Page 45 of Avery's Hero

“Yes, one of those off-site storage places that businesses use.”

“Weird.”

I nod. “I know. They don’t seem to be interconnected.”

“Who owns them?”

I flip open my laptop. After a few seconds, the screen lights up and lets me in. Clicking through my files, I say, “The 101 Bookstore was owned by Agatha Martin. The document storage place is owned by a company called Austin Industries. The Antique store is owned by Ronald Wilson.”

“No connection, huh?” She taps her pen on her notepad.

“Not at first glance. But I would think the police investigator looked more closely.”

Making a note, she twists her mouth to the right. “Why would someone want to burn buildings here in Lynn’s Cove?”

“The million dollar question.”

When my phone rings, I push aside some papers until the screen is visible. “Excuse me, this is my son.”

“I can leave.”

I shake my head.

“Hey, bud. How’s it going?”

I swivel my chair until I’m facing the windows that overlook the ocean. The more I listen, the angrier I get. I practically shout, “Come on, Linc, you’ve got to be joking.”

He assures me he’s not. That he wouldn’t pull this kind of joke.

My teeth are in serious danger of snapping. “Put the officer on,” I growl. When the man takes over the call, I say, “This is Brock Mitchell.”

With fire burning in my veins, I listen to the officer recount my son’s arrest. He finishes with, “He’s being held until you come pick him up.”

“Copy that. I’ll be there in an hour.”

The cop disconnects. I close my eyes and try to loosen the clench I have on my phone.

Avery’s watching me intently. “That sounded bad.”

Rolling my neck, I say, “Lincoln got arrested for trespassing in San Diego.”

“San Diego? That’s an hour away. I thought he was fifteen.”

“He is. He hitchhiked. On the highway.”

“Oooo… no.”

“He also snuck out of his friend’s house in the middle of the night to do it.”

She scrunches her nose. “Ouch. That’s a pretty big screw up.”

“Tell me about it. That fucking kid. I’m one second away from sending him off to boarding school.”

Shoving off my office chair, I snatch up my keys.

There’s suddenly some kind of crackling emotion in Avery’s eyes. “Wait, Brock. That’s really drastic. Sending a teenager off to a boarding school is not as simple as it sounds.”

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Well, if you have a better idea how to deal with my son, please tell me.”

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