Patrick chuckled at that, as if he’d already learned as much about Frieda. “We’ll handle whatever she throws at us.” His steps slowed to give her distance as she neared the carriage house. “Have a good night, Miss McClintock.”
“It’s Cassie,” she fired back the same way she always did, but added a friendly smile along with it as she opened the door. “And you, too.”
Settled in Frieda’s lap was a clear Tupperware bowl full of red grapes. She popped one into her mouth, not bothering to take her eyes off Sam and Patrick strolling toward the patio behind the main house. “Where in the world does Kir find these guys?”
“Is that all you do all day while I’m gone? Ogle the guys?”
“Hey, I’ve got loads of vacation time coming to me and a prime, smorgasbord view. Don’t deprive an old woman of her pleasures.” Her gaze shifted again, and she nabbed another grape.
“I know twenty-year-olds that act older than you.” Free of her briefcase and purse, Cassie meandered over to study the view from Frieda’s perspective. “Hmm. Maxwell. Kir said he’s newer to the crew, but I’ll admit—he is a hottie.”
“Girl, you’re not kidding. All that dark hair, muscle and swagger? Mmm-mmm-mmm.” She spun, put her feet on the floor and grinned up at Cassie. “You know, I never thought I’d say I was a fan of drama, but this whole murder debacle has its benefits.”
“Ha!” Cassie kicked off the black flats she’d paired with her khaki capris and black station polo shirt and padded to the kitchen. “You’re always a fan of drama.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Aunt Frieda, I called you four days ago and told you you had to leave your house because I’d caught the eye of a killer, and you responded like I’d invited you to take a weeklong vacation on the Riviera. By the time you walked through the door, you were practically dancing and flirting with Patrick. If that’s not a love for drama I don’t know what it is.” She jerked open the refrigerator door and studied the multitude of leftovers stored inside.
Frieda stood and headed her way. “So, I’ve got an adventurous spirit. What’s wrong with that? Plus, you know I’m a huge buttinsky with your love life. Do you really think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to get a front row seat while my future nephew-by-marriage sweeps my niece off her feet?” She slid in front of Cassie, grabbed an already opened bottle of white wine and shut the door before Cassie could grab anything. “By the way, no snacking. Dinner’s in the main house in thirty minutes.”
“Again? And drop it with the marriage stuff. We just started dating.”
“Trust me, kiddo. You’re way past dating.” Frieda snagged a stemless wineglass from the cabinet and unplugged the cork from the wine bottle. “And yes, dinner every night at six thirty is a standing engagement around here. Olga’s doing Mexican tonight. Enchilada casseroles—beef and chicken—frijoles á la charra and Spanish rice. I helped her practice on the churros for dessert this morning. Turns out they make for great breakfast snacks, too.” She turned and lifted her glass in salute. “The woman can cook.”
Cassie snatched Frieda’s wine before she could pull it out of reach, dragged a chair from the kitchen table and settled in. “You two are awfully chummy these days.”
Frieda harrumphed, turned for another glass and went about pouring another for herself. “What’s not to get chummy about? You wouldn’t believe some of the stories she tells. Chefs she’s worked with. Mob bosses she’s cooked for. Stuff she’s seen, but pretended not to.” She turned and leaned one hip against the counter. “Makes my time in New Orleans look like a trip to pre-K.”
It hit her all at once. A huge, weighted deluge of emotion that poured over her like cold molasses. Maybe it was the aftereffects of spending four hours in the afternoon heat, or just the cumulative stress of holding her shit together for more days than she could count, but suddenly she was just too tired for everything.
She shook her head, sighed and stared at her glass atop the table’s whitewash surface. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
Cassie lifted her head. “It’s all so easy for you. Adjusting. Sliding into a new environment. Fitting in.” A sharp bark of laughter filled with an embarrassing amount of bitterness hopped out. “You’ve been here four days, and you’re completely at home. I’m dating—or as you would have it, near to matrimony—with Kir and I feel like a weird imposter that can’t quite catch the same vibe as everyone else. Like... I don’t know...”
Frieda carefully set her glass aside and lowered her voice. “Keep going. Like what?”
She didn’t want it to come out. Didn’t want to hear the tirade building inside her or the childlike words that came with it. The emotion behind it was too powerful. Too threatening and dangerous for her to process.
It rushed out anyway. “Like everyone here is in a whole different reality. A make-believe world where everyone’s happy and supportive and actually enjoys each other’s company. Half the time, I expect little cartoon forest creatures to sweep in and start tidying the house. But then I remember—Oh, no. This is absolutely real because mixed in with it all is the reality that my boyfriend is a mobster and someone may, or may not, want me dead. Do you realize how insane that all sounds? I mean, seriously. The Mad Hatter could walk through that door right now and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. But I’m pretty sure you’d ask him to dance.”
Her aunt stared back at her, the dumbfounded expression on her face one Cassie had never once seen before.
Heat crept up Cassie’s neck, and her belly roiled in a grossly unpleasant spin. All her life, her aunt was the only one who’d shown her comfort. Made her laugh and accepted her no matter what. And yet, she’d spewed all over her like some petulant shrew. She stood, her legs shaking from a mix of adrenaline and fatigue. “Aunt Frieda, I’m sorry.”
Frieda closed her gaping mouth and swept Cassie with a head-to-toe assessment. “Don’t be.”
“But I yelled at you. I made it sound like you were whack-a-doodle when it’s me who’s the odd man out.”
Frieda pushed off the counter and strode toward her. “You are not whack-a-doodle. You’re doing the best you can with the tools you have to work with.” She gripped Cassie by both shoulders and held her tight. “That also wasn’t yelling. It was a whole lot of emotion that’s probably been brewing a while finally finding an outlet.” She pulled her in for a fierce hug.
Cassie readily accepted it. Closed her eyes and let the love, comfort and relief her aunt’s embrace offered soak into every cell. “I don’t like losing control like that. I don’t like hurting you, and I don’t like feeling like the person sitting on the sidelines in the middle of a big party.”
“Well, first—you didn’t hurt me. Not in the slightest. Startled me, maybe. But you’re going to have to learn to actually yell and throw in some choice obscenities before you have a chance at getting under my skin.” She backed away only enough to meet Cassie’s eyes and rubbed her hands up and down Cassie’s arms. “And I know this new situation you’ve found yourself in is frightening. Not just because of the email or the person behind it, but because life’s thrown you in a situation full of healthy, happy, loving people who won’t let you keep them at a distance. They like you, Cassie. They think you’re smart. They think you’re funny. They think you’re worthy. Just like I do.” She squeezed Cassie’s shoulders and lowered her voice. “You’re the only person keeping yourself on the sidelines. We’re all here. Waiting. Ready for you to join in. All you have to do is stand up and step into it.”
The pressure behind Cassie’s chest pushed higher, wedging like a swelling knot at the base of her throat. Tears burned along the bridge of her nose. “I want to,” she whispered. “I see them laughing. How easily they joke with each other and support one another.” She swallowed. Or tried to. “What if I don’t fit in? What if I let go, and they find out I’m not the person they thought
I was?”
A soft, sad smile curved her aunt’s lips. “Oh, sweet girl.” She tenderly cupped the side of Cassie’s face. “Are we talking about Kir’s family? Or are we talking about yours?”
Two gently spoken questions, but they pierced straight to the heart of her. Wedged through the cracks Kir had started and pried past all the stones of disappointment she’d carried around for years. Was it really that simple? Was she holding herself apart from people she genuinely liked and wanted to be with based on the childlike need to fit in with the family she’d been born to?
A tear slipped free and spilled down her cheek. Then another. And another. With each one, more weight slipped free, and the knot inside her throat loosened. Her lips trembled as she spoke. “What kind of daughter am I? They’re my blood. They raised me. But being with them—even talking to them—makes me feel so inadequate. Out of place.”
“But being here?”
Her body shook on a half laugh, half cry as the truth came out. “Feels nice. A relief. Light and free. And then, as soon as I realize it, I feel guilty that I can’t feel the same thing with my own family.”
“It feels like you’re being disloyal.”
“Yes!”
“Oh, kiddo.” Frieda sighed and pulled her in for another hug. Stroked her back and held her while the tears and sobs ran free. A complete and utter ugly cry, the likes of which she hadn’t had since she was a preteen.
Only when the tears slowed did Frieda speak again, still holding her tight. “There are two kinds of family in this world, Cassie. Those we’re born into and those we choose. We can’t change who our parents are, or what we like and dislike, but we can choose happiness. Taking that step doesn’t make you disloyal. It makes you healthy.”
A ragged and somewhat broken chuckle slipped free as Cassie pulled from her aunt’s embrace. “I’m not sure Mom and Dad would agree with you.”
“Well, they don’t have to agree with me. Just because they’ve both got PhD’s doesn’t mean they know everything. Accept them for who they are. Love them as they are. Then move on and make yourself happy. That’s all any of us can do.”
Cassie swiped her cheeks with the back of one hand and sniffled, the lightness in the wake of her crying jag blending with an awkward amount of mortification. “How’d you get so smart about this stuff, anyway? You sure you don’t have a counseling degree somewhere you’re not telling me about?”
“Nope.” Frieda sashayed to the sofa’s end table and plucked a few tissues from the colorful dispenser. “Life’s been enough of an educator for me, thank you very much.” She handed over the tissues and crossed her arms over her chest. “Feel better?”
Cassie wiped the rest of her tears and blew her nose. “More like I watched a four-day marathon of weepy chick flicks, but I don’t think I’ll go off on anyone at dinner.”
“Good, then my job here is done.” She waved Cassie toward the stairs. “How about if you go take a minute to unwind and get your face put back together. If the last few days are anything to go by, your guy is gonna show here in another fifteen to get us both to dinner. I’ll stall for an extra ten or so.”
God, she loved her aunt. Loved that, just like the people in Kir’s family, there wasn’t an ounce of pretense to her. What you saw with Frieda Shalaway was 100% what you got and that made being with her all the more sweet.
“Thanks, Aunt Frieda.” She pressed a shaky kiss to her aunt’s cheek. “Not sure what I’d do without you.”
Frieda scoffed and trounced back to her wingback. “You’d be bored, probably. Or maybe pursuing a degree as a neurosurgeon.”
“Eww.”
“I know, right?” She grabbed a battered paperback romance novel off the table beside her and cozied in. “Now skootch. I’m gonna get a good part in to take the edge off before your man gets here.”
“Right.” Cassie headed up the stairs.
“And put a cold compress on your eyes before you fix your makeup,” Frieda added. “Kir’s a charmer, but I don’t think I’d like being around him if he thinks I’m the one that made you cry.”
She wasn’t wrong on that score. If Kir had demonstrated nothing else in the last three weeks, it was that he was the fiercest of protectors. “Duly noted.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was hours later, the lively conversation that always surrounded dinner winding down, the delicious Mexican food heavy in Cassie’s belly and the churros’ lingering cinnamon and sugar still on her tongue when Evette asked, “Long day at work, Cassie? You seem tired tonight.”
Kir had said the same thing when he’d come to retrieve her from her bedroom for dinner. He’d also paired it with a long, suspicious study of her face, but had let her have her space rather than dig for details.
The truth of the matter was, she felt lighter than she had in a very long time. Free of the rigid restrictions she’d kept herself bounded with for years and strangely open and more receptive to the people around her—even if the sensations were overwhelming. Much like taking noise-cancelling earphones off after a long flight, or exposing winter-protected skin to the first rays of summer.
She doubted anyone around the table would get such an explanation, though, so she gave Evette the same answer she’d given Kir. “I think it was the heat this afternoon. The Caribbean Festival starts tomorrow, and my crew was in the field for four hours talking to organizers and vendors.”
“Cool! Mom, can we go?” Emerson said.
Evette looked to Sergei, who seemed to consider the request for a moment, then dipped a single nod. “I guess so,” Evette said. “Assuming you get your chores done. But we’ll go after dinner so it’s not so hot.” She stood, grabbed her plate, then Emerson’s and headed for the kitchen. “How about you run up and get your shower done for the night. I think your daddy wants to talk to Aunt Cassie about some stuff.”
Aunt Cassie.
When had that happened?
And more importantly, why would Sergei want to talk to her?
Unlike most kids who might have balked and whined about not being privy to conversations, Emerson just bobbed his head, hopped off his chair and made his rounds with goodnights in the forms of hugs and high fives. The last thing she’d expected was for him to stop at her chair and give her a hug of her own. “If you’re not too tired after work,” he said, “maybe you and Uncle Kir can go with us. If they’ve got games, he can win you a stuffed animal. He got me two of them at the state fair in Shreveport last year.”
“We will see,” Kir said before Cassie could answer. “Cassie works on weekends, and if she covers the festival again tomorrow, she may be too tired.”
“I can rally,” she said to Emerson, surprising herself. “I haven’t really been to a festival just for fun since I was your age.”
“Why not? They’re a blast.”
Across the table, Aunt Frieda subtly cocked one eyebrow. A silent dare for her to finish what she’d started.
Cassie wrinkled her nose, but focused on Emerson. “My parents weren’t big on festivals. They thought it was a waste of money and didn’t care for the noise or the people. They were miserable, so I quit asking to go.”
Emerson shook his head like she’d just told him she didn’t believe in Santa Claus. “That’s crazy. Who’d pass up the chance for funnel cakes?”
“You will,” Evette cut in, “if you don’t go take your shower and get into bed.”
“Ugh,” he said to his mom with a good-natured frown. “Okay, I’m going. Night, everyone.”
A round of goodnights and wishes for sweet dreams followed in his wake, but more than a few gazes lingered on her, unspoken questions and open curiosity behind their eyes.
Evette wasn’t content to hold her questions, though. “You really haven’t been to a festival since you were his age?”
Cassie shrugged and tried to downplay what she’d shared,
uncomfortable with the attention. “I’ve been to some since I moved here.”
“She means outside covering one for a station,” Frieda said. She shifted her attention to Evette. “I did manage to get her to Mardi Gras the first year. I thought her eyes were gonna bug out of her head the first time a guy begged her to flash her boobs.”
“That will not happen to her again,” Kir stated matter-of-factly then sipped his coffee.
Sergei grinned.
Roman chuckled.
Frieda and Evette both cackled, but it was Frieda who rounded off the topic. “Yeah, well, I’m not too worried about you having to keep her from hearing the suggestion again. We left about two minutes after it happened, and I haven’t been able to get her to go back since.”
“We’ll get her there,” Evette said. “You can’t spend time around the lot of us and not have a little wild side rub off on ya.” She winked at Cassie and took a drink of her iced tea.
Frieda’s smile softened and a knowing tone slipped into her voice. “I’m counting on it.”
Kir must have sensed the byplay behind her aunt’s words, because his gaze shot to Frieda, then to Cassie. For a moment, he looked as if he might start digging in with questions.
Sergei intervened before he could. “If we are to make it a family outing tomorrow, then perhaps it would be best for Kir to review what we’ve learned so Cassie can get some rest.”
A silent look passed between the three men at the table. Kir looked conflicted at best, but Roman and Sergei appeared utterly resolved. Given the clueless expressions on Frieda and Evette’s faces, the silent communication moving between them was as indecipherable to them as it was to Cassie.
Kir nodded to Sergei, stood and retrieved a folder from the antique buffet table behind them. “We’ve traced the email Cassie received Sunday morning. It was sent from an IP address originating from the public library. The computer address appears to be one of the public computers provided by the library.” He sat back in his seat beside Cassie. “One of Axel McKee’s brothers in Dallas is a very skilled hacker. Knox Torren. He’s been known to assist the government and has extensive connections in the cyber industry.”
Hers to Tame Page 18
