The Last Kind Words: A Novel by Tom Piccirilli

Author:Tom Piccirilli [Piccirilli, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 9780553906356
Amazon: B005LXUFOM
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2012-06-12T05:00:00+00:00

“There’s the boy,” my uncle said.

He was sixty-two and looked ten years younger. He wore dashing and debonair the way other men wore desperation. I could smell his moisturizer, exfoliants, veggie conditioners, and skin toners. His eyebrows had been trimmed. He was holding a glass of Glenlivet, his favorite liquor. With his free arm he pulled me into a tight clinch and kissed my forehead.

“It’s good to see you, Terrier. You know I should break your ass for dodging us the past few days.”

I hadn’t seen him in five years and couldn’t think of a thing I wanted to say to him. I clenched him back and my head felt emptier than it had been since the ranch. I felt protected and fortified. Hugging him was like hugging my father, who never hugged anyone. Grey clapped me on the back and I did the same to him. He shot me a smile and I returned it.

“Whatever’s been on your mind, let it go for the night,” he said. “All the same shit will be waiting for you when you come back to it. But for now let’s get soused in style.”

I stalled and held back a step as he turned for the dazzling staircase. Maybe I did have questions after all. They started buzzing me all at once. I wanted to know what kind of game Grey was running on the pretty newscaster and why he hadn’t kept her out of the family’s hair. I needed some perspective on what my parents had endured. I wanted to ask if he’d been to the doctor like Mal and how far the disease had progressed. He shouldn’t be drinking, that much was obvious. But I knew he wouldn’t stop, it was too much a part of who he was. Grey might not answer. He might freeze me out for ruining his night. But of all the Rands he was the one who’d learned to chatter the best. Usually just to play the ladies, but I thought if anyone might shoot the heavy breeze with me, it was Grey.

As we walked up the steps he said, “You like older women, right?”

“What?”

His chuckle broke deep in his chest. “Sure you do.”

“Look, I just wanted to—”

“They’re worldly. They’re self-affirming. They know their own needs, their likes and dislikes, and they aren’t afraid to share them with you. Don’t be put off.”

“Is this about infiltration?” I asked.

“If you’re lucky.” He sipped his drink. “The twentysomethings, even the thirtysomethings, are usually still trying to figure themselves out, and they think daytime television and therapy and Redbook quizzes are the way to do it. The forty-year-olds, they’re not called cougars for nothing.”

“Grey, the hell are you talking about?”

He looked me up and down. “You chose a nice suit. Wrong tie for it, but you did pretty good.”

We walked to the top tier and he led me to a table at the far corner. I supposed they were the best seats in the place, looking down on everyone else, with the best view of the sound.

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