Page 38 of To the Grave

“It’s not a crime to fake your death,” Jace said.

I knew it was true because I’d looked it up after the dust had settled from the fire. Someone could be convicted of crimes associated with faking their death — cheating the IRS, claiming life insurance, dodging debt — but just faking your own death wasn’t a criminal act.

“Still a problem,” I said.

We couldn’t just trot Jace out around town and not expect the Blades to be shocked and pissed, let alone everyone else in town who’d thought he was dead.

“I say we carry on and let everybody talk,” Otis said. “Fuck ’em.”

“Except that’s going to create a lot of noise and we’re still trying to figure out who’s taking the girls,” I said. “Going to be hard to keep digging with all those eyes back on us.”

“Maybe I should have stayed gone,” Jace said.

The waitress returned with an armful of plates and set them down on the table, then returned a minute later to refill our coffee cups. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” Otis said.

It was blunt enough that she retreated without a beat.

“Don’t be a dick,” I said.

“I’m not,” he said. “She asked. I answered.”

I sighed and looked at Jace, staring at his pancakes like they held the answers to the all our questions. “The longer you stayed away, the worse it would have been for Daisy. You did the right thing by coming back when you did.”

I didn’t say the other thing: that Jace had probably needed to come back.

Not for us, but for himself.

Because finding out his dad wasn’t really dead, that he just hadn’t wanted to be a dad to Jace anymore, was all kinds of fucked up. I knew a little bit about that (my dad had split when I was a kid too) but it was worse for Jace. The story he’d been told his whole life — and the one he’d been telling himself too — was a lie.

He scratched his cheek and picked up his fork. “Maybe.”

I dug into my omelette while Otis doused his French toast with enough syrup to send a healthy man into diabetic shock and for a few minutes we ate in silence. It felt good to have Jace back, to be together again, even if everything was fucked.

“I think I’ll stay under the radar awhile longer,” Jace finally said. “Stick to the house and places where we don’t know anyone.”

“You sure?” I asked. It must have sucked to be in the shadows for the past three months, to be outside the rest of his world while it kept on spinning without him.

“It’s the thing that makes the most sense,” he said. “I’ll stick around the house, try and lay low.”

“We’re prepared to take the heat whenever you’re ready,” I said.

He nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about your dad,” Otis said. It sounded out of left field, but Otis was like that sometimes, thinking about things no one else was thinking about and then making it sound like it had been part of the conversation all along.

“What about him?” Jace asked.

“How much do you know about him?” Otis asked. “Like from when he was a kid and shit?”

Jace shoveled another bite of pancakes into his mouth and washed it down with coffee before answering. “The basics. Grew up in foster care in Blackwell Falls. Went to Blackwell High with Mac. Foster mom died after he graduated. Founded the Blades. Met my mom. Had me. Disappeared, apparently. Why?”

“I’ve been wondering if we should dig into him a little more,” Otis said. “See if there’s something we’ve been missing.”

“Like what?” Jace asked.

“I don’t know,” Otis said. “Something.”

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