Page 4 of Goose

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Goose

He stood and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “You’re a hard man to reach, Mister Pearce.”

I gave a half-hearted apologetic smile. “My apologies, counselor. I don’t answer phone numbers I don’t recognize.”

“I must apologize as well.” He sat down and raked his fingers through his silver hair. “I learned of Mister Reeves passing rather late.”

“No worries. I’ve been busy planning the funeral.”

“Considering your voicemail was incessantly full, I opted to send the letter.” He slid a pile of paperwork across the desk. He pulled his sun-spotted hand away. “As I stated, I’m terribly sorry for your untimely loss.”

The loss was going to haunt me for a lifetime. I realized Ghost’s death wasn’t a result of my actions. I was left to wonder, however, if action on my part could have prevented it. I’d live with that wonder bottled within me until the day I died.

I gave a nod of appreciation. “Thank you.”

“As you may or may not know, Mister Reeves inherited a good portion of Miss Northrop’s fortune, including her home on the beach. The paperwork I’ve given you explains in writing what I’ll attempt to summarize verbally.”

I viewed attorneys in the same light I viewed cops. They couldn’t be trusted. As Mister Wicks situated himself in his leather seat, I thumbed through the edges of the paperwork he’d provided me.

He laced his fingers together and peered over the desk. “The copy of the will I’ve provided outlines Mister Reeves’ legal intentions. You’ve been awarded his home on the beach, several million dollars in cash and investments, multiple motorcycles, and his personal effects. Additionally, Mister Reeves left a letter addressed to you. He asked that you consider reading it to the club, but he didn’t insist upon it. There’s no mention of the letter in his will, therefore you’re not bound to do so if you’re uncomfortable sharing the contents.”

My mind shot to the notion of Ghost knowing he was going to die. It made no sense. Ghost may have loved Abby, but her death wouldn’t have prompted him to take his own life. He was killed by a drunk driver. His death was an accident, and I wasn’t willing to accept anything else as being fact.

I shot a glare at the silver-haired devil. “You’re saying it was a suicide mission? That he knew he was dying?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Not at all. In fact, quite the contrary. He left the letter two months prior to his passing. Miss Northrop left him a similar letter. I’m sure her doing so prompted him to do the same. A kind gesture I must say.”

Eager to see what Ghost had to say prior to his death, I shifted my focus to the stack of paperwork. “Is it in here?”

“It is not.” He slid a sealed envelope across the massive desk. “You can read it now, or at your leisure. For clarification’s sake, I have no knowledge of the letter’s contents.”

I opened the envelope and removed the folded sheet of paper. Upon unfolding it, I grinned at the sight of Ghost’s nearly illegible handwriting.

Emotion catapulted into my throat. Fighting against it, I settled into my seat and began to read.

After finishing the letter, I looked up. “Did he mention me delivering a car in the will?”

He nodded. “He certainly did.”

I chuckled. “That prick.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Pardon me?”

I folded the letter and slid it into the envelope. “He knew how much I detested driving. My ex-wife left me a minivan as a joke. Son-of-a-bitch has been sitting in my driveway since she left. I’d rather have my ass whipped than reduce myself to drive a car.”

He coughed a forced laugh. “I take it you’re a motorcycle man, through and through?”

“That’d be an accurate assumption.”

“I haven’t seen the car in question. By the description he gave, however, it sounds like quite an automobile.”

The car in question was a 1967 Shelby GT500 that had been modeled after Eleanor in the movie Gone in Sixty Seconds. It had nearly a thousand horsepower and was a flawless work of art that had been hand-crafted by a man who appreciated anything that was loud and fast.

“He built it with his bare hands,” I said, recalling the countless hours Ghost spent fabricating the car in the clubhouse’s garage. “Piece by piece.”

The thought of the car going to someone outside the club went against the grain of my belief. Nonetheless, I had every intention of granting Ghost’s wish.

I hoisted the pile of legal documents. “I’m guessing you’ve got some paperwork I need to sign?”

“A considerable amount of it. I can have Miss McClure get the conference room ready.” He arched an eyebrow. “If you’re ready, that is.”

Accepting Ghost’s death as being reality wasn’t going to be an easy task. Although I’d viewed his dead body and seen his casket lowered into the earth, I was living in denial of the fact that he was truly gone.

Signing the paperwork would undoubtedly prompt me to accept his absence. That acceptance would be the first step in the healing process.

Delivering his one-of-a-kind muscle car to someone outside the club would be the second.