Tracer by Stevens Dustin

Author:Stevens, Dustin [Stevens, Dustin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-12-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gone With the Wind.

That was the first thing Drake thought as he parked the truck. Looked up at the enormous ranch house before him.

Two stories tall. Sweeping front porch. Thick white columns. Large trees dotting the front lawn.

“Damn,” Drake muttered. Turned the engine off.

This wasn’t a Montana cattle ranch. It was a southern cotton plantation.

On steroids.

Drake stepped out of the truck and walked towards the front door. Kade had offered to join him again, but he balked. Wasn’t sure how long he would be. Where he was going after meeting with Wanda.

How she would take having two young men show up on your doorstep.

Outside, the day was a carbon copy of the one before. And the dozen before that.

Milky white sky. One unending cloud that blanketed the western half of the state. Threatened to unleash snow at any point.

Blustery, cold air. The smell of pine and ice crystals in the air.

His shoes clinked against the hardwood porch as he approached. Pressed the doorbell. Heard chimes playing throughout the house.

Several moments passed as he stood waiting. Picked up the sound of footsteps approaching.

The door swung open to reveal a woman somewhere between late fifties and early seventies. So little of her original self remained though, it made pinpointing an age difficult.

Lips a bit too full. Skin a touch too tight. Makeup applied with a heavy hand. Hair that was an unnatural shade of auburn-orange.

She gave Drake a once over. Smiled and stepped to the side.

“Mr. Bell, please, come in.”

“Thank you,” Drake said. Stepped inside and wiped his feet. “I appreciate you meeting with me Ms. Pritchett.”

“Please, Wanda,” she said. Waved a hand at him. Led him into a parlor to the right.

Drake followed her into the room and took a seat in an armchair. Everything in the room looked to fit with the southern plantation motif.

Bookshelves lined with leather bound volumes. Furniture in red and gold designs. A baby grand piano.

“Can I get you anything?” Wanda asked. Settled herself down on the end of the couch across from him.

“Oh, no thank you,” Drake said. “You have a beautiful home here.”

Allowed his gaze to take it all in.

Again Wanda waved at him. “I know it’s a bit much, but my husband was from Georgia. Used to imagine himself as a Southern plantation owner.

“Gentleman Jay, that’s what he used to jokingly refer to himself as.”

Drake smiled. Nodded.

“I understand completely. I myself come from Tennessee.

Wanda smiled. Slapped her leg. “Oh, so you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I do,” Drake confirmed. “I know you must be quite busy, so I promise to keep this short.”

“Nonsense,” Wanda said. “Since Jay passed on, there isn’t much for me to do around here.”

“Oh,” Drake said. Cursed himself for not picking up on her use of the past tense when first speaking about her husband. “I had no idea.”

Again, careful not to dole out false apologies.

“That’s how I came to be on the Commission to begin with,” Wanda said. “When he passed two years ago, I stepped in to finish his term.

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