Today's Reading
A man wearing an expensive-looking suit stood on T-wharf, looking their way. He had shoulder-length hair and was shielding his eyes from the sun with a manila envelope. "Harley Lotitto?"
The moment Harley turned, the man headed for the ramp leading down to the docks.
"How does that guy know my name? And how did he know where to find me?" Harley rolled his shoulders like he was psyching himself up to play football. "You don't think he's from social services, do you? What if there's a problem?"
"Not a chance," Parker said. Victoria Lopez, the owner of BayView Brew Coffee and Donut Shop, had legally become Harley's foster mom. It seemed to be going well. Pez was more cheerful than ever these days, and Parker had never seen Harley happier than after he'd moved in.
"What if he's been assigned to my case?" Harley stood. Brushed off the knees of his jeans. Coiled the leash tighter. "They can't take me away from Miss Lopez, right?"
By the look on his face, Harley was already imagining worst-case scenarios. Parker set his mask on the dock and tugged off his hood so he could hear better. Something about the guy in the fancy suit walking toward them didn't sit right.
The man's hard-soled shoes thudded noisily on the dock boards. The dog tugged at the leash like she intended to find out if the man were friend or foe. Harley held her tight, and the man stopped just beyond the dog's reach. "Harley, I'm Sebastian Kilbro, your uncle's lawyer. He gave me something to give you." He tapped the manila envelope.
Harley took a step back, like he didn't want to get near anything that had been in his uncle's hands.
"Maybe he's sending you a birthday card," Parker said. "A week early." "He doesn't even know when my birthday is."
Kilbro pointed to the envelope. "Your uncle needs you to do something for him."
Harley stared at the guy. "Is he delirious?"
"He's completely lucid. And, I might add, trying to do something 'good'.
But he needs your help—and your friend's here. I presume this is Parker Buckman?"
Now Parker was pretty sure his face must have looked as stunned as Harley's.
"Your uncle says he has hard evidence—enough to put a very bad man in jail."
"Quinn Lochran." Harley spit the name out. "That loan shark who wanted me dead."
Kilbro nodded. "The district attorney is eager to work out a deal, but only if we can actually produce the evidence."
'A deal? The DA could get Harley's Uncle Ray released from prison?'
That didn't sound like good news to Parker.
"I don't know anything about any proof," Harley said. "So there's nothing I can do to help even if I wanted to—which I don't."
Kilbro smiled like he'd expected that. "He 'hid' the evidence and seems to think only you and your friend can find it." He waved the envelope. "It's all here in a letter from him, and it includes a special incentive for you. I'll be back tomorrow for your answer. When you accept, I'll give you the clue sheet from Ray." The man held out the envelope and shook it as if he expected Harley to take it.
But Harley stuffed his hands in his back pockets, still holding the leash.
The lawyer stared at him for a long moment, then handed the envelope to Parker instead.
"I got no time for Uncle Ray's little treasure hunt," Harley said. "I'm trying to help my foster mom out. She owns a coffee shop, and there've been all these burglaries around town."
Every store owner in town was on edge. Harley was too—though he'd never actually said it. Parker knew that Harley kept a baseball bat beside his bed at night. That said it all, right?
"I suggest"—Kilbro smiled the way some do when they think they're a lot smarter than those they're talking to—"you boys 'find' time. This is important."
"I'm not playing my uncle's game, Mr. Kilbro. Take that message back to him. I'm doing what I can to be sure the coffee shop isn't hit— and 'that's' important," Harley said. "And Parker is going to help me."
That last part was news to Parker.
...
