Page 37 of Forged in Rain

“It doesn’t change anything. We still have to ask around.”

“Iris? Was John affiliated with the mob? You know the pictures?”

“Well,” she says, shuffling her feet.

“What?” I demand, tired of the damn half-truths.

“Maybe. He shared the pictures, and I think he made money off them. The week before he disappeared, I caught him burying cash in the backyard.”

Whoa. Cash? Shit.

“Iris, could this be what Jagger wants?”

“No way, I’ve never seen or heard of John knowing Jagger.”

“Then what does Jagger want?”

“I don’t know, and he won’t answer my texts,” she says, smacking the wall.

“This is all so messed up,” I say miserably, thinking of the little black book and Cyn.

Is he involved? And if so, how does he live with himself?

She sighs, rubbing her face. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Brushing past it, I mutter, “Well, what do we do about Cyn? He knows I’m here. He stole my phone from me.”

“Seriously?” she says, scrunching her brows. “Whatever. I don’t know. I guess the truth?”

“Which part?” I ask dryly.

“Just that we don’t know if he’s dead based on the letter.”

“Okay,” I say, rubbing my forehead tiredly.

“By the way, whose ass do I have to kick?” she asks, pointing at my face.

Rolling my eyes, I push the curtain back and go, unsurprised to see Jig still waiting for me when I emerge from the locker room.

“Well?” he asks as we walk toward class, and he hands me a hall pass.

Shoving it in my jacket, I say softly, “It’s about John.”

“What about him?” Jig asks, and I search his face for suspicion or anxiety, but there’s nothing but curiosity.

“Jig,” I say, stopping and facing him.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know John?”

“Huh? No, why would I?” He scratches his chin.

“Does Cyn?”

“No. Rainy, what’s going on?”

“He left a letter, and my aunt found it,” I say, continuing down the hall.

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