If there’s anything worse than her dinner dates, it’s her church dates. As long as he doesn’t suggest a quickie in the back room like the last one did, I might leave with some semblance of sanity. It’s still a long shot, but I’ll take it.
Alison slumps onto the sofa next to me and hands me a cocktail glass. I pat her leg, thankful my brother picked someone awesome to marry. And by awesome, I mean someone who will make me margaritas and watch trashy TV with me just because it gets her away from her hellions. Hellions that include my brother.
I’m not even paying attention to the show. I’m just staring blankly at the television as I try, still unsuccessfully, to make sense of this case.
“You need a break,” Alison announces.
“Yep. But it’s out of the question until this is done. You know that.”
“I know. We’re still going for a girls’ weekend when it’s done.”
A whole weekend away from Holly Woods and Drake Nash? Sign me up. “I’m in.”
“Of course you’re in. It’s nonnegotiable. I’d take you even if you fought.” She grins.
Her smile is infectious, and I find my own lips curving up. “If you could outfight me, you would, at least. But props for your enthusiasm.”
“I’d give it a damn good try,” she muses, sipping on her cocktail. “Or I’d just get Trent to do it.”
“Nah. He’s too afraid to fight me ever since I was sixteen and almost broke his arm.” I giggle when she widens her eyes at me. “Of course he didn’t tell you.”
“What—how?”
“He was annoyin’ me. Something about me dating, I think. Anyway, I snapped and put him in an arm lock until he squealed. It was fun. He’d just graduated from the police academy, top of his class, and his little sister had just bested him.” Another giggle escapes, and I sip my drink.
“No wonder he never told me!” Alison breaks into laughter. “Oh my. He’s not gonna live that one down.”
I grin and get up as there’s a knock at my door. “Please don’t. He threatens to revoke my gun permits if I bring any of that up.” I open the door.
“Any of what?” Drake’s voice cuts through my amusement.
I turn, swallowing. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Hello to you, too. Can I come in?”
“Do you have to?”
“Not really. We can have this conversation standing here, but unless you want the whole block to know what I’m about to tell you…”
“Is it work stuff?”
His eyes darken with heat. “I’m not here for a booty call.”
Alison coughs from the front room and stands up. “I should probably be getting back now. And not telling my husband that I’m leaving his sister alone with the guy he answers to every day,” she adds on a mumble, making me narrow my eyes at her. She kisses my cheek. “There’s still half a pitcher in the kitchen. Maybe put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Bye, Drake.”
“Bye, Alison,” he says, a confused look on his face as she gets into her car. When my sister-in-law has pulled away from my house and disappeared around the corner, Drake turns back to me. “Well? Am I allowed in?”
“Are you sure you’re not here for a booty call?”
“Noelle.”
I sigh and open the door fully. “Come on, then.”
He stalks past me and into the front room, where he proceeds to sit down on the sofa. In my space. Where I was just sitting. I take a deep breath and close the door. Then I grab my half-full glass from the coffee table. I drink it in one go, ignoring Drake’s chuckle as I storm past and refill it in the kitchen.
“That much of a bad day, huh?” he asks, his eyes on my glass.
“And it just got better!” I inject every ounce of sarcasm my body is capable of into those five words.
“It’s always thrillin’ to know I brighten your day, cupcake.”
“Oh, you do. You’re like my own personal solar eclipse.”
His lips pull up into a smirk, his eyes dancing with laughter. “You wound me.”
“My gun is next to me,” I warn him. “Don’t make me give in to temptation.”
He laughs, his head going back onto the cushions of the sofa. I try to ignore the flutters in my stomach at the sound and curl up on the corner of the couch. I bring my glass to my lips and sip demurely, wanting to chug the whole thing down instead.
“Keeping Up With the Kardashians, huh?”
I look from the TV to Drake and back to the TV again. “Blame Alison. I only watch E! for Total Divas.”
“Total Divas? That’s that WWE thing, right?”
“The reality show? Yeah.”
Drake nods. “Nikki has a real nice ass.”
“Really? You’re here to discuss the anatomy of divas, huh?” I raise my eyebrows.
Another laugh. Note to self: Margaritas and Drake’s laughter do not go well together. Or they go very well. It depends how you like your butterflies in your tummy. I happen to not like them. At all. In the slightest. Especially if they involve him.
“No, not at all.” He smiles and shifts so he’s facing me. “We found out something real interestin’ today.”
I look at him expectantly, and when he doesn’t reply, I say, “What was it?”
“Wondered how long you’d wait,” he teases. “We finally got a look at Lena’s will. Ryan may have been her husband, but he isn’t the owner of the store.”
What? “Who is?”
“Who was is what you should be asking.”
“Daniel?” I gasp, leaning forward and almost spilling my drink. I switch hands and lick the liquid off the back of my hand as Drake continues.
“Got it in one. Now, we’re trying to figure out the legalities. Her will states that, in the event of Daniel’s death, the store goes to her parents. It should be simple, but Daniel’s will states that everything he owns at the time of death goes to his parents, with the exception of his motorcycle, which belongs to Lena.”
“So…Lena’s parents could have his bike, and his parents could have her store?” When Drake nods, I wrinkle my nose. “What sense does that make?”
“It doesn’t. Perhaps that was the point. Maybe their final wishes were supposed to make as much sense as their deaths.”
“They couldn’t have planned these,” I point out, setting my almost-empty glass down. “How could they have thought for a second they’d be brutally murdered? And by the same person? It’s illogical, Drake. There has to be something bigger at play here than just two best friends screwing around. You don’t fuck around with your will.”
“I know that. You know that. But these wills are three years old. The only thing that makes sense is that Lena stipulates that her daughter owns twenty-five percent of the store, with Dr. Gentry handling it on her behalf until she turns twenty-one and can either sell or step into the business herself.”
Another nail in the screwed-up coffin that is Lena Perkins’s legacy.
“When were both wills written?”
“Three years ago, like I said.”
“What date?” I run my thumb across my bottom lip, ignoring the way Drake’s eyes flick there. “Was it the same date?”
“Let me find out.” He pulls his phone out. With his eyes still on my mouth, he dials a number and then holds the device to his ear. “Charlotte. Yeah… Check the dates on Lena and Daniel’s wills… Uh huh… Interesting. Thank you.” He puts the phone on the table and looks at me. “May twenty-seventh. The same day. Signed by the same lawyer.”
“They wrote them together.” My gaze drifts away and falls on the credits of the Kardashians. “Holy shit. Drake,” I grab his arm. “Is there a history of mental illness with Daniel? Do you know?”
“No idea. Why?”
“I didn’t see anything in the files Marsh gave me, but what if the wills were the result of a suicide pact?”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I clamp my hand over his mouth to stop him.
“It’s not unrealistic. They’ve been together their whole lives. We already know Lena suffered postpartum depression. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that Daniel suffered depression too and they decided this!”
Drake narrows his eyes. “You sound way too excited about this possibility.”