixed on the garage door that afternoon. She’d already heard Grant’s motorcycle leave an hour ago, but then there was the housekeeper to deal with. Grant had said she was welcome to write up a grocery list. Now was her chance.

She quickly scrawled down an unnecessarily long list of groceries, then greeted the housekeeper at the back door. “Could you please get these for me today?” she asked with forced politeness.

Grant’s housekeeper studied the list, then Neera. “Yes, ma’am.” She checked the time on her phone. “I’ll leave shortly.”

Neera thanked her, then returned to her waiting perch in the pool house. She felt as if she were gearing for a fight, all the while forcing away the raw feeling of grief welling up within her. As it was, she didn’t know whether to scream or weep.

Focus, Neera thought. You don’t know anything for sure, yet.

A car door slammed. Neera turned her head toward the sound, finding the housekeeper starting her car in the driveway. A minute later she was gone, the garage door descending.

Neera ran across the lawn, skidding onto her knees and through Grant’s garage just as it closed behind her.

If Grant had kept Ajay’s guitar pick in the Tavern’s office, what might he be hiding in his own home?

He was a collector, after all.

Neera didn’t know how much time she had, so she got to work. Thankfully, aside from the music industry paraphernalia on his walls, the home was otherwise minimalist. While other McMansions in Lake Clearwater were massive just because, Grant’s was modern and sparse. The spare rooms were decorated with only the essentials, making it easy for Neera to comb through empty drawers and closets.

This was his summer home, so it didn’t really have much within it.

Neera had almost resigned herself to giving up, until she found Grant’s study. A nearly empty room with a desk, a massive painting hanging behind it, and expansive, towering windows that looked onto Lake Clearwater. Even in the rain, with the study sitting high above the ground, it was clear the windows overlooked the world.

Neera went through the desk, which gave her flashbacks of the night before. There hadn’t been anything to implicate Grant at the Tavern, but she hoped things would be different here. It wasn’t until she opened the final drawer that she found a scrapbook. An old, dusty thing that was in stark contrast to the restrained minimalism around her.

She settled onto the desk chair, flipping through relics of Grant’s rebellious youth. There were photos like she’d seen in his living room, concert tickets from the nineties, lyrics scrawled on stained napkins. It was all useless to her, until she flipped a page and found Ajay’s brown eyes staring back at her.

Neera rubbed her own, blinking several times.

Ajay was in a photo with Grant at a music venue, their arms slung around the other’s shoulders in the way only close friends do. Then there was another one—Ajay and Grant on a stage, performing together. Ajay with the Yamaha, standing at a microphone, and Grant standing right beside him with his own guitar. Then, finally, Ajay and Grant sitting lazily on an old couch. Sitting between them was Kiran, laughing at the camera. They all looked so young, so comfortable around one another.

The world began to tilt around her. She struggled to pull her eyes away from the photos, desperate to look at anything else. Her eyes went to the painting then. It was an abstract piece, painted in muted colors but otherwise unremarkable. It wasn’t the painting that caught her eye, but the way it sat slightly ajar from the wall. She eyed it more closely, noticing it wasn’t affixed to the wall at all.

The painting was sitting on hinges on one side. She swung it open, revealing the sleek surface of a safe behind it. There was no handle, no keypad. Only a small glass panel, sized for a fingerprint to unlock it. She dusted her hands across the metal, looking for any point of weakness.

“This is impossible,” Neera whispered aloud.

Anxiously, she toyed with Ajay’s guitar pick in her pocket, hoping to pull comfort from it. She absentmindedly pressed it’s pointed edge into her index finger until she pierced her skin. Pulling it from her pocket, she realized blood had welled up on her finger.