4
A hand. That was all that Rand had unearthed before tossing the shovel.
“Let’s call Brett and T,” I said. “They’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, go call the golden child.” Rand stepped away from the hole. “I don’t give a damn what you do or who you call, but this mess better be cleaned up by morning.”
The ladies and I watched as he abandoned us, slamming the truck door and gunning it down the road.
“I never liked him,” Mrs. Janowski said.
“He’s working through stuff,” I said, wondering why I felt a need to defend him.
Mrs. Janowski shook her first. “I’ll give him something to work through.”
“Enough about Rand,” I said, pointing to the hand. “What happened?”
Mrs. Janowski shook her head. “We couldn’t get much out of Ida.”
“But she must have said something to lead you here.”
“She was
