by Jeff Shelby
Apparently, my own daughter thought I was one, too.
Her cheeks flushed and she tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “If you’re sure…”
“Of course I’m sure,” I said firmly. “The guest house is ready for you, and the guest room upstairs is ready, too. It’s your choice. You can have sex wherever you'd like.”
“Mom!” she cried.
I smiled.
She glanced at Connor and then back at me. “Let’s stay in here,” she said. “Less mud and less…wetness.”
I smiled again. I knew Laura’s desire for comfort and convenience was strong.
“We can use your kitchen, right?” she asked. “Here in the house?”
“The kitchen?”
She nodded. “We wanted to cook something for Thanksgiving dinner. Our contribution to the meal.”
“That would be wonderful. Of course you can use the kitchen. My house is your house.”
“Great!” She pointed at the front door. “We just need to get the cooler out of the car.”
“Cooler?”
“Yes,” she said, bobbing her head. “We didn’t think the grocery store here in town would have what we needed, so we brought our own ingredients. Do you have room in the fridge?”
“Uh, sure.” I wondered what kind of ingredients she needed that my well-stocked grocery store wouldn’t have. Just what kind of dish were they planning to make?
“Connor, you run out and grab the cooler. I’ll get our bags up to the bedroom.”
Connor glanced out the window, watching the rain as it pounded against the windowpane. “Right now?”
“We don’t want anything spoiling. The last thing anyone needs is food poisoning,” Laura said.
“It’s 40 degrees,” I pointed out. “And if it’s in a cooler, it should be good for a while. Why don’t you get it later, when it stops raining?”
“If it stops raining,” Laura said.
I didn’t have a chance to respond because the front door opened and a very wet Declan Murphy huddled on my welcome mat, trying not to drip water everywhere.
“Declan!”
His hood was soaked through, strands of red hair stuck to his forehead, and drops of rain dripped from the tip of his nose. He held up a plastic shopping bag, grinning.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Extra food.”
“Extra food?” I repeated.
He held it out further, extending his arm so that he didn’t have to leave the mat he was standing on. “The ladies at the church brought over enough sweets to fill a bakery. Thought I’d come by and drop some off with you since I knew you were expecting company.”
I draped the wet coats over the bannister and took the bag.
“You must be Rainy’s daughter,” Declan said as he pushed his hood off his head. He nodded at Connor. “And her significant other. I’m Declan. Declan Murphy.”
“He’s the pastor at St. Simon’s,” I added.
Laura straightened, running a hand over her still-wet hair.
“I’m so glad you could come to your mom’s for Thanksgiving,” Declan said. “She’s really been looking forward to your visit.”
“We’re happy to be here,” Connor said.
“Despite the rain,” Laura added.
Declan gestured to his own wet jacket. “Can’t let a little rain stop us, now can we?” He turned his attention back to me. “Thought you might enjoy having some goodies to snack on. There are some pumpkin tarts and maple bars. Mildred made an apple crisp that is out of this world.”
I could smell the cinnamon and pumpkin and maple, all mingling together to make my mouth water. I’d already eaten breakfast, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to rip open every plastic container in the bag and sample each item.
“I should probably just paste these directly to my thighs,” I told Declan, smiling ruefully. This bag was not going to help with my expanding waistline.
He didn’t bat an eye. “If you do that, you’ll miss out on how good they taste,” he said.
I held the bag out to Laura and Connor. “We can have a snack once you guys get dried off and settled. A treat to balance out the weather.” To Declan, I said, “Thank you for bringing these by. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He glanced outside. The rain had slowed, a steady patter instead of a torrential downpour. “I wanted to.”
Laura cleared her throat. “I’m going to go upstairs and change. Where’s the room we’ll be staying in?”
Declan blushed. “I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I should go—”
I held up a hand. “No, hold on.” Declan was my friend and he’d just dropped off a bag of deliciousness during a driving rainstorm. I wasn’t about to send him straight back out into the elements without at least chatting for a bit. “Up the stairs and on the left. Second door.” There were two extra bedrooms upstairs, but I wanted them to stay in the one that I’d done the most work in. I’d splurged on a new comforter and had picked up some small items at Sophia’s boutique to decorate the space.
Laura and Connor kicked off their muddy shoes and headed up the stairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints. I cringed. They really were completely soaked if their socks were leaving marks on the wooden steps.
“Would you like some coffee?” I asked. I lifted the bag he had given me. “We can have some treats.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I should get going. I…I have some work to get done still.”
“On the day before Thanksgiving?” I asked.
His cheeks colored. “Yes. Since Thursday is a holiday, it’s one less day to work on my sermon. I was hoping to get it mostly completed by this afternoon.”
I nodded. There were moments when I forgot that the man standing in front of me was a man of the cloth. My image of pastors and priests had always been silver-haired men offering sterile smiles and bland words of wisdom. Declan was young, and his boyish good looks still managed to catch me off guard.
“And what are your plans for tomorrow?” I asked. “Didn’t you say something about going to Mabel’s?” Mabel was the ancient parishioner who, despite being in her nineties, still possessed a voice that could rival Whitney Houston’s.
Declan looked down at the floor. “Well, I was going to, but she had a change in plans. Her family is picking her up and bringing her to Charlottesville for the day.”
“Oh.” That sounded nice for Mabel but where did that leave Declan? “And you? Will you be seeing Fiona?”
Fiona was his sister. She didn’t live nearby, but she had visited a couple of times since I’d moved to Latney…usually to offer some unsolicited redecorating help. I’d yet to meet her, but I’d seen photos of her in Declan’s office, and he spoke about her often enough for me to know that they had a good relationship.
He shook his head. “She’s in Ireland, visiting our aunt and uncle.”
A twinge of envy twisted my insides. Declan’s sister was in Ireland, and Vivian Sumner would be leaving soon for her much anticipated trip to Paris. A small part of me wondered if, instead of buying a five-acre hobby farm, I should have just packed everything I owned into a duffel bag and gone off to see the world.
But then I wouldn’t have met Declan. And I wouldn’t have met Gunnar. And I wouldn’t have been able to spend Thanksgiving with my daughter.
“So do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”
He glanced back up at me with a small smile. “Yep. Football and a couple of beers. And a frozen turkey dinner.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
He chuckled. “I’ve spent more holidays that way than I can count. Well, before I had a parish, at least.”
I folded my arms and stared at him. “No.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No what?”
“No, you are not spending Thanksgiving alone, eating a frozen dinner.”
“I already bought it,” he said, grinning. “Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and corn. There’s even a little berry cobbler. Alt
hough I have enough other desserts that I might just skip that part. Although it is good…”
“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re coming here. I insist.”
Declan looked toward the staircase. “But you already have guests.”
“I do,” I said. “But Thanksgiving is meant to celebrate with friends and families. To give thanks for what you have.” I smiled at Declan and hoped what I was about to say didn’t sound too cheesy. “And I am thankful for you.”
Color flooded his face, and I realized then that I’d probably gone too far. Because he started stammering and rambling, both classic Declan signs that he was embarrassed and overwhelmed.
“Oh, well…that’s nice of you, and I’m thankful for you, too. I mean, I’m thankful for your friendship, not for you. Because I don’t have you. You’re with Gunnar. And...” He gulped. “I mean, not that Gunnar has you. No one has you. You belong to yourself and—”
I cut him off. “We’ll probably eat around four o’clock. Come anytime you’d like, but definitely before then.”
Declan gulped again. I’d seen this side of him less and less as the months had passed, and I’d taken it as a sign that he’d relaxed into our friendship. Apparently I could still send him over the edge.
“That’s very nice of you but—” he began.
There was a knock at the door, and then it pushed open. Declan jumped out of the way.
“Rainy?” It was Gunnar. “Hey, I was just driving by and there’s a car parked in your driveway with its headlights on.”
He stepped fully inside, trying to keep his massive frame on the same mat Declan had occupied just seconds before in an attempt to keep the floor from getting wet.
He noticed Declan and nodded at him in greeting. “It’s not yours,” he told him. “The car, I mean.”
“Oh, it’s probably Connor’s car, then,” I said. “I’ll let them know.”
A car alarm shrieked and, seconds later, footsteps pounded across the front porch. A very wet young woman bolted through the front door, a wild look in her eyes.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “I thought I’d try one of the doors so I could just turn them off but I set off the alarm.”
I stared at the wet woman standing next to Gunnar. Not because water was dripping from her jacket, creating a pool of water on my wood floor.
But because the woman standing in in my house was the same woman I’d met earlier at the Wicked Wich, the same woman who apparently knew—and liked—Owen, Dawn’s offensive brother.
Jill.
Gunnar’s daughter.
SIX
“So you’re Gunnar’s daughter,” I said.
Connor had flown down the stairs to silence the car and turn the lights off, with Laura quick on his heels. I was pretty sure she thought my crime-infested town also had a car thief lurking, ready to make off with Connor’s mini Cooper. After quick introductions—Laura had met Gunnar once before, during an earlier trip when he really had been just my next-door neighbor—they disappeared back upstairs to continue unpacking and drying off.
Jill shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “Yeah,” she said. She furrowed her brow. “Do I know you…?”
“Yes, we saw each other yesterday when you were talking to O—”
She interrupted me. “At the Wicked Wich. You were eating a burger or something.” She looked at her dad. “They had a Thanksgiving burger with mashed potatoes and gravy.” She wrinkled her nose. Apparently it didn’t sound appealing to her, either.
Gunnar smiled. “That doesn’t sound half bad. Did you try it, Rainy?”
I nodded. “It was delicious.”
“What brings you here, Declan?” Gunnar asked, turning his attention to the man standing next to him. “Weather’s a little harsh for a social visit.”
Declan motioned to the bag still looped over my arm. “Oh, I was just dropping off some stuff the ladies at the church made for me. I think they sometimes forget I’m a family of one.”
Gunnar craned his neck, trying to see inside of the bag. “Anything good?”
“Plenty of good,” I told him. “And I have more than enough to share.”
There was a moment of silence. Jill tapped her foot, impatiently, it seemed, as if she were ready to leave. Declan was still recovering from his stammer session. And Gunnar’s gaze darted from me to Jill, looking as though he wanted us to engage in some kind of conversation.
Declan broke the silence. “Well, I should get going,” he said. “I…I guess I’ll come by sometime in the afternoon, if that’s still okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be sure to save some of these for dessert.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he made his way toward the door. “I have enough of all of those to see me through the weekend. Eat them today.”
He said goodbye to Jill and Gunnar and headed back into the rain, which thankfully had slowed to a drizzle.
“Afternoon?” Gunnar asked as soon as the door closed. “Today or tomorrow?”
I frowned, and then quickly recovered when I realized what he was asking. “No, Thursday,” I told him.
“He’s coming for Thanksgiving?”
I looked at Gunnar.
He nodded his head toward the now closed door. “Thanksgiving. You invited Declan?”
Jill had dug her phone out of her pocket and was scrolling through something.
“Oh. Yeah, he had plans with Mabel but I guess she’s now spending Thanksgiving with her family. I didn’t think he should eat dinner alone.”
Gunnar stared at me. “So you invited him here.”
I frowned. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”
He glanced down. The tip of his boot toed the floorboard. “Thought you wanted to spend Thanksgiving with Laura and her boyfriend.”
“I do. And I am.”
“And Declan.”
A wave of irritation washed over me. I glanced at Jill. She was still staring at her phone, her foot still tapping the floor.
“I’m going to put these in the kitchen.” I held up the bag. “Come with me?” He could probably tell that it wasn’t a suggestion but a demand.
Gunnar wiped his boots on the mat and followed me through the living room and into the kitchen. As soon as we were there, I dropped the bag on the table and turned to face him. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem.”
“Then why are you upset that Declan is coming for dinner?”
“Who said I was upset?”
I rolled my eyes. “No one had to say it. I can just tell.”
He pressed his lips together. “I thought we were doing Thanksgiving alone,” he finally said.
“We are.”
“Meaning, with our own families.”
“We are,” I repeated. I gave him a pointed look. “At your suggestion, remember? Because I distinctly remember inviting you over for dinner.”
“But Declan is coming over?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “He had nowhere else to go, Gunnar. Zero plans. He had literally been stood up for Thanksgiving. The least I could do was invite him over to have dinner with us.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And that’s the only reason?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “What other reason would there be?”
He was saved from having to answer because my phone started ringing. I was pretty sure everyone who called me on a regular basis was already in my house, so I picked it up cautiously. Out-of-the-blue phone calls hadn’t boded well for me lately.
I recognized the number immediately. The Wicked Wich. I might have been guilty a time or two of calling in an order ahead of time, and thus having their phone number in my contact list.
But I still answered cautiously. It wasn’t like I had an order to pick up or had skipped out on a check or anything. Briefly, I flashed to the twenty I’d thrown on the counter before hustling out of there the previous day. Maybe Owen had pocketed it and Da
wn was calling because she thought I’d stiffed her. I wouldn’t put something like that past her sleazy brother.
“Hello?”
“Rainy.” It was Dawn and she sounded upset.
“Yeah?” I said, squeezing my eyes shut, preparing for a tirade that I knew I didn’t deserve.
“I…” Her voice trailed off.
“Dawn?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” she said.
“What’s up?”
She made a little sound, almost like a hiccup. “I…I need your help.”
“Me?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“Owen is dead.”
SEVEN
“Excuse me?” I said. “Did you just say Owen is dead?”
That caught Gunnar’s attention. His brows lifted and his eyes widened.
“Yes.” Dawn’s tone was clipped.
“Oh my gosh,” I said, covering my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t think Dawn had a good relationship with her brother, at least not from what I’d witnessed the other day, and I honestly hadn’t been able to find one shred of decency in Owen during my own interactions with him. But that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. Gone from Latney, yes…but not in a permanent, no-return-ever kind of way.
“I don’t need your condolences,” she snapped.
I was taken aback but I managed to swallow my surprise at her tone. “Um, did it happen at the restaurant?” The image of him choking on a burger, or drinking too much and tripping, then hitting his head on the corner of the bar, immediately came to mind.
“No,” Dawn said. “The sheriff just came by and told me the news.”
“The sheriff?” I felt the urge to apologize yet again. Any interaction with Sheriff Lewis was cause for condolences to be issued, at least in my book.
“He got a phone call from Eric,” she said. “I guess he died overnight. At the motel they’re staying at.”
“That’s terrible,” I murmured.
“That’s not actually the terrible news,” Dawn said.
“It isn’t?” A dead family member sounded pretty terrible to me.
