Never Tell Them, N.L. Hinkens [unputdownable books txt] 📗

His gaze drifted down to the black backpack shoved into the recesses of the closet. It didn’t look remotely like anything that would belong to an elderly woman. Curious, he grabbed a strap and yanked it out. Inside, he found a large flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of boots, along with a GPS and a small bag of toiletries. An overnight bag of sorts, perhaps? It must belong to him. But what had he packed it for? He slipped his fingers into the front pouch and pulled out a trail map.

Frowning, he spread it out on the bed and studied it. For some reason, he’d highlighted a loop into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Turning the map sideways, he took note of the coordinates printed neatly in the margin. It looked like his handwriting. There was no campground marked on the map at those coordinates, but there was a stream nearby—perhaps it was a favorite fishing spot he’d been planning on taking Henry to before the accident. But why didn’t he have any camping supplies in his pack, other than a change of clothes, and nothing at all for Henry? It didn’t make sense.

He slumped down on the edge of the bed, letting the map slide from his hand, a sliver of a memory, slippery as an eel, dancing in and out of his consciousness. Every time he tried to pin it down, it receded into the shadows. Head throbbing, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Something about the coordinates was familiar to him, but he couldn’t retrieve it from the scum-covered depths his memories had become bogged down in. Releasing a tired breath, he sat up, tucked the shoebox under his arm, and made his way to the kitchen. A strong cup of coffee was in order before he picked up Henry. He brewed a full pot in the relic of a coffeemaker he found on the counter and sat down at the table with the shoebox.

Frowning, he studied the stack of bank statements paper clipped together by year. It appeared he had been going through them and highlighting things, taking notes about things he needed to take care of, and accounts that had to be closed. He’d highlighted a monthly transfer of $4500 going back almost five years. Sipping his coffee, he contemplated the possibilities. Sonia had mentioned something about his mother sending money to his brother. It was a hefty sum of money for a grown man to be taking from his elderly mother—$54,000 a year. Granted, Celia had been comfortably off, but hardly wealthy. The transfers amounted to roughly two-thirds of her combined income from her social security, a small pension, and a modest rental property.

Ray drained his coffee and rinsed the mug out in the sink. He wasn’t going to get to the bottom of things by staring at the statements. He would have to go into the bank and see if they could help him sort it out. Right now, he had a more pressing matter to attend to. For better or worse, it was time to pick up his son. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed at the thought of caring for a four-year-old by himself—and at a complete loss as to how to occupy him all day long. Hopefully, Henry would have his own ideas about what he liked to do for fun.

Ray pulled the screen door closed behind him and crossed the lawn to his neighbor’s back door. Evelyn spotted him through the kitchen window as he raised his fist to knock. He could have sworn he saw her purse her lips in disapproval before she gave a small nod of acknowledgment and dried her hands on a tea towel.

“You’re looking a little fresher this morning,” she quipped, opening the door and ushering him inside. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” Ray said, not wanting to elaborate on the nightmares that had plagued him.

“Tea?” Evelyn asked, peering at him over her shoulder as she filled the kettle.

Ray shook his head. “No thanks, I just downed a huge mug of coffee. That should be enough to kickstart my system—hopefully, my memory too.”

“Are you feeling better?” Evelyn asked, a gleam of curiosity in her eye.

“Pretty good. I’ve still got a nagging headache.” He didn’t add that it got worse every time he tried to dig up a memory. He got the impression Evelyn wasn’t as concerned about his welfare as she was about releasing a four-year-old boy back into the care of a parent who’d forgotten he had a child to begin with. “How did Henry sleep last night?” Ray ventured.

“Like a baby,” Evelyn answered, setting the kettle on the stove to boil. She cleared her throat before folding her arms in front of her. ”He thinks the beds in Jessica’s room are very comfortable. Apparently, he didn’t have pillows in his old house.” She quirked an eyebrow upward, as if awaiting an explanation.

Ray gave a nervous laugh. ”I’m not sure where he got that idea from. Vivid imagination of a four-year-old, I suspect.”

“Indeed,” Evelyn said in a tart tone as she busied herself with her tea.

“Is Sonia here?” Ray asked, trying not to sound overly hopeful. It was apparent Evelyn had no intention of handing Henry over without giving him a grilling first. It was obvious, she still didn’t trust him.

“She’s in her office, trying to catch up on her work.”

Ray swallowed hard, sensing the indictment in Evelyn’s tone. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you both going out of your way to help me. Maybe you can let Henry know I’m here, and we’ll get out of your hair. I’m planning on doing something fun with him today.”

Evelyn threw him a sharp glance over the rim of her mug. “What kinds of things does he enjoy doing?”

Ray hesitated, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. He had no idea what Henry liked to do—he couldn’t remember. He opened his mouth to