“Eagles are very cool.” Charlie let the sleeve fall back over his tattoo.
“Yeah. It’s cool.” Noah nodded. “Momma, can I play?”
Lane pressed her lips together. It was funny hearing Noah say the word cool, but the admiration in her little boy’s face for the man next to her was unsettling. Lane didn’t date. Hadn’t even thought about dating, so there was never an opportunity for a man to be introduced to her son and this was why. Noah was clearly taken by the new guy who kept appearing in their lives.
“If you’re quiet and you stay close.” Lane looked around the empty garden. “Remember, if you can’t see me, then I can’t see you and that’s a . . .?”
“No-go,” Noah answered.
“Right.”
Lane waited until Noah settled himself beneath a tree with a pile of rocks before sliding a look at the man sitting next to her. Quiet stretched from seconds into minutes. Maybe inviting him to sit wasn’t a good idea.
“This place is beautiful,” Charlie said finally.
Looking around, she agreed. “There’s a lot of military history here in Walton. This memorial holds the names of the men and women who served since the First World War.”
“Which one is your husband?”
Lane pointed out Mathias’s name and her throat grew thick. Two years hadn’t erased the guilt, and now she was sitting here having feelings that confused her. She peeked over at Noah. He was still there. Playing. Maybe she should call him over—let him be the distraction her heart needed.
“Army, huh?” There was a tease in his voice.
“So, Marines?”
“Semper Fi.”
“How long were you in?”
“Six years.” The smile slid from his face.
“Enjoyed it that much?”
“My father is, or was, a colonel in the Marines. He’s retired now, but growing up I ate, slept, and breathed the motto.” Charlie’s eyebrows tugged together for a moment. “There was never a question in my father’s eyes that I was going to be anything but a Marine.”
Oh, man, she could relate. “But you wanted something else.”
“My life was good, but my dad was never really there for me. Not in the way I wanted. Being a Marine took priority and that left me trying to figure out life pretty much on my own. I taught myself how to play baseball. My friend’s father taught me how to drive. It practically took an act of Congress to bring my dad home for my high school graduation.”
“And yet you became a Marine?”
Charlie let out a chuckle void of humor. “Ironic, right? Became the very thing I swore I wouldn’t. I just hoped . . . maybe that would be enough.”
It was like he was reading into her soul. Not being enough had felt like her life’s motto until she’d met Mathias. A breeze picked up a faint trace of Charlie’s cologne and Lane swallowed hard. An emotion she wasn’t ready for was warring for her attention.
“Momma, I need to go potty.”
“Okay.” She’d never been more thankful for Noah’s small bladder. “We should probably go.”
“No, sure. When you have to go, you have to go.” Charlie rose. “It was nice running into you again—even without the tray of ice-cold drinks.”
“Very funny.” Noah was doing the familiar dance that told her there was no time to waste flirting—was that what they were doing?
“Tomorrow night, then?” Charlie winked and offered Lane a smile complete with deep dimples that kept drawing her in.
“Tomorrow night.” Butterflies took flight in her stomach and didn’t settle during the half-block walk back to her house. He was easy to talk to and charming and kind. Add his rugged good looks and her doubts seemed silly.
“I hope we see Charlie again,” Noah said when she lifted him out of the car.
“You do?”
“Yeah, he makes you smile.”
Lane reached up and touched her face. It’d been a long time since her emotions on the outside matched what she felt on the inside. The smile graced her face only a second before it fell. As she crossed the street, she saw somebody peeking into one of the side windows of her café. Her closed café.
“Hey, can I help you?”
The shadows of dusk made it impossible to see the person’s face. Guessing by their build and height, she assumed the person was a man. Lane stopped in the middle of the street and tightened her grip on Noah’s hand. Was it him?
Whoever it was didn’t waste a second before they took off in the opposite direction of Lane and Noah.
“Hey!” Lane yelled, the echo of her voice filling the street. A man carrying a bag of groceries farther down the street stopped and turned. A mom driving a minivan full of kids turned the corner, pausing when she saw Lane and Noah still standing in the middle of the road.
Lane gave an apologetic wave and pulled Noah the rest of the way toward the café. What was that person doing? Was it the same man as before? Or someone else?
“Who was that, Momma?”
“I don’t know, buddy.” Lane unlocked the door of her café and flipped on the lights. Everything was as quiet as it was when she left it earlier. The only thing unsettled was her nerves—and the cure lived in the house behind hers.
TWELVE
“SO, THAT’S ATLANTA FALCON CLUB SEATS. Golf package at Turtle Cove in Hilton Head. And what’s in that box?”
Lane heard her sister’s voice, but it was muted. Fuzzy. Like it was when they were little girls and they tied paper cups to a string so they could talk to each other at night. But today it wasn’t a playful memory blurring the words or Lane’s thoughts. It was the man.
The stranger she had seen outside her café last night brought back the face of the man who’d been asking her about Mathias and Noah, haunting her fits of sleep. Was it the same person? Or maybe it was just someone looking to see if the café was open? A stranger, yes, but maybe not the man from before. The town was seeing an uptick in new faces as the investigation into Sydney’s death continued. She was just being paranoid, right? Or maybe she was looking for a reason to invite Charlie over. His presence seemed to be a balm to her soul, restoring peace to her life.
“Helloooo, Lane.” Meagan snapped her fingers in front of Lane’s face. “I’d really like to get these items recorded before the kids get out of school.”
“Sorry.” Lane dropped her gaze to the thin cardboard box in her lap. “This one doesn’t have a label.”
“Let me see it.” Meagan leaned over and picked up the box to inspect it. “If I didn’t know better I’d say it’s a man that’s got you all dreamy-eyed.”
“What?” Lane pressed a hand to her face. Was she smiling again? She’d caught herself more than once thinking about Charlie, and if her four-year-old was keen enough to see a change in his momma’s face, no doubt Meagan would zero in on it too.
Meagan’s hazel eyes met hers and then a coy smile spread across her lips before a squeal emerged. “It is a man?”
Lane squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Sleep deprivation and her sister’s excitement weren’t a good combination.
Ms. Byrdie peeked her head out of the kitchen. “Everything alright in here?”
“Lane was just getting ready to tell me about the man she’s daydreaming about.”
“I am not.” Lane’s cheeks grew hot. Her eyes bounced to Ms. Byrdie and Meagan’s gaze followed.
“You know him?” Meagan’s pitch rose. “Who? How come I don’t know this?”
“How are those cheddar biscuits coming?” Lane raised her eyebrows in Ms. Byrdie’s direction, hoping she’d get the message. “And we need to finish itemizing these donations so you can get them out of my café. These boxes are a fire hazard.”
“The biscuits are finished,” Ms. Byrdie said, flashing a playful smile in Meagan’s direction. “And I’m heading to the church to help there. I’ll be back later to pick up the biscuits.”
“I’m disappointed in the town gossips,” Meagan murmured as she lifted t
he unlabeled box. From the corner of her eye, Lane could see her sister pretending to be interested in the box, but her lip was twitching. Was she going to ask more questions or race after Ms. Byrdie and pry the information from her? But what would she get? Lane and Charlie could hardly be considered an item. They hadn’t even gone out on a date.
Yet.
Was going to the benefit with Charlie such a good idea? After tonight, there’d be no shortage of whispers—maybe she should cancel. Stay in.
Meagan opened her mouth to speak when Noah’s animated voice echoed up the back porch. Lane breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Saved.
The screen door swung open and Noah tromped inside in Pops’s brown military dress hat with the familiar Marine emblem on it and green paint smeared across his cheeks. Pops followed, his white hair mussed, sweat pressing it to his head, and the same paint spread on his wrinkled but smiling face.
“Has the war been won?” Lane tilted Noah’s cap up and planted a kiss on his damp forehead. Sticky proof of an afternoon of fun with her grandfather.
“Mommy, soldiers don’t get kisses at war. They get kisses when they come home from war.” Noah wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and scrunched his eyebrows together in a tight scowl.
Lane’s throat grew thick. Noah was two when Mathias returned home from war the second time. Too young to really remember, but he’d seen the pictures she had at the house. The two of them holding balloons and a homemade sign in hand as they waved their hero home.
“Soldiers and Marines”—Pops tapped the hat on Noah’s head—“should get kisses any time they can.”
Noah twisted his lips to the side and squinted his eyes. A look he got when judging whether he was being told the truth. The same look as his daddy. Lane swallowed in an attempt to clear the lump from her throat.
“What about tickles from aunties?” Meagan reached around Noah’s waist and tickled him until he collapsed in a fit of giggles between her arms. “Hey, Pops.” Meagan leaned in to hug the man but paused. “You need soap.”
“They both do,” Lane said. “Wash up and I’ll get you boys some lemonade.”
“And cookies.” Meagan winked. “These soldiers need nourishment.”
Pops straightened, his shoulders pulled back. Noah imitated him. Irresistible. “Fine.”
A few minutes later, Pops and Noah emerged from the bathroom with clean faces. Lane plated the fresh batch of cookies and poured them all a glass of lemonade.
“Now, those are faces I can kiss.” Meagan planted a kiss on Pops’s cheek and then Noah’s, which made him draw a face. “You need to come swim with Paige and Owen soon.”
“Can I, Momma?”
Lane rubbed her neck. “Noah doesn’t really know how to swim.”
“That’s okay.” Meagan waved her hand. “I’ll be there and the country club has lifeguards.”
“Please, Momma.” Noah pouted.
“Yeah, please, Momma.” Meagan stuck her lip out and batted her eyelashes.
“Fine.”
“Yeah!” Noah and Meagan slapped hands.
Pops pulled out a chair and sat. “Where are the kids?”
“School.” Meagan turned her wrist to check the time. “But not for long. I’m glad you’re here though—saves me a trip. Can I stop at your house later to look at Gram’s rosebushes?”
“Sure, honey.”
“What for?” Lane asked.
“For the barbecue.” Meagan smoothed a piece of hair back as she opened the rectangular box and slid out a painting. “Mom didn’t like any of the choices the florist offered her.”
“You’re going to cut Gram’s flowers?”
Gram had been dead only three years, and Lane knew Pops missed her. The vibrant rose garden in his front yard was a testimony of his love. He planted a rosebush every year for their anniversary and now there were sixty-two of them.
“Not all the flowers. Just a few for the centerpieces. Mom wants this year’s event to reflect a homey feel. Southern hospitality.”
Lane’s insides slithered around like jelly. Every year for as long as she could remember, her parents hosted a barbecue and charity event at their home. It quickly became an annual tradition, which, according to her mother, was “a sweet way to bring local Southerners together in the name of a good cause.”
Really, it was an excuse for Georgia’s rich, famous, and politically aligned to get together to drink, eat, and see who could outbid whom, all in the name of charity. Luckily for the charities involved, the more the guests drank the more they raised at the auction. And Lane’s mother kept the bar fully stocked.
Pops helped himself to a second cookie. “That time of year already?”
“It does seem to come faster each year, doesn’t it? But this year is really important. Dad heard a rumor Judge Atkins is trying to throw a party on the same day as the barbecue.” Meagan shook her head. “The lengths people will go to win an election.”
“I might skip the barbecue this year.”
Meagan’s wide eyes looked up from the painting in her hand. A mixed expression of disbelief and fear painted her face. “You can’t not go. Everyone will expect you there. It’s a campaign year.”
Her father’s words—no, threat—rang through her mind. Lane’s gaze flicked to Noah who was finishing his cookie. “It’s just that I know how late these events run and when people drink . . . I don’t think I want Noah around that.”
Meagan came over and put her hand on Lane’s shoulder. “Mom would really like the whole family there, together.”
Was this kind gesture genuine or was Meagan delivering her parents’ message? After last time, would they assume she’d try to get out of going?
“What if I offered you a way out of the spotlight?” Meagan asked.
Lane raised her eyebrows.
“We haven’t found someone to take photos this year. Maybe you can hide behind your camera?”
Pops drained the last of his lemonade. “Or you could take the deputy with you.”
“The deputy?” Shock registered on Meagan’s face. “Not the young, scrappy one who looks like Prince Harry? He’s too young.”
Lane shot a look at her grandfather, who raised a shoulder and gave a mirthful chuckle. She never should’ve told him about Charlie—who was definitely not scrappy.
“Is that a smile?” Meagan’s voice rose in a singsong tone. “Wait—not the new deputy? The one all the PTA moms are talking about?” Her eyes darted back and forth from Pops to Lane.
“Yes.” Lane wrinkled her nose, feeling like a schoolgirl admitting a crush to her best friend. Was that what this was? “Charlie’s a friend.”
“I know Charlie.” Noah raised his hand and gave a toothy grin.
“Why don’t you go put your toys away?” Lane pointed at Noah’s backpack on the floor near the screen door.
Tilting his head to the side, Noah waited for Pops. The wink came and Noah smiled. “Okay.” He slid out of his chair and collected his bag.
Noah’s foot barely hit the first step of the stairs when Meagan said, “Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill.” Lane picked up the clipboard and pointed a pencil at the painting. “What do I put down for that painting?”
Meagan waited a second longer and then gave up. They may have shared secrets when they were Noah’s age, but those days of sisterly conspiracy had ended when Meagan met and exceeded their parents’ expectations of the ideal daughter.
“This painting doesn’t have a tag.” Meagan turned the painting over. “I don’t know where it came from.”
“It’s nice.” Lane peeked over her sister’s shoulder at the ocean piece. A bright yellow orb kissed the horizon, sending out bold rays of red, orange, and peach that stretched into a sky fading in twilight. “Who’s the artist?”
“I don’t see a name. Anything on the packaging?”
Lane looked at the box. “Nope.” Hmm, that’s weird. “There’s not even a shipping label or stamp.”
“I already told you I’m not sure if I’m coming. Besides, what makes you think he’d want to come with me?”
“Ask him tonight on your date.”
“Pops!”
“You’re going on a date?” Meagan squeaked.
Lane groaned. “No. We’re going to the benefit for Sydney’s family tonight.”
“Is he picking you up?” Meagan quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s across the street at the park. We’re walking there.”
“But together.”
“If you don’t leave, you’ll be the mom who forgot to pick up her kids from school.” As far as Lane was concerned, the conversation was over. It was bad enough she still hadn’t sorted through her feelings for the handsome deputy who “all the PTA moms are talking about,” but the idea that Meagan’s inquisition might be only the beginning of the chatter that her and Charlie’s presence together would cause made her head hurt.
“So, I’ll let Mom and Dad know you’ll be a plus-one for the barbecue.”
“What?” Lane’s gaze spun to her sister, who was smiling.
“Thought that’d bring you back.” Meagan grabbed her purse. “In all seriousness, we could really use a photographer for the event and it’ll be a good excuse to stay busy without Mom and Dad, you know, being Mom and Dad.”
Lane didn’t quite know how to respond to Meagan’s sudden understanding. The perfect wife, mother, and daughter lived a scheduled life, and helping Lane out wasn’t usually penciled in. But as her sister stood in the doorway watching her, Lane believed Meagan was being genuine.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Perfect.” Meagan flashed her perfect smile. “And if you want . . . bring a date.”
Charlie ended the call with Trevor Donovan. Sydney’s father sounded like he no longer had any life left in him.
He didn’t know how the Donovans were going to make it through the benefit. The town wanted to show their support for the family, but maybe it was too soon. And with no strong leads in the case, Charlie felt the burden of finding Sydney’s killer grow with each passing day.
Living Lies Page 12