The Famous Mafioso Hired Me to Hear Him, and the Man in the Cell Is Not Who They Convicted novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: Thin Ice

I did not wait for the prosecutor to find me.

I called her from the boat house through my father's relay line.

She said she would meet us at noon on the public beach at the end of the Irondequoit road, where nobody would ask why two people stood at the edge of the lake ice.

Teo wore an old canvas barn coat from a peg by the door.

It smelled of motor oil, and it hid the beige uniform, and the monitor sat under the cuff of his trouser leg.

He had not said a word about the photograph.

He had read it over my shoulder, and his hands had gone white at the knuckles.

Then he had taken the phone out of my fingers and laid it face down on the table.

"They are showing us what they can reach," he said aloud.

His voice had changed overnight.

It was lower and steadier, and I could hear the Buffalo in it.

"I know," I said.

"We go to the shore anyway."

The old man with the gray beard drove us in his truck, with a second club man in the back seat.

The lake lay under a bright sky, white and flat to the horizon, with ice heaved up in ridges and a dark crack of open water far out.

The beach was empty.

There was a closed ice cream stand and a lifeguard chair with snow on the seat.

We stood at the edge of the shore ice with the wind coming across it in a long raw line.

Teo stood at my shoulder and looked at the horizon.

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