by Kilby Blades
And Shea still couldn’t get the criminal pieces out of her mind. She didn’t want to ask Kendrick to do anything illegal that would aid and abet someone who was possibly in trouble with the law.
“I just want you to lock my computer down, or help get me one that’s secure. Make it so I can do some clean-up related to Kent, undetected. I want to reach out to my editor, log onto my social media, read some of my private messages. There are things out there that are true—things no one could possibly have known unless someone was cyber-watching me.”
Shea let out a shaky breath, one she hadn’t known she was holding. Kendrick said nothing just then, but she heard him settle into a chair and typewriter clicks begin.
“Can you do it?” Shea asked hopefully.”
“Of course I can do it,” he replied as if his hacking prowess were at once the most obvious and the most natural thing. “Why didn’t you ask me to set up your cybersecurity before?”
“All I did was quit my job. I thought people would move on to the next. I never anticipated this.
“You should have,” Kendrick replied with a hint of distraction. “People do love to worship their gods. It’s the choice you make when you become a public figure.”
“Only, I’m a private citizen. Kent’s brand was entirely anonymous.”
Kendrick didn’t answer for long seconds and Shea quieted when she heard the clicking of his keys. Just as she had eased into the mildest sense of relief did Kendrick respond.
“Privacy is dead.”
20
The Sunday Dinner
Shea
Delilah whistled, long and low, spinning a little as she walked, beholden with the house before she’d even made it in ten paces. It reminded Shea of her own first time walking through the door. Shea spent most of her own time farther in—in the kitchen, or the office, in the TV room, or the back deck. It was easy for her to forget how impressive some of the entertainment spaces were.
Delilah, at present, was taking in the great room. It was masculine and grandiose—probably the biggest evidence that the house belonged to a man. Shea wondered what lucky taxidermist had been paid a handsome fee for its decor. Though tastefully arranged, there were a disturbing number of hunting trophies that Shea could only conclude had been procured by some rustic designer. The soft-hearted Kendrick would have not hunted these trophies himself.
“Who did you say your friend was?” Delilah asked, still feasting with her eyes, still too caught up to look directly at Shea. “And why the hell didn’t you marry him instead of your shitty ex?“
Shea just shrugged. “Met the wrong guy. Gave him the wrong finger. If I had it to do all over again, I might’ve stayed with him,” she absently quipped.
“So you dated this guy?” Delilah motioned her arms up toward the grand ceilings of Kendrick’s house, as if to indicate the man himself.
“Like, a million years ago. A lot of things have changed.”
Delilah tore her eyes away long enough to pin Shea with an incredulous look.
“The guy must still care about you, to let you stay in his house.”
Shea didn’t mention that plenty of people in her circle owned several properties, were billionaires with a capital “B”, and lent out their expensive houses, boats and cars without thinking twice.
“He’s just generous,” Shea shrugged again. “And too much of a workaholic to play with any of his toys.”
Shea took a fresh look around the unused room herself, wanting to stop talking about Kendrick.
“So do you want the grand tour?”
“I’ve always loved these houses.” Delilah said it wistfully as Shea led the way from room to room. “You have one of the sunset ones.”
Shea’s quizzical look earned her an immediate answer.
“The sunrise ones are eastern-facing. You have one of the best ones—it has a view across the valley, clear to Quail Mountain, and it faces the west.”
Delilah’s knowledge made Shea want to look for the book that Kendrick had mentioned—the coffee table tome that had the original photographs of all of these houses.
“Kendrick told me they were designed by some big deal architect,” Shea confirmed aloud. “I’ve been meaning to look the guy up.”
“What you won’t read in any book…” Delilah began, her voice distracted as she continued to make her way through the rooms, “is that Donovan Packard all but saved John Hamren’s career. He built some famous glass houses in California, back in the seventies. But in the area where he built them, some peeping tom had started stalking a bunch of women. It kind of gave his style a bad name. Donovan Packard brought him here…broke him into building mansions on big lots.”
“The windows have taken some getting used to,” Shea admitted, not wanting to out-and-out say that, even after three months, some part of her was still terrified of this house. “I know it’s supposed to be one-way glass, but still…a year is a long time to live all by yourself when you feel this exposed.”
“We could always trade,” Delilah smirked as they swung by the kitchen long enough for Shea to grab the dish she’d made, and her bag. “You can live in my place above the bakery—then, let me live here and introduce me to your gentleman friend…”
“So where does Evie live again?” Shea couldn’t recall the name of the neighborhood Delilah had mentioned twice.
“It’s called “the narrows” because of where it is on the lake. It’s tucked away on purpose—on a little inlet that gives way to the main part. Pete loved his privacy. You’ll see what I mean right away.”
Not being able to find Evie’s house was the whole reason why Delilah had insisted on driving, saying that, even with GPS, Shea would never find the place. It was strange déjà vu, being driven for the first time in months. After a couple of fast turns and a road or two that Shea had never seen, she relented to the truth: much of the town still remained a mystery to her. It was exciting and humbling all at once. Some part of her wished she didn’t live up on that hill, breathtaking house or not. Before she could think too hard on this, Delilah turned off of an unmarked road and onto a gravel driveway that Shea could only assume meant that they’d just arrived.
The first thing Shea could say about the home of Evelyn Boudreaux was that it held a delectable smell. Before she’d made it in ten feet, Shea had a guess as to what dinner might be. The smells were so strong, she saw in her mind’s eye garlic and rosemary roasting on chicken, caramelized sugars bubbling on baking yams, fresh chives on a chopping board and mustard vinaigrette.
Shea could honestly say she hadn’t smelled anything so good since arriving in Sapling. She’d even been hard-pressed to smell such deliciousness in any kitchen in New York. It made her long for a home of her own—not merely a sanctuary for escaping her ghosts and demons—a place that held all of the people and smells and objects that she loved.
“Thank you so much for having me,” Shea said politely. Laying eyes on Evie’s face, it occurred to Shea that she’d seen the woman before. It could have been anywhere in town, from walking down the street to eating at The Big Spoon. Evie reminded Shea of her maternal grandmother.
She had short, graying blonde hair, diminutive stature, a pleasant roundness and a kindly way about her. Evie seemed warm in a way reserved for those who loved openly and deeply. But something told Shea that if she disliked you, she’d turn on you on a dime.
“I should be the one thanking you,” Evie said with twinkling blue eyes and a wide smile. “Delilah can’t stop going on about how much better she likes working at The Spoon since you came on.” Evie lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Folks in town can’t stop talking about how much better they like it, either.”
“Well, I grew up working in a restaurant, so it wasn’t that big of a stretch,” Shea explained. Speaking of which…I know you’re a master baker, so I brought you something from the stove.”
Shea was trying hard to fall into the category of being liked, a category her strategic cooking of sout
hern food had been meant to cinch. Being invited to her first home dinner in Sapling would have felt like a big deal no matter who had done the inviting. It was an even bigger deal that “someone” was related to Dev.
Evie didn’t ask what was in the bag, so Shea held it out a little. When Evie hovered closer to give it a sniff, Shea liked her degrees more than she had even moments before. Evie’s eyes widened and the woman actually gasped. “Collard greens?”
Shea laughed, pleased that Evie seemed excited. “Good nose.”
“May I?” Evie gestured in a way that offered to relieve Shea of the bag. Shea nodded and handed it over.
“Tour of the house?” Delilah asked as Evie disappeared into what Shea guessed was the kitchen. Meandering beyond the foyer gave Shea her first real look around. Whatever calm had descended upon her dampened as she entered the first room. It was a stark reminder that policing was a family affair.
“This was Pete’s room.” Delilah smiled sadly as she walked steps ahead of Shea to lead her in. “It looked different when he was alive. Where his medals are used to be hunting trophies and pictures of fish.”
Shea walked inside, not wanting to disturb anything but forcing herself to look. There was something intimate about all there was to take in. Apart from said police decorations, there were family photos—lots of them. An old recliner sat in one corner positioned in front of a television that looked a little dated, far beyond the five years since Pete had passed. Random pieces of fishing tackle sat on a rolling tray at its side. Shea couldn’t help but to feast her eyes on much younger pictures of Pete and Evie with Delilah and Dev. Dev was different—not just younger, but heavier—the opposite of the uber-fit mountain man.
Next, she was led through the dining room, which had a simple but beautiful table already set for four. A family room had sofas and a television and sliding doors that opened to lake views and an enclosed porch. On the other side of the family room was Evie’s kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” Shea wanted to know as she hovered in the side entryway.
“You can help yourself to a drink,” Evie came back jovially as she moved around the kitchen. “We drink mojitos around here, darlin’. You like rum?”
Shea was about to accept graciously when the creak of an opening door split her attention.
“She likes bourbon,” came Dev’s baritone. “And she’ll be too polite to tell you she’s lukewarm about mint.”
Shea liked that Dev knew this tiny piece of trivia; she also liked the goofiness she always felt around him.
“You ever have bourbon and pink lemonade?” Dev shifted his gaze from Evie and fixed his green eyes on Shea. “It’s real good,” he assured her. “Especially the way Evie makes it.”
He smiled at her in that way he tended to only when they were alone, and when she did, all self-deception was gone. She had jumped at the chance to come to Sunday dinner to get closer to Dev.
“Thought you didn’t cook,” Dev smirked half an hour later after Evie relented on the topic of Shea helping and let the two of them bring in the last two serving dishes to be placed on the table before they sat.
“Oh, I don’t,” Shea fibbed. “But I didn’t want to come empty-handed, so I thought I’d give greens a try.”
Evie and Delilah filed in right on their heels and everyone took their seats. Shea paused her banter with Dev long enough to thank Evie again for inviting her, then accepted the honor of saying grace. For a long minute, they negotiated the passing around of dishes to serve themselves.
“Somebody taught you right,” Evie declared appreciatively after going straight for Shea’s dish, the look on her face as she swallowed her first bite backing up her praise. “I haven’t tasted greens like this since I left the South. I can’t thank you enough for you thinking to bring me a taste of home.”
“Well, I also made them for Dev,” Shea trailed off, throwing him a bit of a wicked smile. “It was one of the only foods I could think of that fit his specifications.”
Dev smirked over at her and took the bait. “What specifications might those be?”
“The ones where you only eat things that are healthy and that are made out of the color green.”
That got a good laugh out of Evie and Delilah, the latter of who had groused more than once that Dev was a little ridiculous with his juice.
“Very kind of you,” Dev came back.
“Well, I figured I’d better not show up at any dinner where you might be without anything rich in folate, calcium and dietary fiber. What do you think?” she asked, motioning to his plate, masking her own nerves as she challenged him to take a bite. It was Shea’s turn to smirk and enjoy the moment when the expression on his face transformed into some mixture of ecstasy, surprise and delight.
“Damn, these are good,” he said a bit loudly, with an approving nod.
What came next was the most enjoyable home-cooked meal Shea could ever remember, least of all because no one put her on the spot to talk about herself.
Dev talked about how he’d gotten his crash course in policing from Pete—a byproduct of the adoption. Dev’s natural interest in problem-solving had led to an interest in crime-solving and Pete had let him shadow some investigations. Simultaneously, Delilah had bonded over cooking with Evie—it was an activity she’d also done with her mom.
“Pete might have liked if I’d followed in his footsteps,” Dev said as he passed the chicken around. Evie’s food was so good, Shea wasn’t shy about helping herself to seconds.
“Only, everyone in town knew Dev’s true calling was business,” Evie said. Shea found her tendency to cut in and half-tell both Dev’s and Delilah’s stories endearing. “He was just so smart with it,” Evie continued. “They had this little investment club, down at the high school. Every year, the kids had a pot of money to invest—each kid was responsible for a portion, then they had to decide as a group how to invest a bigger pool. That first year, Dev was just a freshman. None of the upperclassmen would listen to him. And do you know what happened?”
Shea’s eyes darted from Evie to Dev long enough to see him look embarrassed.
Evie pointed at Shea for emphasis when she answered her own question. “He doubled his money. He was like that with everything. He just had this sense when it came to economics and technology. The way he knew things, he was almost…prescient. Everything he touched turned to gold.”
“So you went to business school…” Shea took over, repeating the part of the story she knew.
“Not until I was twenty-three,” Dev answered humbly. “I majored in econ in undergrad, then spent a couple of years in finance.”
“Some part of him wanted to give all those smarts to law enforcement,” Evie kicked back in. “But he was always bigger than this town. We knew he had to leave. And we helped him do it, too…”
“Evie…” Dev started in. “I’m sure Shea’s getting bored hearing too much about me.”
“Oh, hush,” Evie tutted, swatting her hand in Dev’s general direction. “You let Mama Evie brag about you, boy.”
Shea bit back a smile when Dev raised an eyebrow and dutifully shut his mouth. Evie’s expression turned serious.
“Now, Pete and I were hard working people, but we’d never put away money for kids, and we couldn’t afford college for Dev. Colorado State, maybe, but not any of the big, private universities that wanted him. Dev was good with money, but we didn’t think it was right to tell an eighteen-year-old to start off his life with debt. So we took up a collection—you know, from people in town. To the tune of forty-thousand dollars, the people of Sapling helped.”
Shea stopped chewing and her eyes darted back to Dev, whose expression had gone from embarrassment to something complex. Forty-thousand dollars was a lot of money for working-class people to come up with in a small town.
“It’s why Dev came back,” Delilah said softly when it seemed less and less likely that he would speak for himself. “The people here believed in him—helped him become what h
e become. He wants to help Sapling reach its potential, just like Sapling helped him reach his.”
By this time, both Evie and Delilah were smiling proudly at Dev, as if he were some kind of saint. Shea would bet, if she could see her own face, that she was, too.
“It was one reason,” Dev said gruffly, when he finally spoke, his gaze flicking up to meet Shea’s, only for a minute before he looked first to Delilah and then to Evie. “San Francisco was too lonely without my girls.”
21
The Ride Home
Dev
“That was nice.”
Shea said it more softly than he expected a full minute after they’d gotten in the car and begun to make their quiet descent down the hill. She’d done a bit of a double-take when they’d walked onto the driveway and she’d gotten a shadowed view of his car—not the pickup she was so used to seeing him drive, the car that made him blend in with everything and everyone else—the shiny blue Tesla the color of the night sky.
“Sunday dinner’s the highlight of her week.” The car was quiet and his voice sounded deep to his own ears. “Hell, it’s probably the highlight of mine. With Pete gone, we all realized there’s something precious in the simple things.”
Shea stared out the window at the passing dark. Bright headlights flooded the path in front of the car. Yet, out her window, something magical: the night was so clear, dappled rays of moonlight shone down upon the forest floor.
“You’re lucky to have both of them…” The corner of her mouth turned up, but just a touch of something in her voice was sad. “I can tell they love you a lot.”
“You should come back next week—come back every week if you want.”
Dev's offer was so instinctual—so easy for him to say, and so right in the way it felt for him to say it—it erased whatever vestiges of constraint remained. He’d stopped trying to justify his abnegation somewhere between game time and dessert. Seeing her with his family only made him want to bring her closer. For reasons he couldn’t justify with logic, he was convinced that every last one of them needed one another.