Read Online The Tell-Tale Con by Aimee Gilchrist - Free Book Online

horrible to traverse once winter set in.  You’d think with all the money these people had, they’d pave the road.  Or at least throw some pebbles down to help with traction and cut down on mud. 
    â€œThat’s Nate’s car.”  He pointed to the Jeep like he might have been talking about some other car and it needed a descriptor.  I glanced around to be sure, but it was definitely the only car. 
    â€œWell, then.  Let’s do this thing.”  I released the seatbelt and hopped out.  It was windy and cold up here on top of the mountain, but the sun was bright and warm, and it smelled like pine trees and deliciously cool air. 
    Harrison climbed out and took a moment to zip up his jacket before we approached the door.  I didn’t think he was cold.  I thought he was stalling.  It was no business of mine how he chose to deal with his issues, but I would have burst into the house and punched Nestor in the face. 
    The front door was, not surprisingly, made of glass, streak free and gleaming in the mid-morning sun.  I couldn’t see a lock mechanism.  Maybe, in addition to not caring about being seen streaking by the neighbors, people in the mountains didn’t worry about locking up.  Harrison hit the doorbell located to the right of the doorframe, and it chimed cheerfully, sounding like someone playing elevator music on a pan flute, part two. 
    No one answered.  My fingertips were starting to freeze, so I put my hands in my pockets.  It was cold up here.  While we waited I asked, “What are you going to say?”
    Harrison shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I guess I’ll play it cool to start.  Ask him if he remembers the whole demon thing from the party or the fair.  Maybe he’ll just come clean and say it was a prank without me having to say anything at all.  Nate’s pretty bad with the pranks.  His parents took away his car when he wouldn’t stop pranking his dad.  So mostly he’s stopped now.” 
    When we stood there for another long second with no response, Harrison pushed the doorbell again.  I could hear the song floating through the house.  One would have thought that inside it would have been louder, but Nate didn't coming running.  Maybe he didn’t want to talk to Harrison.  Or maybe he just didn’t want to lose his Jeep again for pulling the demon prank. 
    Sighing, Harrison pulled his keys from the pocket of his jacket, an enormous jumble of metal, and sorted through it until he found the key he desired.  He moved to the side of the door, and inserted the key into a lock that was so tiny and unobtrusive that I hadn’t seen it.  For such a small locking mechanism, it sure made a loud noise, clanking like prison doors when Harrison turned it.  He pulled on the right side of the double doors, sliding it back into the wall.  A pocket door.  Well, sure.  Why not?  If you live up in the mountains, without fear of wild animals or indecent exposure, then why not have glass pocket doors? 
    Why was I not rich?  I would find something to do with all that money that wasn’t this stupid.  Inside, the entire bottom floor was open to our view.  Not a single dividing wall that I could see, except for a small partitioned area in the corner that was most likely a second bathroom.  It was like an ocean of cedar.  Everywhere.  And all the furniture was made out of logs.  The bedrooms were above us on the second level, which curved around the main living area and disappeared back into the house, because no one wanted the process of sleeping to stop them from having twenty-six foot ceilings. 
    â€œNate?”  Harrison’s shoes squeaked against the uber polished wood as he moved into the center of the living room.  There was no answer.  I understood wanting to hide from your family, but this was a little