“I’m sure I would’ve heard if he’d died. It’s just ... when I left town, he was chief of police. I very much doubt Hunter would be okay working for him.”
“You’re right on that. Hunter came in after his father lost his position.”
“And when was that?”
“About five years ago. Before that, I think Hunter was working over in Hemlock Cove. He spent a few years there under someone named Terry Davenport. I think they grew close. It was Terry who came in and ultimately relieved Greg Ryan of his position.”
This was all gossip I’d missed while out of town. I wanted to ask about Hunter when I’d called my mother, but I feared she would tell him about my interest. Even worse, I feared she’d figure out why I cared. He was the one thing I could never shake about Shadow Hills.
“Why was he removed?”
“Because of the drunk driving. And beating his wife, though he denied that to the bitter end. And she helped. The cops here overlooked it for a long time. Hunter stepped in to save his mother a few times as a teenager, getting a beating or two himself for the effort. That’s why he went to live with his grandparents across town before graduation.”
“I know about all of this.” Hunter had confided in me a time or two, mostly when he was at his most vulnerable. “I don’t know why his father was finally removed.”
“It was the other chief. Hunter must’ve let a few things slip, because that guy came in guns blazing. He had friends in high places and there was enough evidence on Greg to oust the entire department. Terry served as interim chief until a new one could be appointed, a guy who used to work in Detroit and wanted away from the city. Things have been quiet ever since.”
“And Hunter came in sometime after?”
“Weeks after. Terry eased the transition himself.”
“You know a lot about the situation.”
“Terry had coffee in here every day when he was in town. We got to know one another. He’s a good guy. He still stops in about once a week, when he needs a break from the antics of Hemlock Cove. It’s only a twenty-minute drive.”
Hemlock Cove. It was known as Walkerville when I was growing up. Then, about the time I was going to college, they rebranded themselves as a tourist town for witches. Everyone in the area thought it was a terrible idea, but it turned out to be a stroke of genius, because the town has thrived as others in the area struggled.
Witches. That made me think of the Ouija board. I was about to ask my grandfather what he knew regarding its origin when I thought better of it. He would think Alice and I were doing more than drinking if I told him what we’d witnessed. Besides, under the hammering of my hangover, I was starting to question what really had happened. Perhaps we imagined it, or somehow made it happen without realizing what we were doing.
“Do you think Hunter is happy?” I really was curious as I watched Grandpa turn on the grill.
“I think he grew into a good man who is still figuring things out,” Grandpa replied. “Life was never easy for Hunter. Things are better now, though his father is still around, making things difficult sometimes.”
That was another thing I’d been wondering about. “What about his mother?”
“She stayed with her husband. He doesn’t talk to Hunter, which is exactly how Hunter probably wants it, but she won’t talk to him either. They tell anyone who will listen that it was some sort of dastardly plan by Hunter to wrest control of the department away from his father. As far as I know, they still live out in that house on the lake. It’s fallen into disrepair, and he spends the money from his pension on booze.”
That sounded about right. I’d never liked Hunter’s father. He was a horrible man, mean and ill-tempered. He went out of his way to be gracious to me whenever we’d crossed paths, but I figured that was simply because I was from a prominent town family and he didn’t want to risk ticking off Grandpa. I never understood how Hunter turned out to be such a strong individual the way his father was always trying to break him down.
“Well, I hope Hunter is happy,” I said, moving to the coffee machine so I could fill the additional filters. When the rush hit, it was best to be able to grab a filter and just slip it inside rather than deal with ripping apart finicky bags.
“I’m sure you do,” Grandpa said with a smile, causing me to fix him with a suspicious look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I was edgy, and only part of it was because of the hangover.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Grandpa turned his back to me, pouring oil on the grill and watching it warm. “Do you want breakfast to help with that hangover before people start arriving?”
Breakfast sounded wonderful. What I wanted even more was an explanation. “What did you mean by that?” I refused to let it go. “If you’re suggesting that something is going on between Hunter and me ... well ... that’s just ludicrous.”
His eyes were full of sympathy when he turned back. “I know nothing is going on with you and Hunter ... yet.”
He just had to throw in that last word. “It’s not going to happen. We’re adults now. We have nothing in common.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You both like certain things: hikes in the hills, coffee in the morning, taunting Detroit Lions fans.”
“The stuff of great romances.” I rolled my eyes. “We were kids when we were together.”
“And I think you still care about him. That’s neither here nor there, though. I’m not going to get involved in your personal life. That’s not my way.”
I couldn’t swallow my snort. “Since when? You’ve always stuck your nose in everybody’s business. If they share blood with you, you tell them how to live their lives.”
“Only if they’re doing it wrong.”
“Oh, so everybody in this family but you is living life wrong, huh?”
“Pretty much.” He didn’t seem bothered by the assertion. “Do you want to know what your problem is?”
“No.” I turned back to the coffee filters. “I don’t have a problem. I’m perfectly happy, thrilled even, to be here.”
“Yeah, you’re full of it. That’s not what I’m talking about. The job stuff will work itself out when you’re ready. You’ll start writing again when you’re ready. I’m talking about your other problem.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Your problem is that you hide your emotions. You feel the need to bury them. Do you want to know why?”
Ugh. He always asked that question. I hated it. “No. I want to talk about something other than me.”
“We’re talking about you right now.” He was firm enough that I knew he wouldn’t let me weasel out of the conversation. “The reason you’re so closed off is because your mother was too open. She foisted conversations you weren’t comfortable with on you at a young age and you never got over it.
“Like ... do you remember when you got your first period?” he continued. “She announced it to everybody in the family, as if they should throw a parade or something. You were mortified.”
I was still mortified sixteen years later. “I really think we should talk about something else.”
He barreled forward as if he hadn’t heard me. “You got so frustrated she was telling anyone who’d listen that you blurted out the truth. You’d actually started your period six months before then and simply didn’t tell anyone because you knew she would be obnoxious about it.”
“Can we talk about something other than my first period?”
“Hey, I don’t want to talk about it either.” He gave me a reproving look. “Trust me. There’s no man who wants to talk about his granddaughter’s period — unless he’s some gross SOB who should be shot anyway. That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“Your mother being so open made you want to do the exact opposite, so you closed yourself off. That’s why you’re the way you are.”
He sounded so sure of himself that, for a moment, I questioned whether he was right. Then I made a face. “Hunter a
nd I aren’t getting together. It won’t happen. We’re not kids any longer.” And, besides, I silently added, he showed exactly zero interest in me the previous day. He was interested in work, nothing more.
“If you say so.” Grandpa picked up a spatula. “Where did we land on breakfast?”
“I could eat,” I said, earning a grin from him.
“Your usual?”
“You remember my usual?”
“I remember everybody’s usual. Hash browns, eggs over medium, whole wheat toast, and sausage links. Sometimes you’ll have ham, but you lean toward the links. David prefers French toast doused in a sea of syrup. I expect you to take a plate out to him at the gas station in about an hour, by the way. He’s a slow starter when he opens.”
“I guess it’s good your memory is intact.” I flicked my eyes to the front of the restaurant. The front door was still locked, but somebody stood outside. “Do the customers line up before the doors open?”
“No. Why?”
“Because someone is out there.” I squinted for a better look. “I think it’s Hunter.”
Grandpa straightened. “He’s here?”
I nodded. “Maybe he has more questions about Roy’s death. Speaking of that, do you know who would want to kill him? According to just about everybody who works here, that list is long and sundry.”
I waited for Grandpa to answer. When he didn’t, I turned back ... and found the spot in front of the grill deserted.
“No way.” He’d bolted. He knew Hunter was there to question him, so he took off and left me to handle the situation. “Ugh. Men.”
I stomped to the front of the restaurant, struggling with the lock. It had always been tough. When I finally managed to open it, Hunter looked sheepish.
“Sorry I’m here so early,” he started.
“It’s okay.” I locked the door behind him and motioned for him to follow. I had no idea where my grandfather had decided to hide — odds were he was up in my apartment — but I had no intention of leaving Hunter hanging. “Coffee?”
“Is it ready?”
I nodded. “I’m hungover. I spent the night hanging with Alice and we drank way more than was smart. There’s definitely coffee.”
He smirked at my answer. “Coffee’s good.” He sat at the counter and waited for me to deliver the cup, appreciatively inhaling the intoxicating aroma before sipping. “Still as good as I remember.”
“You don’t even come in here for coffee?” I felt bad, as if I’d somehow cut him off from something great. “You know, you don’t have to avoid this place. You can come here whenever you want. Just because I wasn’t here ... .”
“That’s not the only reason,” he said hurriedly.
“Okay, well ... you’re still welcome.”
“I know. It’s just weird because it’s your family. They’re not my family, even though there were times they felt like it. Losing them, on top of losing you ... .” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?” He looked genuinely confused.
I thought about what my grandfather had said. Could he be right? Was I closed off? If so, was it something I could fix? Heck, did I even want to fix it?
“I’m sorry about all of it,” I said finally. “I knew that the distance would be the end of us and yet I held on too tight. I couldn’t help myself. Then, when you couldn’t move down state with me, I told myself it was because you didn’t care. I knew that wasn’t true.”
“It definitely wasn’t true.” His green eyes clouded over. “I wanted to be with you. I just couldn’t. There was no way I could make it work financially.”
“And I was too self-involved to see that.”
“I wouldn’t say you were self-involved.”
“No?” I arched a dubious eyebrow. “Most everyone I know says I’m self-involved. There’s no reason to lie and spare my feelings.”
“Yeah, well ... .” He pursed his lips, and then changed the subject. “Is your grandfather here? I need to question him. He disappeared yesterday afternoon even though he knew I was looking for him.”
That was news to me. “You haven’t talked to him at all?”
He shook his head and sipped again. “Nope. He took off and when I stopped at his house your grandmother said he wasn’t home, but his truck was parked in the garage.”
That didn’t sound like my grandfather. Usually he tackled a problem immediately — unless it was a minor annoyance and then he foisted the irritation off on us. “I ... um ... .” I glanced over my shoulder, over the swinging doors, and found the spot in front of the grill still empty. “I don’t know where he is.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. Of course, it wasn’t the complete truth either.
“Was he here earlier?”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Lying to a cop seemed a bad idea. Still, I would’ve done it if I thought it was necessary. Lying to Hunter was different.
“He was here,” Hunter surmised, shaking his head. “Did he leave when I showed up at the door?”
“I’m not sure when he left. All of a sudden, he was just gone.”
“Uh-huh.” Hunter looked dubious. “He doesn’t think that hiding from me will make this go away, does he?”
“I’m not sure what he’s thinking. We haven’t really talked about the Roy situation. I was slow this morning because of the hangover. I should’ve opened with that. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to hear the period story for the hundredth time.”
Hunter drew his eyebrows together. “The period story? Do I even want to know?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed at my vehemence, the sound low and warm. “Well, can you send him a message for me? Tell him I’m not going to stop coming around until he answers my questions. Hiding from me won’t work.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.” He finished off his coffee and stood. “I wish he wasn’t such a pain in the butt. All he’s doing is dragging things out.”
“You don’t really think he’s a suspect, do you?” Suddenly, I was worried at the prospect.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” He must’ve read the fear in my eyes, because he extended a hand and rested it on top of mine. The instant our fingers touched, an electric charge passed through us.
He obviously felt it, too, because he jerked back his hand.
“The air must be dry,” I said lamely, hoping to explain away the crackle.
I didn’t expect his response. “I have a girlfriend.” The words practically tumbled out of his mouth.
“Oh, um ... .” I had no idea what to say.
“I have a girlfriend and it’s serious,” he stressed, taking a step back from the counter and avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry.”
I worked my jaw. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I said finally. “Nothing happened.”
He moved toward the door, his eyes finally latching with mine. “I have a girlfriend,” he said for the third time.
“So you’ve said.”
“I just wanted to be clear on that.” He pushed on the first door and then became distracted fiddling with the same lock that had tripped me up the first time. “Tell your grandfather I’ll be back. Make him stop hiding from me.”
“Yeah. I’ll get right on that.”
5
Five
I was still fuming about Hunter’s insistence on volunteering his girlfriend news — three times — when I wandered back into the kitchen and found Grandpa standing before the grill as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“So, eggs and hash browns?”
I glared at him. “Where did you go?”
He was the picture of innocence. “What are you talking about? I’ve been right here. You took off to check the door. Who was it, by the way?”
I wanted to crawl over the counter and shake him. “Really?”
“I’m always curious when someone knocks on the door fifteen minutes before we op
en. That right there is a dedicated customer.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “It was Hunter.”
“Oh, yeah?” Grandpa’s expression reflected mild bafflement. I had to hand it to him, he was a master at pretending to think one thing when I knew he was wondering about something else. “Did he want breakfast?”
I shook my head. “Oh, cut the crap.” I’d been living in Shadow Hills full time a grand total of three days, yet it felt as if I’d never left. “I know darned well that you took off when you realized it was him. I want to know why.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never left this spot.”
“I didn’t suddenly go blind.”
“You were blind drunk last night, so it seems a possibility.”
I growled. “That won’t work on me. Not even a little. What are you hiding?” Something horrible occurred to me. “Oh, geez. You didn’t kill Roy Axe, did you?”
Grandpa’s eyebrows practically flew off his forehead. “How can you possibly ask me that? I mean ... really, Stormy. I’m your grandfather. You’re supposed to have more faith in me.”
He was definitely full of crap. “You’re hiding something.” I was certain. Unfortunately, I had no idea what that “something” could possibly be. He was my grandfather, but it wasn’t as if I’d been present in his life the last few years. I’d been too wrapped up in myself. That made me feel guilty. He was standing there trying to convince me I was an idiot even though I knew better, though, so the sentiment was quickly extinguished by hot rage. “What is it?”
“I’m not hiding anything. And, because of your attitude, you’re on your own for breakfast. I hope you’re happy.” He turned on his heel, heading to the aisle behind the grill. There was nothing back there except the dishwashing rack, but he seemed perfectly content to hide behind the exhaust port that covered the back of the stove area.
“I’m not simply going to forget that you’re acting like an idiot,” I called out. I was convinced he could hear me. “Hunter isn’t an idiot either. He won’t stop until he talks to you. He told me to tell you that.”
“Oh, is that what’s wrong?” I still couldn’t see Grandpa, but he’d confirmed he was hiding in the far aisle. “Are you upset because you’re going to see him again? I thought you didn’t care.”
Sinfully Delicious Page 5
