He noticed the empty couch right away. There was something not right about it. The sheet and blanket had been tossed aside and left there, and the pillow too. Brady didn’t seem like that kind of a guy; he was a make-your-bed-first type all the way. Maybe he was just in the bathroom.
But, no. The powder room door was half-open, clearly nobody inside. Maybe he’d gone for a walk, Scott thought. Or, more likely, a pre-dawn jog. Yeah, that seemed about right for him.
But the blue duffel bag was gone too. Scott had overheard enough the night before to know it contained cash, and a lot of it. Who takes a big bag of money jogging with them?
Scott opened the front door and went outside. He could see the first rays of light coming through the branches of the trees across the street. As they touched the grass in front of him, it sparkled, heavy and wet from last night’s rain. There, he saw a glint so bright he had to blink. A silvery, metallic object was lying in the middle of the front lawn.
The gun was a silver-handled pistol, the kind you had to cock in order to fire, and it looked new and well kept. Scott had handled guns a bit with Rusty, but he’d never liked them much, and had never seen one like this. It looked expensive.
He squatted down over the gun, just staring at it for a moment. He picked up a stick from the nearby grass and, using the thick end of it, flipped the gun over. He looked at the impression it left in the grass. It couldn’t have been there very long, maybe just the night.
Scott lifted his gaze and looked around. The BMW was gone from the driveway. He turned and looked back, toward the house. Brady was gone. Not gone on a jog but gone in his car. He’d taken the blue duffel bag with him, and somehow, he’d managed to drop his gun—assuming it was his, but who else’s could it be?—on their front lawn in the process.
Put together, it didn’t make a great deal of sense. The guy had been in a hurry, obviously, but why?
And somehow, though this really made no sense, a thought took up residence in the back of Scott’s mind, from which it would never leave.
It occurred to him that his father had something to do with this. He couldn’t have said why, but Rusty’s presence yesterday, the strange way he’d acted when he left, and his essential Rusty-ness made it a possibility he couldn’t ignore.
Scott picked up the gun, shoved it into his belt, and went back in the house. He needed to think this through.
An hour later, Aubrey came downstairs and found Scott on the couch, where the blanket and sheet had been neatly folded and stacked on top of the pillow at the far end. She asked about Brady, and he told her. Aubrey was groggy; she’d taken an Ambien and a half the night before, and it took her a while to pull her thoughts together. She and Scott puzzled it through together, searching for any sign of Brady in the house and finding none. Scott didn’t mention the gun. Aubrey was anti-gun and would say so, and it was not a conversational opportunity he wanted to give her.
Aubrey was disappointed to hear Brady was gone, and the blue duffel with him. Shortly after retiring the night before, she’d decided to keep the money. Brady’s gentle common sense had made it an easy call. She was going to allow her brother to help her for once, and she was going to be grateful. It had not occurred to her that Brady would rise before the sun and leave without saying goodbye, taking the cash with him. She’d never even found out how much it actually was.
It was coming up on 8 a.m. now, not quite seven in Utah, but Thom was an early riser. If she called him maybe he could contact Brady, turn him around, and send him back with the money. It would be mildly embarrassing, but that was a small price to pay for security.
Aubrey dug out the satellite phone and dialed his number. Thom answered on the second ring. She explained the situation.
“I don’t understand,” Thom said.
“I just hadn’t thought things all the way through, that’s all. Can you reach him?”
“No. I can’t. I tried three or four times last night, and again about fifteen minutes ago. He’s not answering.”
Aubrey’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean he’s not answering?”
“He does not pick up his phone. He is avoiding me. And now you’re telling me he left without saying anything, and the money is gone?”
“What do you think happened?” she asked.
“I think Brady stole my fucking money is what I think.”
“That’s not possible. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah? You know him that well, Aubrey? From your several hours together?”