Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Hadn’t a certain someone promised coffee?
So, where was it?
Chapter 9
Masterson Capital Realty sat down river at the far edge of town, a hanging sign at the road and on the edge of the entrance roof facing the street and parking lot across the way. The three-storey Victorian, painted white with black trim and shutters to match the family’s realty branding, had once been the town’s first hospital. A plaque on a monument rock at the end of the driveway, across from the business’s paved parking lot, explained all the pertinent history and details if guests cared to read.
Malachi did not.
The polished rock worked perfectly as a leaning post for his shoulder while he scrolled through the many contacts in his phone for a not-so-familiar number. He figured Sonny Masterson would rather his uninvited guest not call through to Masterson Capital Realty’s front desk, and instead, prefer his private number. It wasn’t particularly hard to find when the man’s face hung from For Sale signs from the valley all up and down river.
There was a chance Sonny wasn’t at his father’s offices on a Wednesday afternoon. Property showings could be done whenever if a person had the motivation and time. Not to mention, the freedom of working in his family’s very successful business likely allowed Sonny the privilege of making his own schedule for the most part.
However, Malachi liked to plan when dealing with someone he didn’t particularly like. Partly because he refused to be forced to deal with people who weren’t worth his time or spit. Also, because there was a bit of a thrill of being one step ahead of someone when the intention was to catch them off guard.
As he currently intended to do.
Those were the shits for Sonny.
Perhaps a few bucks in the hand of the right kid who spent most of his time riding his BMX bike up and down both sides of the river gave Malachi the information he needed about the best time to catch Sonny Masterson at work. Five minutes with the kid, and a conversation over a slushy drink that started because the preteen liked Malachi’s bike, made it clear there wasn’t much else for the boy to do except ride his bike and people watch.
Lucky for him that the kid knew Sonny—and where he worked. A public place where he wouldn’t be quick to cause himself any issues. Especially when his future brother-in-law—who was not very happy to be his future brother-in-law in the first place—showed up with a few things to say.
“You’re aware the driveway on this side of the road isn’t meant for parking unless it’s someone who needs assistance, right?”
Malachi’s reaction to the pointed question—that could only be meant for him considering his Suzuki was the only thing parked in the rock-graveled driveway of the Victorian home-turned-office building—was to pocket his phone. He pushed off the rock monument as the phone slipped inside his leather jacket, grateful that Sonny had at least saved him the time of a phone call.
“Three-zero-six-two,” Malachi said.
Sonny’s shiny loafers crunched against the gray gravel as he approached, but his stoic expression didn’t change to say he felt any kind of way about Malachi verbalizing his cell number. “What about it?”
“Just checking if it was in fact you.”
“Three-five-six first,” Sonny returned with a tight smile. “Although, the phone company’s got everybody using the area code now too when you dial since there’s more people and—”
“I wish I cared,” Malachi interjected, already bored. “Did you see me from the window of your office, or ...?”
“Mine’s mostly cleaned out since I’m transferring to the Miramichi location in a couple of months. The new officer-holder is keeping the paperwork tidy in the between time, if you know what I mean.”
Not particularly, and Malachi wouldn’t pretend to, either. He couldn’t imagine showing up to work every day wearing tie and slacks with his smiling face hanging from signs at the ends of driveways of homes for sale. Shit, he didn’t even want an office when he worked. Steel-toed boots and labor that made his hands and back ache, though, he could do.
If the man just a few feet away, framed by the quiet entrance of the business behind him, felt put off by Malachi’s attitude, he didn’t show it. Sonny remained unbothered with his hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his pressed black slacks by the rolled-up sleeves of his silk button down dress shirt proved the man was halfway done with his workday.
“Anyway,” Sonny said, his square jaw setting firmer in his conviction when he pointed at the disabled parking sign just beyond the entrance of the driveway. “There’s a sign and whatnot. You’re gonna have to move the bike.”
Malachi glanced at the black machine in question. His helmet waited on the handlebars, the keys remained in the off position in the starter, and it would take him exactly two minutes to move the bike across the street to the proper parking lot before returning to his current task and conversation.