Covenant by Brandon Massey Read Free Book Online Page B

to know if he was getting through to the kid.  He probably wasn’t.  Most likely, Reuben viewed him as a big pain in the ass, and would agree to anything to get him out of his face.               
                “When you talk to your mom, tell her I came by.”  Anthony started for the door.  “And hey, we should hang out sometime soon.  Maybe we can go fishing.”
                Reuben blinked.  “Fishing?”
                Why had he suggested fishing?  He hadn’t been fishing in fifteen years.          
                “Fishing, or ah, something else,” he said.  “We’ll see.  I’ll give you a call.”
                Reuben spun back to the computer, and hit a button.  The music blasted out of the speakers again at full volume.  
                Anthony had been dismissed.
     

6
     
                After his visit to the cemetery, Anthony went home.
                They lived in an eighty-year-old, Queen Anne Victorian in Grant Park, a historic Atlanta neighborhood of Victorians, Craftsman bungalows, quaint red brick sidewalks, and stately elms, maples, and oaks.  The public park, the oldest in the city, was home to Zoo Atlanta and the Cyclorama, a popular Civil War exhibition.  Their house was located on a wooded, one-acre parcel around the corner from the park.  
                They’d moved into the place six months into their marriage, and they’d done extensive renovations to the exterior and interior.  The new fiberglass siding was hunter-green, with black trim.  A new spear point, wrought-iron fence enclosed the property.  They’d re-sodded the yard with Bermuda grass and installed mulch and flower beds, too; the impatiens Lisa had planted last month were looking good. 
                He pressed a remote control affixed to the sun visor.  The gate to the driveway swung inward. 
                The plan to purchase an old house and renovate it originally had been Lisa’s idea, but Anthony had quickly warmed to the possibilities.  He wasn’t a fan of the housing subdivisions that consumed Atlanta’s suburbs, with their tyrannical homeowners associations and cookie cutter floor plans.  They’d spent a bundle on the house and all the work, but he’d discovered an unexpected pleasure in restoring something from the past, in putting a shiny new gloss on history.  
                He parked in the three-car garage, another addition.  He flipped down the sun visor and unclipped the envelope. 
                The note had said to be online at eighteen hundred hours.  Less than two hours away.  He took the envelope inside with him.    
                The interior was an elegant blend of Victorian era charm and contemporary style.  Rich hardwood floors.  Traditional pocket windows, so long you could step out of them and onto the wrap-around veranda.  Vaulted ceilings.  Hand-carved crown molding, wainscoting, and intricate woodwork.  Comfortable modern furniture in soft tones, with gentle lines.  State-of-the art appliances, and wiring throughout the house for the stereo system.           
                He took the staircase off the main hallway to the basement.  The finished basement was comprised of a media room that contained their home theater set-up, an entertainment area with a billiards table and mini-bar, a fitness room full of free weights and a treadmill, storage space, and his office. 
                His office was almost pure Spartan: a large, windowless room with white walls and beige carpeting.  A simple desk stood in the center, and held his laptop computer and a laser-jet printer/scanner/fax machine.  A bookcase contained his most-frequently used reference texts, and a mini-refrigerator full of bottled water and snacks occupied a niche underneath the desk.