by Beth Andrews
“I still don’t like it,” Anthony grumbled, stopping at the doors to the building. “What’re Uncle Tim and my dad going to think when they find out about this?”
“They’re not going to think anything because there’s no reason for either of them to know.” She squinted up at him—why everyone in her family had to be taller than her, she had no idea. “I love you. I do. If I had a little brother, I’d want him to be fairly similar to you.”
He grinned, all confident charm. “I am pretty awesome.”
She shook her head but couldn’t help but smile in return. “That you are. But I don’t want you to worry about me.” She had more than enough people doing that in her life already. “Let’s not make a major issue out of this.”
His eyes narrowed as if he could somehow see inside her head and discern fact from fiction. “Are you sure all you want from York is his mechanical skills?”
“Absolutely.” The lie caused only the slightest twinge of regret. Sometimes the greater good called for a bit of subterfuge.
“Fine,” he said, sounding as put out as he used to when he was a teenager and she refused to buy him beer. “I won’t say anything—”
“To anyone.”
“To anyone,” he repeated dutifully as he held open the door for her to enter the building. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t find out.”
She doubted that. It wasn’t like her taking her car to Griffin’s garage was some juicy tidbit of gossip. Besides, the rumor mill was already busy enough talking about her mother’s death, Dale’s mysterious disappearance off the face of the earth and her family’s past. Soon they’d be all atwitter about the police chief and assistant chief hooking up.
Such was life.
You couldn’t live in a small town and escape rumors and speculation. When the remains were found, her mother’s past had been dug up, her family’s personal business printed in the Chronicle along with the day’s weather report and the scores from last night’s men’s softball games.
It’d never bothered Nora, not in the same ways it had her sisters or her father. Probably because she’d been so young when her mother had disappeared. Or maybe it was because she’d understood at an early age that she couldn’t escape the gossip so instead, she’d decided to give the town something to talk about. Good things. Positive things. They could talk, but she’d made sure they did so on her terms.
It was easy enough. She’d just been herself. And in doing so had found herself elected homecoming queen and earned the spot of valedictorian of her high school graduating class. Her successes had carried over into college and then law school and she had no reason to think any of that would change now that she worked at her uncle Kenny’s law firm. She was used to the spotlight.
She had to admit, she rather enjoyed being all lit up that way. Call it an inflated ego, but she did so love shining bright for all to see.
But maybe this one time she could slip under the radar.
Anthony followed Nora into the cavernous foyer, with its expensive tile floor and high ceilings. She waved at the firm’s receptionist, Jodi McRae, as they passed and went down the hall toward their offices.
Nora stopped outside her closed door and moved her laptop to the hand already holding her briefcase. “How about lunch today?” she asked. “My treat for you picking me up.”
“You sure it’s a thank-you gesture and not a bribe for my agreeing to keep my mouth shut?”
“Who says it can’t be both?”
“I do hate to say no to a good bribe, so yeah. Okay.”
“Great. You choose the restaurant. Thanks again for the ride.”
Inside her tiny office, she shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. Chewed on her lower lip. She had some big decisions to make. She’d crashed and burned with Griffin, had gone down in a spectacular blaze of glory all because she’d underestimated him.
Pushing away from the door, she tossed her purse onto the chair in the corner then crossed to her desk and set her laptop down. She was supposed to drive down to Boston Thursday for her first meeting with the investigator one of her friends from college had recommended. But that wasn’t going to happen since her car wouldn’t be ready until Friday. Guess she should have thought of that before she started swinging that crowbar.
Besides, without Griffin’s help, without the information he could provide, would a P.I. be able to track down Dale? What were the chances someone in the private sector could do so when the police had failed?
She toed off her shoes, began to pace in front of her desk, the low-pile, pewter carpet rough against her bare feet. Maybe Griffin’s refusal to help was fate’s way of telling her to back off. Maybe it was her salvation.
She shut her eyes and could’ve sworn she heard the Hallelujah chorus. She could blow off this whole idea right now by calling the P.I. and telling him she changed her mind.
Wouldn’t everyone be thrilled if she decided to finally be the meek, mild-mannered girl those who took her at face value expected her to be? The girl her family had long ago stopped hoping she’d turn into. One who didn’t make waves, didn’t cause problems and kept her mouth shut. Who sat back and let her older sisters and father take care of everything. Who trusted things would somehow magically work out with no help, input or manipulation from her.
Yes, she could do that. And she would. Right after she gave herself a lobotomy with a cereal spoon.
Trust me, the best thing that could happen for everyone is for Dale to remain missing. Leave the past alone.
Griffin’s words floated through her mind…strengthened her resolve. She dug her phone out of her purse and placed a call.
“Good morning,” a perky female voice said. “Thank you for calling Hepfer Investigations. How may I help you?”
“Uh…good morning.” She cleared her throat. “This is Nora Sullivan. I have an appointment with Mr. Hepfer Thursday at five.” Her fingers tensed on the phone. “I’d like to reschedule.”
“Of course, Miss Sullivan. What day works best for you?”
“Actually I’d like to offer Mr. Hepfer twice his normal consultation fee if he can meet with me in Mystic Point. Today.”
Leave the past alone?
No way in hell.
* * *
“AFTERNOON,” SOMEONE CALLED later that day as he walked into Griffin’s garage.
Griffin rolled out from underneath the Impala he was working on, sat up and nodded. “Can I help you?” he asked.
The man, Jimmy if the script written on the left of his blue uniform shirt was anything to go by, held out a clipboard. “I just need you to sign here and tell me where you want it.”
Griffin glanced at the clipboard then got to his feet and wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket. “I never sign for something I didn’t order.”
“This Eddie’s Service?” Checking his paperwork, Jimmy frowned. His stomach hung over his belt, strained the buttons of his shirt. “At 1414 Willard Avenue?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re Griffin York?”
“That’s right.”
“Then it’s your delivery,” Jimmy said mulishly, holding out the clipboard again.
This time Griffin took the paperwork, skimmed it. He had no idea why his name and the garage address were listed under delivery recipient. “I didn’t order a ’69 Firebird,” he said, handing the clipboard back. “And I haven’t been hired to do a restoration on one.”
Jimmy scratched his round head, knocking his hat off center. “Says here—” He flipped a page, scanned it. “The owner’s name is Tanner Johnston. He a customer of yours?”
“No,” Griffin said. Tanner Johnston. Hadn’t he always known the quiet, seemingly harmless ones were who you had to look out for most? “Not a customer.”
“I gotta ca
ll my supervisor.” Jimmy’s face was red and sweat dotted his upper lip and brow. Guy looked like he was one heavy breath away from a heart attack. “See what he wants me to do.”
Griffin lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself.”
While Jimmy pulled out his cell phone, Griffin went outside, too damned curious not to. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, its warmth beating down on his head, he crossed the lot toward a shiny blue truck bearing the name of a towing company from Boston on its side.
Hands in his pockets, he circled the back of the truck where the remnants of what could possibly have been, at one time, a red—or maybe orange—Firebird sat on two front bald tires. The body looked like it was held together with rubber bands and a prayer. There was no rear end, no front grille and it looked as if the car had been overrun by leaves and possibly squirrels. He hopped onto the back of the truck, peered into the interior. Gutted. Seats, carpets and dash.
He eyed the hood. Opened it warily. Sighed. No motor. No transmission. He let the hood shut, brushed off his hands.
A tan minivan pulled slowly into the lot, creeping to a stop at the back of the truck. A moment later, Tanner Johnston, star center for Mystic Point’s varsity basketball team, unfolded himself from behind the steering wheel.
Tanner shut the door and studied Griffin. Christ, but he hated when the kid did that, looked at him as if he could read his mind. See into his very soul. Gave him the creeps.
“Hey,” Tanner said, walking toward Griffin in his usual easy pace. The only time the kid moved fast was on the basketball court.
Griffin crossed his arms and leaned back against the Firebird. Hoped it would hold up under his weight. “Something you want to tell me?”
Tanner stopped and tipped his head back to maintain eye contact with Griffin. He nodded slowly once. “I bought a car.”
“Don’t delude yourself. You bought a pile of scrap metal.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’ll look better when we’re done with it.”
Griffin froze. Aw, hell. This was worse than he’d thought. “We?”
At his quiet, deadly tone, Tanner dropped his gaze to the ground. “I thought you could help me fix it up,” he mumbled to his high-tops.
“What made you think that?”
Tanner’s shoulders hunched, his head ducked even farther down as he muttered too low for Griffin to hear.
“What?”
The kid raised his head, a blush staining his smooth cheeks. “I said because we’re brothers.”
Scowling, Griffin stared at the kid. Tanner was tall and lanky with light brown hair and their mother’s green eyes. He was a good-looking kid. Popular despite his quiet nature. Smart and athletic.
He was, in every way that mattered, Griffin’s complete opposite. Polite. Thoughtful. He didn’t break the rules, didn’t even try to bend them. He’d been raised by two parents who loved each other and him. By a father who rarely raised his voice and would never even think of raising his fist. By a mother who’d somehow found the courage to trust in love again, who hadn’t had to shield him from another man’s wrath by succumbing to it herself.
They may be brothers but they had nothing in common except a shared mother and their eye color. And despite Tanner’s best efforts to get them to bond, Griffin wanted to keep it that way.
“No,” he said then dropped lightly to the ground and headed back toward the garage.
“Why not?” Tanner asked, catching up to him.
“Because I’m running a business here, kid. Not a charity.”
“I could pay for it,” Tanner said after a moment. He slid in front of Griffin, walked backward. “For the parts and stuff. And your labor.”
“You can’t afford it.”
Though even he wasn’t that big of an asshole to charge his teenage brother for working on the kid’s car. But Tanner didn’t know that.
“I could pay you back a little at a time,” he insisted quietly. “Like a loan. Or I could work here and you could take it out of my wages.”
“And have you around all the time? No thanks.”
The kid’s face fell. Shit. Griffin tipped his head side to side until his neck popped. He wanted to apologize, to tell Tanner he hadn’t meant it. But the kid was smart enough to recognize a lie when he heard it.
“You and your dad can work on it,” Griffin said brushing past him. “I’ll tell the tow driver to take it over to your place.”
“You can’t,” he blurted, looking guilty as hell.
“Why not?”
“You just can’t.”
“Not good enough.”
He walked away but couldn’t miss the sound of Tanner’s loud sigh. “I sort of already told Mom and Dad you’d agreed to help me fix it,” he admitted.
“And why would you sort of tell them that?” Griffin asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I had to. They didn’t want me to buy a car at all so I had to convince them it wouldn’t be that much to get a junker and fix it up…” Tanner lifted his shoulder again in that careless shrug. “But they didn’t get on board until after they found out you were all for it.”
“Except I’m not.”
“Mom’s really excited,” Tanner told him solemnly. “She keeps talking about what a great experience this will be, for the two of us to do this together.”
Griffin grabbed the back of his neck. Wished he could seize Tanner by the throat instead, maybe give him a few shakes. But that was too reminiscent of how his old man would’ve reacted.
Besides, Griffin didn’t want to hurt the kid. Just make him pay for putting Griffin in this situation. Their mom was probably doing backflips at the idea of her sons bonding over carburetors and exhaust fans.
He could walk away. All he had to do was tell Jimmy, who watched their little family drama with no small amount of interest, to take the car over to the Johnstons’ house. Or, better yet, back to Boston. It would serve Tanner right if he lost out on the tow truck fee.
Yeah, he thought, exhaling heavily. He could do that. Sure, his mother would be disappointed, but she was used to that from him. It was how they worked. She continually pushed him for more than he was willing to give, and in return he made it clear she wasn’t getting it. No sense changing the dynamics between them now.
But if he walked, Tanner would have to admit the truth to his parents. Hey, if you broke the rules, you had to be prepared to face the consequences. And knowing his mom and stepfather—having been punished by them many, many times during his own teen years—those consequences would be major. At least to a seventeen-year-old.
Nothing less than the kid deserved for lying.
But he was watching Griffin with such freaking hope in his eyes, saying no to him would’ve been like kicking a newborn kitten in the head.
“How much did you shell out for it?” Griffin asked, nodding toward the Firebird.
“One thousand.”
“You were screwed,” he said flatly. “It’s not worth more than a couple hundred. Hope you have some cash left for the restoration.”
For the past three summers, Tanner had worked down on the docks with his father. It wasn’t an easy job and he didn’t get to hang out at the beach all day like his friends, but it did pay well.
“Mom and Dad said I could use a total of five thousand on the car,” Tanner said. “The rest of my wages are being saved for college.”
Four thousand dollars wasn’t nearly enough to get the job done, but it’d make a good start.
“Here’s the deal,” Griffin said, unable to believe he was actually agreeing to this. Pissed that the kid had backed him into a corner this way. “We work on it Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons. I’m not putting any time in on it on my own. If you’re not here, the work doesn’t get done. In exc
hange,” he continued when Tanner opened his mouth, “you’ll clean up the garage and do anything else I need done around here. You can pick your own hours but you’d better put in at least twenty a week or the deal’s off. You hear me?”
Tanner nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. It’s a deal.”
And then he grinned, slow and easy, like he’d won the lottery and a night with the hottest cheerleader in his school.
“Enjoy this moment,” Griffin told him. “Because that was for working on the car. The deal for me not ratting you out to your parents is going to cost you even more.”
“You’d blackmail your own brother?” he asked, sounding merely curious.
“Don’t think of it as blackmail. Think of it as me kicking your butt for dragging me into this in the first place. The way I see it, you have a choice. You can take my punishment. Or we can tell Mom and Roger you lied and tricked them. Your choice.”
Griffin imagined Tanner was having visions of himself spending the rest of the summer grounded. Or worse, completely losing his driving privileges.
“What do I have to do?” Tanner asked.
“You are now in charge of all yard work and exterior maintenance at my house for exactly one year.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll mow the grass, do the trim work. In the fall you can rake leaves—”
“You never rake your leaves.”
“Well, they’ll get raked this year, won’t they? You can also clean the gutters. In the winter I’ll expect my walk and driveway cleared each and every morning before I go to work.”
Tanner gave him a long look. “That’s fair.”
It wasn’t. It was overboard and Griffin had the feeling Tanner knew it. Or maybe he knew Griffin had been trying to get him to back out of their deal, which would then let Griffin off the hook.
Now he was stuck, for the second time that day, with a deal he didn’t particularly want and that his instincts told him would somehow come back to bite him on the ass.