Bree Elias. Now there was an interesting development.
She was probably inside Town Hall right this moment, watching her future brother-in-law being sworn in. It was the kind of thing the Elias family did. Those sisters were tight. The family was tight. Other than Rob, of course.
Spence’s family used to be like that, too. Until Rob screwed them over and turned their lives inside out.
“We’re going to be working together, old Bree and I. Seems she’s on that group for the food forest. The one you and I used to talk about.”
And there was another “who would believe it” moment—that an Elias would end up working on the project that Spence had spent the past five years planning as a memorial to his father.
“Think she’s going to spend every meeting giving me hell again?” His laugh was short and only slightly tinged with irony. “All I could think of that day, while she was calling me every name in the book, was that if she only knew the truth . . .”
Not that she ever would. Spence had gone to great lengths to create the story that had spread around town after he left school to take over James Landscaping. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. Nor did he want anyone to think of him as a nice guy, like his dad. Not when it came to business.
Because it seemed the old line about nice guys finishing last had more than a kernel of truth to it. Especially when it came to Gordon James and Rob Elias. And if Spence had learned one thing from the way life had unfolded, it was that he had no desire to be used, discarded, and left holding the bag the way his father had.
“I’ll have to make sure I sit across from Bree at the meetings. Just to watch her squirm.”
Spence’s arm was starting to ache from the weight of the urn. Huh. He must be getting stronger. When he first started these walks five years ago, he could barely make it to the end of Main Street before his muscles started protesting.
“Either that or you’ve been losing weight, Dad.”
A movement by the entry to the building caught Spence’s eye. As if conjured up by the melancholy that always accompanied these walks, Rob Elias slipped out of the building and began picking his way across the icy parking lot.
Spence watched the older man through a cloud of regret. It wasn’t right. Rob Elias had betrayed Spence’s family, dragged his parents into his schemes. Because of Rob, Spence’s parents had been essentially ordered to leave their business, leave Calypso Falls, and start over at the time in their lives when they should have been able to start enjoying themselves.
Because of Rob Elias, Spence had been forced to leave school and take over the family business.
Because of Rob Elias, Spence’s father had died in Arizona, far from the place he had loved and always called home.
Spence watched Rob make his cautious way toward the far side of the lot. It wasn’t what anyone would call a graceful progression. The ice lent a decided Bugs Bunny element to Rob’s movements.
“Looks like someone decided it was more important to wear his good shoes than to do the sensible thing and put on boots,” Spence commented. In his head, his father chuckled and said something about not being petty. Spence gave the bag a jiggle.
“Easy for you to be forgiving, Dad. You don’t have to watch him worming his way back into—”
Rob’s feet flew out from under him. His arms whirled, he lurched sideways, bounced off the side of a pickup—
And hit the pavement.
Shit.
Spence tucked his bag against the side of the building and hurried as fast as he dared across the lot.
If I fall and break my leg because of Rob Elias, I swear I’m going to drop Dad’s urn on his damned fool head.
Ah, now there was a thought to warm the cockles of his heart.
Spence moved steadily, hands braced on every car he passed, keeping his gaze locked on Elias, who had yet to move. His phone was in his pocket. Should he call for help? He considered for a minute, grabbing a side view mirror to steady himself and decided against it. For all he knew, the older man had simply had the breath knocked out of him. No point in setting off sirens and wasting taxpayer dollars on emergency responders when they weren’t needed. Especially on a man who had wasted more than his share of public funds already.
Spence’s decision to wait was rewarded when, just as he skated around the never-ending hood of a Continental—who the hell still drove those suckers?—he heard a loud groan come from the ground. The fact that it was immediately followed by a string of curses against fate, God, ice, and winter in general led Spence to believe that if Rob was hurt, it wasn’t incredibly serious.
He moved slowly to the front grille of the Lincoln and stopped. By his calculations he was just far enough back to not lend a hand.
He knew Rob had noticed him by the sudden halt to the swearing.
“Spence.”
“Elias.” Spence kept his tone as frigid as the surrounding air.
“Don’t suppose you’re going to help me get up.”
“That would be correct.” Especially when closer inspection—and the flailing of arms and legs—assured Spence that Rob did indeed seem to be uninjured.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re just like your father? Because if they did, they were lying through their teeth.”
It was hard to feel threatened or insulted by someone doing his best imitation of an upside-down turtle.
“My father was a good man. Having seen how that turned out, I’m not inclined to follow in his footsteps. Especially when it comes to you.”
Rob stopped his awkward wriggling and leveled a squinty-eyed glare at Spence. “You do remember that I’ve known you since before you were born. You can’t fool me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying.” Spence made himself smile. “Especially when it’s so much fun to watch you squirm and know that, for once, you’re the one paying for your mistakes.”
And to know that, if Spence and the other townspeople he was working with were successful, Rob could well end up paying with the loss of one of his dreams—the chance to set up his new charitable venture in Calypso Falls.
Rob muttered something that Spence couldn’t hear, lost as it was in grunts and groans as he rolled over and grabbed the bumper of the pickup, only to slip once more.
“How about we make a deal?” he said between pants. “You help me up, and you can have ten minutes to curse me out, interrogate me, whatever.”
“Not interested.”
Rob glared at him. “What turned you into such a heartless bastard?”
Not what, Spence thought. Who?
“I’m not totally cold-blooded,” he said. “If you think you need help, I’ll call an ambulance for you.”
“Don’t . . . need . . . god . . . damned . . . ambulance.” Rob pulled himself to his knees and looked back over his shoulder at Spence.
“Good. Then I won’t waste my time or battery.”
“Are you really going to just stand there and make me do this myself?”
“Nope.” Spence pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to record it for posterity.”
“Son of a—”
“My mother is still alive, Elias. I strongly advise that you not say anything that might call her character into question.” He clicked the RECORD button. “Especially when it could end up on YouTube.”
“Damn it, Spence. I gave you your first bike.”
Spence had managed to punch that event down to the bottom of his memory bank. “I already thanked you for that. About twenty, twenty-five years ago.” He stopped, pretended to consider. “If the thank-you note didn’t make it to you before you faked your own death, well, take it from me, my grandmother would have been proud. It was very well written.”
Rob mumbled something and hauled himself slowly, painfully upright. One foot inched forward. A small sound of pain slipped out.
; Despite himself, Spence stepped toward him.
Rob grinned. “Gotcha.”
Spence scowled, turned as slowly and deliberately as the ice would allow, and made tracks.
God, he hated it when his inner nice guy decided to take charge.
* * *
Bright and early the next morning, Bree walked into her mother’s house, set her bag of supplies on the dining room table, and sat down across from Margie, who was nursing an oversize cup of coffee. Which probably meant she was nursing an oversize hangover as well.
“You do know that most people stop partying once the sun rises on the new year, don’t you, Margie?”
Her aunt cleared her throat. “This was Cole’s first big win. His first day as mayor. That called for champagne.”
“You, with champagne? You only drink that at weddings, and then just enough to hold you until you can get to the bar and order a Scotch and soda.”
“And this is why,” Margie said in her most pitiful voice. “Scotch barely leaves a ripple, but that nasty bubbly shit? Turns me into a pile of headache and sweat. Can’t be trusted.”
From the way Margie was clinging to her mug, Bree suspected there was a little more than just a hair of the dog swimming beside the caffeine. In anyone else she would be worried about the beginnings of alcoholism, but this was Margie. Moderation was one of her least favorite words, be it in ingestion or avoidance.
“Has Paige made an appearance yet this morning?”
“I heard her in the shower a while ago. She’ll probably be down in a minute.” Margie scowled. “I don’t know why the hell you have to interrogate her today. She’s flying back to Scotland tomorrow. We shouldn’t have to waste what time we have with her talking about your father.”
“Not my first choice, either,” Bree said. “But these interviews are easier to do in person. Besides, the book is due in May, so I’ll have everything wrapped up and won’t need to bother her when she’s home for the summer.”
Margie grunted. “Damned well better not. Summer is the last time we’ll have her around for more than a week or two at a time. Once she gets married . . .”
Her words trailed off, no doubt dragged down by the same sorrow Bree always felt when she thought about her sister making her permanent home across the pond. As happy as she was to see Paige marrying Duncan—and she was, no doubt about that—she hated knowing that it was going to take passports, airplanes, and serious money for them to be together again.
Why the hell hadn’t anyone perfected that whole “Beam Me Up” thing yet?
“Is Annie working today?”
Margie drank deeply before answering. “If it’s a weekday, she’s at work. How that girl keeps going is beyond me.”
“She would tell you that she loves the job and adores the kids.”
“I don’t buy it,” Margie said. “Nobody likes kids enough to spend their whole life with a houseful of ’em. Especially when they’re not hers. I mean, I love you girls, but I could barely stand you when you were that age. After your mom had Annie and it was nonstop bawling and diapers—well—that was what turned me and Scotch into such good buddies.”
Oh yeah. Bree believed that one about as much as she believed the bulk of Freudian theory. Which was to say, not at all.
“Be proud. Annie works hard to make her day care a safe and fun place for those kids to spend their time.” Her inner imp added, “Maybe you should, you know, hang out there. Volunteer.”
Margie choked on her coffee, sputtered, and thumped her chest. “What the hell? Sabrina Joy, are you trying to kill me?”
“Me? No! Of course not! I just thought it might be good for you to get a better grasp of what Annie does and the service she’s providing. You could read books to the kids. Do some crafts, maybe.” Bree sat back and smirked. “You know, I could totally see you finger-painting with—”
Margie bolted upright in the closest thing Bree had seen to panic from her since the day Neenee kicked open a locked bathroom door, only to have the knob connect with Kyrie’s mouth. The blood had been impressive. Margie’s hyperventilation and fainting spell had been legendary.
“Paige!” Margie yelled as she hurried toward the stairs. “Come talk to your sister before she makes me hurl!”
Bree dug in her bag for a notepad and pen while a softly satisfied laugh spilled out of her.
“You are evil, Bree.” Neenee wandered into the room, a much smaller mug in her hands. She set it down in front of Bree. “You know it’s not normal to torture people that way, don’t you?”
“Not to worry, Mom. I know all about abnormal behavior. Got an A in that class, actually.”
“And yet you continue to land on the Dark Side.” Neenee shook her head. “I will never understand you.”
“I learned it all from the best,” Bree said, nodding toward Margie’s empty chair. “Seriously, if you had any idea how many papers I could write on this family . . . Margie alone could guarantee me tenure.”
“Except that no one in their right mind would believe the things you would have to say about her.” Neenee pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped a button, and slipped it back in. “That’s my biggest worry about this book of yours, you know. That you’ll write the total truth, and no one will believe a word of it because it seems too farfetched.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Paige called as she descended the stairs. “I’ll make up some total bullshit. It’s guaranteed to sound more plausible than the truth.”
“Great. That’s exactly what I’ll need when I go in front of a hiring committee,” Bree said. “Bullshit in my research.”
“Don’t worry, Breezy. I’ll make sure it’s all so juicy and scandalous that no one will be able to stop reading.” Paige widened her eyes and held a hand to the side of her open mouth in mock shock. “Who would believe that those sweet Elias girls could have those kinds of thoughts?”
Bree joined in the laughter, but Paige’s words had reminded her of a niggling worry about her work. “Listen. Something to keep in mind. All but one of my subjects so far are American. Which doesn’t matter so much for the book, because that’s going to be a commercial piece, and the main factor there is how entertaining the stories are.”
“See?” Paige nodded. “Entertainment value. That’s what I can provide you. Think of me every time you cash a big, fat royalty check.”
Bree bit back her instinctive comments about direct deposit, her agent’s cut, and the fact that she would be lucky to make anything above the advance. The up-front money was all she was counting on. It wasn’t a ton by any means—J.K. Rowling probably made as much in an hour as Bree would earn total—but it would give her a nice cushion that would come in handy once her PhD was behind her and it was time to get settled in a new job/home/city.
Planning ahead. It was how Bree had helped care for her sisters during a childhood that could charitably be described as chaotic, and it was how she was going to take care of herself now.
“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m using the same research for my dissertation, and for that I’d like to include a cross-cultural component. So if you should happen to run into anyone over there in bagpipe land who had their childhood ripped out from under them by a parental scandal, let me know, will you?”
“Oh sure. Because that’s the best way to meet new people, especially in a new country.” Paige extended her hand. “‘Hi, I’m Paige, so good to meet you; by any chance was your mother or father a twathead when you were little?’”
“So glad to know you’re taking this seriously,” Bree said, and pulled her bag closer. “Which reminds me—it’s time to begin our interview. You ready to have me delve into the deepest part of your memories?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Planning on it,” Bree said. “Mwahahahahaha!”
Chapter Two
The first meeting of the town/u
niversity urban garden task force was scheduled for the Friday of the second full week in January. Spence made sure he gave himself plenty of time to arrive early. He wanted to see Bree’s face when she walked in and saw him waiting.
He knew she was aware that he would be on the task force. All the names had been listed. So there wouldn’t be any surprise, which was kind of a bummer, since he couldn’t think of any time in the years he’d known her when Bree Elias had been caught off her game. But even if she had her guard up, which she probably would, she was going to have to show some kind of reaction. Even if it was the world’s best poker face, her expression would tell him something. So yeah. He wanted to be in a position to see everything.
He navigated the idiocy of parking a car on campus, barely resisting the urge to ask the attendant why they didn’t just demand that he hand over his passport, wallet, and all his worldly goods, and found the meeting room easily enough for someone who hadn’t gone to school here. Unlike most Calypso Falls kids, who either went to Syracuse, Rochester, or somewhere in the northeast, Spence had headed west. University of Michigan. Go, Blue. He’d loved it there.
Someday, he might go back.
It hadn’t been convenient, and it had made trips home complicated, but those issues worked in his favor when it came time to leave. It meant that there was no one from town who would know the facts. He could and did offer up whatever explanation he chose to the folks back home. And if he wanted to spin a tale that made it appear his parents had left to give him a second chance—a story that would enable them to save face—well—it was a hell of a lot easier when everyone who knew the truth was in Ann Arbor.
He’d done what he could to cover his tracks there, too, just in case. He told his roomies the story he told everyone else—drugs, plea bargain with the authorities, student conduct board recommended he take an extended leave of absence. It kind of scared him that so many folks were willing to believe him. But then, he knew he wouldn’t be the first kid to head to school and lose his way. It was almost a rite of passage.
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