The door echoed again and like a dream, there he was. Six-foot-two and as dashing as he’d ever been—even in his wrinkled suit.
“My word,” America still hadn’t stolen his British accent, “there’s a little sparrow come to visit. Officer, did you let this bird in?”
Deadpan, the officer said, “Five minutes.”
The cuff jangled as he snapped them into place and walked from the room, leaving us alone.
“No humor at all in this place. Awful hard for a bloke like me to get along. Tell me, has sarcasm died along with common courtesy? How you been, love?”
My mouth dropped open. Never a concern with the future, die or not die, it was all the same to Amos. Though typical behavior for him, it always came a shock for me.
“Amos, you’re about to be charged with murder, and you’re asking me how I’m doing?”
“Well, clearly my condition isn’t ideal. By the looks of you, you’ve either got a shiny new eating disorder, or you’re some kind of new age supermodel.” He framed his face with open palms. “Like zombie glam, or something.”
“Please focus. I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? Why would you help me?” Considering our history, his question had merit. “I nearly ruined your whole life. You owe me nothing.”
He had a point. “Because I’m a fool, I guess.”
A sneaky grin crept up his cheek. “Unless you still have feelings for an old flame, eh? Fancy another go at it, Love?”
“No, I don’t.” I pressed my lips together and gathered my composure. “But I don’t think you’re guilty of murder, and I don’t want you going down for it.”
Amos sobered quickly. His hazel eyes fixed on the table. “Then I stand a chance with your help, Sparrow.”
The nickname tightened my throat with emotion. Too many memories, no time for any of it.
“They don’t have enough to hold you. It won’t take much to get you out,” I told him.
“Who do they think you are?"
“I’m your sister, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed, and in the next instant I knew he’d convinced himself that it was true. One of the first tricks he’d ever taught me, you have to believe the lie before you convince anyone else.
“I’ll need to hire you a lawyer. Where’s your money hidden?”
He scoffed. “I’m broke. I never hang on to anything that long, you know that.”
“I know you say that, but I also know you used to have a locker on pier forty-nine with eighty thousand dollars stuffed inside. Where’s the newest nest egg?”
His nose twitched once, my only indication that I’d breached his defenses. My familiarity with his practices left him unhinged.
“Bus station, downtown locker combination is,” he drew in a deep breath and blew it out all at once, “your birthday. Locker is the same as the day I walked out on you. There’s more than enough inside.”
From any other guy it might have felt as though he still held a candle for me. Coming from Amos, it meant nothing. He used familiar dates to remember nonessential patterns and sequences. Standard practice in the life of a con-man.
“I’ll have you out by the end of the day,” I said before I left.
Coming Summer 2019
Sparrows & Sacrifice Page 30
