Although this building is rather on the large side. Maybe I’ll enlist the help of the others, or if I do solve this case, I’ll get a decorating company in. I know that Jason Marshall has one.
Maybe I should call him for quotes.
Or maybe I should stop procrastinating and actually think about the case.
It would be a lot easier if I hadn’t already thought everything through around ten million times—and that’s just from this morning.
That said, I really, really need to come up with a theory of how to bring the killer to me. It’s incredibly hard without knowing their motive for having killed twice and attempted a third. I know that the police are following the Ryan-and-Penny trail, but it just doesn’t add up for me. The only connection I could find between Lena and Portia is that Portia used to babysit her when she was a teen. Hardly something worthy of killing for.
But according to Brody, Drake is dead set that that’s the right angle.
I think Drake is a damned fool. But what I think doesn’t matter to that righteous shit.
I huff and dip my brush into the paint again. One passing thought of him and I’m mad. It’s like I have a little switch where he’s concerned. One side is happy and the other is miserable. The only time it doesn’t move is when he’s doing something idiotic like kissing me. Then the switch is balanced in the middle.
And this is not solving this case.
“You know, boss, we can hear you singing downstairs. Grecia sent me up to make sure you weren’t being murdered.” Marshall grins, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“You need to get them fixed,” I remind him. “And Grecia should speak for herself. She ain’t winnin’ American Idol any time soon.”
He laughs. “A roller would get that done much quicker.”
I look at the brush, look at him, and shrug. “I know. But it’s therapeutic this way. A little arm-achy but therapeutic.”
“You’re not bringing any of that color crap into my office, are you?”
Slyly, I smile. “Oh, yeah. I was gonna call the local kindergarten and invite them in with their crayons.”
He widens his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he pales a little.
“Kidding!” I laugh, unable to hold it in any longer. “I’m just kidding. I found a gorgeous scarlet red for you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Work with one eye open, kid.”
He pauses for a moment then relaxes when he sees that I’m grinning. “I need a new boss.”
“Nah. They’d never pay you to play World of Warcraft the way I do.”
“Too true.”
“Was there somethin’ you needed?” I ask when he hovers in the doorway.
“Mallory bought the store.”
“Lena’s?” I pause, holding my brush away from the wall. A drop of paint falls onto my foot.
“Yes, ma’am. And the first thing she did was fire Penny.” He shrugs when I open my mouth. “Store records say that Penny was only ever on a temporary contract despite being the assistant manager. Her employment was able to be terminated at any point. And Mallory did it.”
When I pull up to my parents’ house and see Drake’s truck parked at the side of the street, I want to turn around and go home. I wasn’t aware he was becoming a permanent staple in family dinner.
It’s been two days since our fight at the station, and aside from when he handed me a warrant the morning after, I haven’t seen him since. If not for the constant buzzing inside my head, I’d say that the last two days have been rather peaceful.
I wanted to share the information Marshall gave me earlier with my brothers, but I’m sure as hell not saying a thing when he’s around. I don’t believe that this will impact the investigation anymore; it’s more just gossip. Something interesting. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get Mallory on the phone this afternoon to verify it, so I’m stuck with the speculation borne from the results of Marshall’s spying.
Maybe he plays less video games than I thought.
I wait in my car for a long moment, apprehension coiling in my stomach. Do I really want to go in there? No. Do I have to? Not really. Will Nonna tear out my ovaries and force-feed me them if I don’t?
Yes. Just as soon as I’ve gotten married and given her some more great-grandbabies.
I have a few years of safety, so it might be worth the risk…
After a deep breath, I get out of my car and walk down the path to the house. Mom’s flowers are coming out in full force now that it’s a lot warmer, and the brightness and inevitable work makes me ever more thankful that I was the kid born with black fingers instead of green ones.
I can’t even grow a dandelion in my backyard.
“Her eggs-a getting older!” Nonna exclaims, waving a wooden spoon ferociously in the air. “She needs-a babies!”
“Nope.” I turn around and open the front door. Which I just closed a second ago.
“She’s talking about Amelia,” Drake says, his voice traveling across the living room to my right.
I look at him, wishing my heart wouldn’t do that fairytale pitter-patter bullshit. “Well, I can get on board with that.”
“She needs-a them soon!” Nonna continues. “You men, you-a okay! You always work. Women? Pah! Tick-a tock-a, Devin!”
I grin, leaning against the fridge. “Ahh. I see you told her you have a ring.”
“She keeps insisting I go to her work and propose to her! She’s damn crazy!”
“No!” Nonna cries, brandishing her spoon again and sending hot water flinging across the room. “You-a crazy! You need-a babies, too! You need to grow up!”
“You know, Nonna, you’re sayin’ this to me, but at least I’m planning on marriage.” Dev looks at me slyly, taking a few steps away from me. “Noelle is still single!”
“Pah! She-a dating though, si?” She looks to me. “Gio is nice, no?” She waggles her eyebrows.
Oh, Jesus. No. “Never, ever wiggle your eyebrows at me like that again,” I warn her, shuddering. “And si, Nonna. Gio is very nice.”
“She’s only sayin’ that so you’ll be happy!” Dev protests.
“Actually, douchebag, we’re going on a second date! So ha!”
“Si, si!” Nonna claps excitedly. “When? A-where?”
“Uh, next week some time, and I’m not sure. He’s going to call me again.”
She smiles, her whole face lighting up like I just told her that I’m marrying him and getting pregnant with triplets on my honeymoon. And it isn’t a lie. We are having a second date. Email is a wonderful thing.
I nibble on my thumbnail as she turns back to the stove, no longer splashing boiling water or harassing anyone about their relationship status. I feel eyes on me though, and when I glance toward the doorway, I see Drake standing there, his arms folded, his gaze intense beneath the messy hair on his forehead.
I don’t know how he pulls off that surfer-esque hairstyle. I just know that he does. It looks good slicked back for work and looks good all scruffy like it is now. Maybe it’s his jaw, too. Maybe it works because of how delightfully messy his stubble is.
He really is so much prettier when he doesn’t talk.
Mind you, so is Nonna.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask Mom at the exact second a shot rings out.
Devin and Drake both stand to full attention, alert, and Drake’s hand goes to his hip, where he’s no doubt hiding a gun.
Mom smiles and looks at me. “Where do you think?”
“Does he have the targets out?”
She gives me her “of course he has the damn targets out” look.
“He has targets in the yard?” Drake asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes,” Mom replies nonchalantly. “Good luck trying to take them away. Sheriff Bates is around more often than not. Somethin’ about not having the time to go into Austin and those fancy places with all their rules.” Her eyes glitter as Drake gets more and more confused.
“I’m goin’ out there,” I say, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge.
“Girls don’t-a shoot guns for fun!” Nonna shrieks, the spoon coming out again.