Page 119 of The Oscar Escape
The thought had barely crossed his mind when his sister bounced in her seat.
“Oscar, look who’s with Dad. It’s Gibby.” Ivy unbuckled her seat belt, stuffed the lobster into her pack, and bolted from the truck with her treasures.
Gibby? No, it couldn’t be.
His mouth went dry. His stomach dropped. Pure panic tore through him as he hurried to keep up with his sister. Each step amplified two questions blaring through his addled mind. What was Judge M. Gibson Harpswell doing in Colorado? And what had the man revealed to his father?
Oscar exhaled a shaky breath. It appeared he was about to find out.
Chapter22
OSCAR
Oscar slapped a plastic grin on his face. Play it cool. There had to be a reason why his dad was chilling in Telluride, Colorado, with a retired judge who should be clad in galoshes and eating a bowl of lobster chowder a couple of thousand miles away on Havenmatch Island. But try as he may, Oscar couldn’t come up with an explanation to save his life.
With a relaxed, jovial air, his father and Judge Harpswell left the porch and met them in front of the cabin.
“Did you miss me so much that you had to come and see me in Colorado?” Ivy asked and embraced the judge.
“Something like that. I used to live in Colorado a long time ago. I like it here.”
Ivy looked between the men. “Is that how you know my dad? He’s a famous chef. He has a bunch of food trucks, and he makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world.”
Oscar’s anxiety dialed down a few notches. The kid was right. His dad was famous and knew many people, and the judge had lived in Denver. Could their paths have crossed? Sure. But was it one hell of a coincidence that they were standing side by side at this exact moment? Absolutely. One thousand percent, yes, it was.
“I like to think of your dad as one, zero, one, nine,” the judge answered warmly.
Warmly—which was also a departure from his gruff and jowly demeanor.
Holy shit!
Oscar blinked once, then again, and still saw his dad and the judge. Was he losing it? And what kind of explanation was that? The judge thinks of his father as a series of numbers?
Oscar raked his hands through his hair.Think, think, think!There was a good chance he’d have to shift into damage control. He needed information. He needed to know what the judge told his dad. Had he spilled the beans about the fake marriage and the island blow-up with Aria? Perhaps not. The two appeared quite at ease, even chummy.
Ivy cocked her head to the side. Confusion marred her features. At least he wasn’t alone. “My dad’s got a number name? Do those numbers stand for Mitch Elliott? That’s my dad’s real name. But I call him Dad—or Daddy when I want something Mommy told me I couldn’t have.”
His father and the judge chuckled again, looking thick as thieves.
“Judge Harpswell and I go way back, honey,” his dad replied and patted Ivy’s cheek. “Oscar’s mom did a better job keeping in touch with him, but I don’t think the judge forgets anyone. I certainly could never forget him.”
They were friends? Oscar’s gaze bounced between the men. That didn’t make a lick of sense. He couldn’t recall his father ever mentioning a judge from Havenmatch Island, Maine.
“Did my dad make you a grilled cheese sandwich, Gibby?” Ivy asked, her auburn braids swinging from side to side as she bounced excitedly.
“He did. So did Oscar’s mom. The original Say Cheese, Louise.”
“You knew my mother, too?” Oscar exclaimed.
His dad and the judge shared a knowing look.
What was happening here?
Again, Oscar nervously ran his hands through his hair. “I thought we were here to finalize the sales paperwork on the cabin. Where’s Inez? She facilitated the sale.”
His father removed his cell from his pocket and checked the screen. “She’ll be here. She had a few other matters to attend to. She’s showing one of the new buyers around town.”
Okay, that made some sense. Still, it didn’t explain what the judge was doing here.
