Marriage of Inconvenience

by Penny Reid

  She scoffed at him. “What if I need it?”

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  “What if I’m walking to the art classroom and I—”

  Dan’s eyes flew open and he covered her mouth. “Stop talking.”

  She laughed silently, her shoulders shaking, staring at him.

  When he dropped his hand, she blurted the rest of her question, “—AND I WANT A FIVE KNUCKLE SHUFFLE!”

  Dan covered her mouth again and now they were both laughing, staring at each other, him trying to give her the evil eye. The effect was ruined by his barely suppressed laughter, and my snorts of laughter, and Marie’s guffaws.

  They were too freaking cute. Seeing the love, respect, and admiration between them warmed my heart. I loved how they teased each other and made each other laugh so easily. I glanced at Marie and she glanced at me, and a little voice reminded me that this is what I had with her, and Janie, and Sandra. It’s what I had with my friends.

  Eventually, he released his sister and she wagged her eyebrows. “Ah well, doesn’t matter. We’re moving before Christmas, so she won’t be going to that school anymore anyway.”

  “Where’re you moving?”

  Mary sighed tiredly. “Dale wants to move us to Cowhampshire.”

  “Ah jeez. That’s beat. Sorry.” Dan placed his arm around my back, drawing me close to his side, and I leaned against him. He’d been doing this all day, finding reasons to touch me and hold me since we woke up this morning.

  He’d found me in the bathroom after our discussion, brushing my teeth. I’d been debating on what to do about Caleb, how best to annihilate him, when Dan slid an arm around my middle and began devouring my neck. Then his fingers were in my hair, pulling it, angling my head to expose more of my skin. Then his hand around my waist moved into my shirt, and well . . . you know.

  “It’s not that bad.” Mary sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “At least the house is big.”

  “Where exactly?” Quinn asked.

  “Down east.” She shrugged, giving her eyes a half-roll.

  Dan scratched his jaw. “Oh. That’s not too far. They got a Dunks?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m not moving anywhere I can’t get my coffee.”

  “I feel you.” He smirked. “We’re actually looking at moving to Boston.”

  “Get out!” Mary grinned at us both. “Well that’s great, back in the neighborhood, huh?”

  “That’s the plan.” Dan returned his sister’s smile. “We’re looking for a house right around here.”

  “Where you living now? Renting a place?” Mary took another gulp of her beer.

  “Nah. Kat’s got a place we’ll stay in temporarily.”

  “Where is it?” She looked at me.

  “Duxbury. It’s south of Boston, on the shore.”

  Mary let out a low whistle, glancing at her brother while Dan seemed to brace himself.

  “Look at you, Danny. No more Nantrashbasket or Marsh Vegas for you. Moving on up to Deluxebury.”

  He grunted, shaking his head, fighting a smile.

  I laughed. “Deluxebury. That’s hilarious.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Dan leaned close to me, like he was telling me a secret, but kept his eyes on his sister and whispered loudly, “I once told her she could borrow my pink vibrator and she had a field day.”

  Mary smacked him in the arm.

  Everyone laughed.

  Again.

  The best.

  Over the course of the afternoon, we drifted from the kitchen to the dining room to the deck. There was always someone new to meet, always a new story about Dan growing up.

  A Red Sox game was on in the family room, and a radio broadcasted the game in the backyard, providing background noise and a soundtrack for the party. At intervals, everyone—it seemed—would either cheer or groan, depending on who got a hit, who was safe, or who was out.

  Most of the people present were relatives, some were neighbors, some were work friends of Eleanor’s, and everyone brought something.

  Even Uncle Eugene brought something when he showed up late in the afternoon, a cottage cheese pie, which was my favorite.

  “Thank you.” I accepted the pie while Dan sent me a look that said be nice over Eugene’s shoulder.

  “You’re welcome.” His eyes moved over me, as though making a mental list or tally. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” I gave him a hard look and decided it was time to set him straight. “You can’t lie to me anymore.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, he leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms; he was the only person in a suit and stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone else was wearing Red Sox or Patriots apparel, jeans, and sneakers.

  “Okay,” he finally conceded. “I won’t.”

  “I need to be able to trust you because I am going to need your help. I want my voting shares back immediately.”

  He continued to study me. “You think you’re ready?”

  “I have to be.” I stepped closer to him. “Caleb has been sabotaging Caravel for two years, maybe longer. I have to save it.”

  Eugene looked surprised, and a little doubtful, so I looked to Dan and motioned for him to come over.

  He did, glancing between us. “What’s up?”

  “We need to fill him in.”

  Dan seemed mildly surprised, but nodded. “Okay. You want me to find Janie?”

  “Who’s Janie?”

  I touched Eugene’s elbow and tilted my head toward the kitchen exit. “She’s a friend of mine who figured out in three days what no one else has been able to piece together in three years. Come on, Dan will get her.”

  I guided him to the study, stopping along the way to greet people and introduce him. For simplicity’s sake, I called him “my Uncle Eugene.” Everyone seemed to accept this, and with acceptance came hugs and “welcome to the family” and questions about his team loyalty.

  Dan’s Uncle Zip looked him over, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, and said, “You look like you’re a Yankees fan. Are you a Yankees fan?”

  Eugene responded with a succinct, “Go Sox,” and Zip let him pass.

  Janie and Dan were already in the study when we arrived, and my friend wasted no time filling in Eugene on what she’d uncovered from the division financial reports. He listened attentively, grimacing when I filled in the rest of the blanks about Caleb’s self-dealing, but interrupted me when I suggested that we should pursue a shareholder lawsuit.

  “No. This is illegal. He’s stealing trade secrets, disallowed by the Uniform Trade Secrets Act. What he’s doing constitutes obtaining patents by improper means. He’ll go to jail.” Eugene stopped short of rubbing his hands together.

  “So then, here’s the question,” I glanced between Eugene and Janie, “How do we make this information public with the least amount of damage to Caravel and without incriminating ourselves?”

  My lawyer’s eyes grew impossibly shrewd. “You have a friend who’s a journalist, correct?”

  “Yes. Marie Harris.”

  “What does she know so far? About Caleb?”

  I tried to remember where Marie had been the day prior and what—if anything—she’d heard. “Other than Dan being kidnapped, I don’t think she knows much about what happened yesterday. She stayed in the living room mostly.” Almost like she was doing her best to keep herself in the dark. “Before that, she and her boyfriend uncovered some information for us about Dr. Branson, but she doesn’t know that Dr. Branson’s research in the Caribbean was funded by Caleb. We never brought her in the loop on that.”

  “You also have a friend who is good at hacking, I think?” Eugene’s gaze cut to Dan.

  Dan shrugged noncommittally. “We might.”

  “Have your hacker friend find the offshore law offices handling Caleb’s companies’ paperwork and filings, it’ll be more damning than financial records, and less likely to raise the interest of the SEC. Give the documents—anonymously—t
o the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists.”

  Janie gasped. “Of course! The Panama and Paradise Papers. That’s genius.”

  Eugene nodded, sending her a slight, but impressed, smile of approval.

  “What are the Panama and Paradise Papers?” Dan glanced between Janie and Eugene.

  Janie looked frustrated, like she had so much to say and no time to say it. “It’s a long story, but basically the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists received a bunch of documents anonymously originating from law firms that focus on offshore dealings, nicknamed the ‘Offshore Magic Circle.’ You can look this all up on Wikipedia. Anyway, the documents have brought down a few government leaders, people in the Dominican Republic protested, the Prime Minister of Iceland resigned.”

  “Have your journalist friend keep an eye out for the documents. She can report on Caleb’s self-dealing. Have her be the one to suggest a lawsuit for fraud against shareholders in addition to pointing out the obvious illegality of his actions.”

  “What about the jacked up prices on generics?” I crossed my arms, giving Eugene a hard look. “I can’t continue to allow that.”

  He nodded. “We’ll go to the board together. Share prices will drop, but Caravel has enough cash on hand to weather the storm.”

  “And they’ll be better in the long run.” Dan smoothed his hand down my back, giving me a kiss on my shoulder.

  After answering a few more of his questions, our impromptu meeting dispersed. As we left the study, Eugene was cornered by Uncle Zip, asking him what he thought the Yankees’s chances were this year, apparently still suspicious of his loyalty to the Sox.

  Luckily, Eleanor rescued Eugene, asking for his help in the kitchen, and Dan introduced me to more relatives.

  Everyone was really nice except for a few people who were cranky, giving me the impression that being polite wasn’t in their nature. However, nice or not, they made it clear that I was part of the family.

  More than once throughout the day, I found my throat clogged with a strange wave of emotion, and I’d have to blink against stinging in my eyes and nose.

  I would regulate my breathing, smile, and the emotions would pass. Dan seemed to pick up on these ebbs and flows, stepping into a lag in conversation, making a joke, giving me a kiss, or even pulling me away to someplace private for a quick hug and shared I love yous.

  We were on our way back from one such private embrace when Dan stiffened and took a step back.

  “Ah God, it’s Aunt Meg.” Dan turned, as though to block me from her view.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I whispered, trying to see around his shoulder.

  “Don’t drink when she speaks,” he whispered urgently.

  “Why not?” I searched his eyes.

  “She buries the lead.”

  “Buries the lead?”

  “Daniel Patrick, there you are.”

  He stiffened again. “Too late.” Pasting on a smile, he turned, revealing a dainty, lovely, sweet looking woman who might’ve been over one hundred years old. “Aunt Meg.”

  “Let me kiss you.”

  She did, and left two red lipstick marks on his cheeks, giving me the impression she’d just applied a new layer.

  “And who is this?” She turned her gaze to me, giving me a friendly smile.

  “This is, uh, Kathleen.”

  She extended a hand and I gave it a gentle shake.

  “So nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

  “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, I—”

  “We’re so happy to see Daniel finally settling down with a nice girl, you have no idea how much his mother wants more grandchildren. And it’s about time one of these boys did something for their mother.”

  “Aunt Meg—”

  “But they’re good boys, more or less. I remember one time, I think Daniel was just about three, and Seamus must’ve been almost ten or eleven. My Harriet was out in the garden and there was your husband, holding the basket for her. So sweet.”

  I smiled at the older woman, bringing my glass to my lips for a sip of water. Dan caught my wrist, forestalling my drink. I glanced to him while Meg continued her story and he gave me a severe look, shaking his head, then tilting it back towards his aunt.

  “They picked carrots out of the garden that day, zucchini too. I think she made zucchini bread, a few loaves and, you know your ma,”—Meg gave Dan’s cheek a soft, affectionate pat—“she had you boys take the vegetables around to the neighbors. And that’s how Seamus discovered Mr. Cleary’s dead body.”

  I choked on air, my eyes bugging out, and I began to cough.

  “Yep. I remember that day.” Dan rubbed his hand down my back to my bottom, giving it a surreptitious little pat. “Poor Mr. Cleary.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ravelry: a community site, an organizational tool, and a yarn & pattern database for knitters and crocheters. You should join.

  —Ravelry.com

  **Kat**

  Knit night was in full swing.

  All of the guests, family members, and friends had departed, leaving just us knit night ladies, our significant others, and Dan’s mom, Eleanor. Surprisingly, Eugene had been one of the last to leave. He’d stayed and helped Eleanor pick up, lingering with her in the backyard past 8:00 PM.

  When Eugene left, Dan came up behind me in the kitchen and placed a kiss on my neck. “So, you and your uncle made up?”

  Condensing the leftover appetizers to one platter, I shook my head. “We have a truce.”

  “But you don’t forgive him?” Dan leaned to the side, catching my eyes.

  “He didn’t ask for forgiveness.”

  Dan made a sound in the back of his throat, coming to my side, his hand sliding down my back to rest on my bottom. “You can still forgive someone even if they don’t ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness is about you not holding on to other people’s shit.”

  Before I could respond to this bit of wisdom, Quinn walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” Dan lifted his chin toward Quinn.

  Unsurprisingly, Dan didn’t remove his hand from my bottom. Instead, he slowly rubbed my backside, and then shifted his arm so that it draped along my back.

  “I have something you should both hear.” Quinn’s eyes were on Dan as he pulled out his phone, navigated to an audio file, and pressed play.

  I listened as a conversation between Seamus and Caleb played over the phone’s speaker, my mouth dropping when I realized it was extremely incriminating for both Dan’s brother and my cousin.

  “They’re discussing Dan’s kidnapping.” Outrage and residual fear rose to tighten my throat. “They were going to kill him.”

  Dan shook his head, ending the recording. “I was there for that conversation. I was never in any real danger.”

  Quinn and I listened as Dan explained what had happened.

  “So . . . Caleb wanted you dead, and Seamus wanted the money,” I recapped. “But Seamus double-crossed Caleb.”

  “Seems like it.” Dan nodded, kissing my shoulder. “Like I said, I wasn’t in any real danger, but Seamus was hoping you wouldn’t know that.”

  “So she would pay the ransom,” Quinn filled in. “And Seamus got away with the money.”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “He’ll be back. He’s like my mailman.”

  When Dan didn’t continue, or offer an explanation for his analogy, Quinn and I shared a look.

  Eventually, I asked, “How is he like your mailman?”

  “He always comes back and brings bad news.”

  I chuckled while Quinn stared at his friend, clearly not impressed with the joke.

  “So, what’s the plan? You giving this to the cops?”

  “I called my contact at the Boston PD last night, but I didn’t tell him about the tape or about Caleb.” Quinn moved his slightly unsettling gaze to me. “You can use this tape to blackmail your cousin.
It was obtained legally and will definitely convict him, especially if Dan was there in the room. Tell Caleb you want those patents returned, and for him to leave Caravel quietly. That’ll keep your company out of the news, stock prices high, and you can make internal changes without anyone knowing what happened. Seamus took the money, he can take the fall for the kidnapping.”

  I held my breath, my mind racing, looking between Quinn and his phone.

  It sounded too good to be true: my cousin out of the picture, Caravel safe and intact.

  And yet . . .

  I shook my head, remembering something Eugene had brought up earlier in the day. “What about Marie?”

  Dan and Quinn shared a quick look, and Dan asked, “What about Marie?”

  “She knows about the kidnapping. Do you really think she didn’t pick up on some newsworthy details? Like Caravel’s price-hike on generics, or about Dr. Branson and his sinister research in the Caribbean?”

  Quinn frowned, crossing his arms. “I didn’t consider that.”

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t hide what happened. It all has to come out. I’m not going to be responsible for a cover-up. That’s how my cousin does things. Stock prices will drop, yes. I know that. I think Caravel can weather the storm. And, I believe Caleb deserves to pay for what he’s done. Publicly. If I don’t do something now, he’ll just . . . turn into my mailman. I’ll never be free of him.”

  “Most of your wealth is tied to the stock price of Caravel,” Quinn reminded me. “You might lose everything.”

  “I won’t lose everything. I have plenty of investments elsewhere,” I reasoned, even though the thought of Caravel in jeopardy felt like losing everything.

  Dan’s hand came to the space between my shoulder blades and he rubbed. “What does it matter if you gain the whole world, but never get revenge on your dickface cousin in the process?”

  I huffed a little laugh, but then immediately sobered. “I just hope . . .”

  “What?”

  Twisting my lips to the side, I admitted, “I just hope Marie doesn’t write a story about what she saw, what she witnessed when Dan was taken. How I—how I handled it.” I swallowed past a growing tightness. “It’s her job to report the news. What happened to us is news. But it was also something I consider private, personal, and none of anyone’s business.”