Page 147 of Ice Me Out

“Ha!” Danielle laughed, flying over a speed bump. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who failed their driving test three times for speeding.”

“My evaluator was biased.”

“You were going 40 in a 25,” she reminded.

“Don’t worry about that. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?” I asked when we finally reached the main road.

“I was sent on a mission.”

“By whom?”

“Snoh. He was afraid you’d skip the meeting.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So, he sent his barely street-legal baby sister to pick me up?”

“Yep!”

I finally eased back in my seat when we reached the access road. “And you called me dramatic.”

Danielle looked at me and smiled. “Oh, you still are; our entire family is.”

I propped an elbow against the car door and chewed on my thumbnail. “What do you think this meeting is about?”

Danielle shrugged and allowed her shoulders to drop. “Beats me, but if I had to guess, I think he and Celine are getting married.”

Well… that hadn’t crossed my mind.

“It’s possible.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Hard to say. Maybe entering another business venture?”

“With what capital? I think the only way he can scrounge up money is by donating his organs.”

“Stop it, Danielle.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

“Just drive.”

“Fine. But my money is still on marrying Celine.”

I sighed and stared out the rain-streaked window. Two minutes ago, the sun was out. Now, it looked like the sky was about to open up. It seemed ominous to me.

“Let’s hope that’s the case.”

***

The gates were already open when we turned onto the long driveway leading to the house. The house was a sprawling three-story craftsman built from gray stone, cedar, and dark timber, surrounded by evergreens. It was big but not too flashy, with broad gabled roofs, tall windows, and a wraparound porch that stretched across most of the front.

“Home sweet home,” Danielle mumbled as she eased beneath the covered drive beside Snoh’s pearl-white truck.

“You good?” I asked, watching Danielle stare at the house. It had been some time since she’d been here. She preferred living with Bo—partly because he let her get away with murder and also because of Picowso, who lived on the estate with the other prized livestock.

“I’m good,” she lied.

We left the SUV, and I couldn’t help but get lost in the past. This house was where we’d left backpacks piled beside the mudroom door, where Christmas mornings started before sunrise, and somebody inevitably got yelled at for opening gifts early. It was where a friendly game of Monopoly quickly turned sour, and where we sledded down the stairs on blankets and busted our asses.