by Jeff Shelby
Laura glanced around the room, nodding with satisfaction. “We had a good space to work with.”
It was as close to a compliment I’d heard come out of her mouth about anything related to the house, and I managed to not mirror the surprise I was feeling inside in my expression or my words. “Thank you,” I said simply. She could take it as gratitude for her work or for the compliment she’d just paid; it was her choice.
Gunnar and Connor had moved to the living room; I could hear the low murmur of their voices. I didn’t see Mikey, and I asked Laura where he was.
“Bathroom, I think?” she said. She frowned. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“I was just wondering where he was,” I said.
“But you think he’s okay, right?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure everything is fine.” And then, because I was pretty sure she was contemplating setting out on a manhunt for a guy whose only crime had been needing to pee, I said, “Come help me bring food out.”
Jill sat down at one of the chairs, a wineglass in her hand. For the first time since I’d met her, she looked relaxed, and this made me happy. Laura needed to follow suit, and I made a mental note to shove a glass of wine in her hand the minute we returned to the room.
She followed me into the kitchen. “Quite a full house for Thanksgiving,” she remarked.
“It is,” I agreed. “Isn’t it nice?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” she finally admitted. “It kind of is.”
I beamed. “These are good people, Laura. These are my friends.”
“I know,” she said. “Connor and I…” She hesitated. “Connor said…he said I might have overreacted a little. About the mur—investigation. I just…I worry sometimes.”
This was the understatement of the year, and it was slightly misleading. She didn’t worry sometimes; she worried all the time. But I knew how hard it was for my daughter to admit this kind of thing.
“I know you do,” I told her. “But you don’t have anything to worry about. I promise.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I know. I…I believe you.”
I had my doubts that she meant what she was saying, but I nodded back.
I just needed to take my own advice and believe it, too.
THIRTY FIVE
After a few minutes of bringing out dish after dish, the table was loaded.
And so was Jill.
She was still seated at the table but Eric had joined her. Her cheeks were red, her eyes glassy, and there was a permanent smile etched on to her face. An empty bottle of wine sat between them and I tried to do the mental math to figure out how many sips she would have had to take to down the bottle in the time it had taken Laura and I to bring out the food.
The conclusion I came to: a lot.
I set the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table, right next to Declan’s dish.
Jill giggled. “He said that? Really?” She was talking to Eric.
Eric nodded. He was holding his own wineglass, a red instead of the chardonnay Jill had pounded.
“Why?” she asked. I swore she batted her eyelashes when she said this.
Eric was looking at her, his dark eyes locked on hers. “Thought we might have some things in common.”
“Oh, yeah?” She went to sip her wine, then frowned when she saw that her glass was empty. She picked up the bottle, her frown deepening when she realized there was nothing left. She set her glass down and took Eric’s out of his hand. She sipped. “What kind of things did Owen think we might have in common?”
“Well, he said you liked to have a good time…”
I cringed. Were these two really talking about hooking up at my dinner table?
“We should probably get seated,” I said, loudly enough to break into their conversation.
Jill giggled. “We already are.”
“I mean with everyone else,” I said.
Laura stepped closer to the table. “We made place cards,” she said, motioning to the folded over pieces of paper sitting on each plate. “I found some index cards and just used those. Hope that was okay.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling.
The smile lasted for about two seconds. Because I found my name and who I was seated next to.
Declan.
I did a quick scan of the rest of the place cards. I could see exactly what Laura had done and why she’d chosen the seating arrangement she did. Gunnar and Jill were seated next to each other, because they were father and daughter. Connor and Laura were next to each other, as were Mikey and Eric—a logical decision, considering they’d arrived together. That left me…and Declan.
For a brief second, I debated switching the place cards around. Gunnar and Connor were still in the living room, and Declan had returned to the kitchen for something. I doubted that he’d noticed the seating arrangement.
But then I stopped.
Why should I worry about who I sat next to? This was my house, and all of these people were my guests.
Besides, it was too late. Because Gunnar and Connor had returned to the dining room, and Declan had wandered back in, as well, holding the package of rolls I’d bought at Toby’s.
“Do we need these?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Mikey brought homemade ones.”
Mikey was circling the table, looking for his place card. He looked up when I said this and smiled. “Pillow rolls. Softest rolls you’ll ever eat.”
“I’ll take these back into the kitchen.” Declan disappeared.
Gunnar was looking at the table, a frown on his face, and I knew he’d just noticed the seating arrangement.
“Jill and Laura made the place cards and set them out,” I told him, hoping I didn’t sound nearly as defensive as I felt.
He nodded coolly. “Of course they did. And they did a fine job.”
“It's just seating,” I said.
“I'm aware,” he said, smiling at me. “And I see right where you're sitting.”
“If you feel the need to rearrange—”
“Now why would I need to do that?” he asked.
I started to tell him because he was acting like a small child, but Declan came back and I didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was.
Everyone had settled into their seats and Gunnar was doing a fantastic job of not looking in my direction. I thought about putting my arm around Declan just to irritate him a little, but decided instead to reach for my wineglass. I was about to initiate a toast when the doorbell rang. I gazed at the sea of guests sitting at my table, wondering if I’d somehow managed to forget that I’d invited someone else.
“Do you want me to get that?” Declan asked.
Gunnar half stood. “I can get it.”
I didn’t need them to fight over one more thing.
I set my wineglass down. “I’ll get the door,” I said firmly.
I excused myself and headed for the door, hoping I wasn’t going to find an unexpected and unremembered guest on my doorstep.
Two people, not one, were waiting when I answered the door.
Two people I was certain I hadn’t invited to dinner.
Martin and Dawn Putnam.
THIRTY SIX
“This is a…surprise.”
I didn’t know what else to say. It was the middle of Thanksgiving Day and the woman I’d fought with earlier was now standing at my door. With her husband.
“We’re sorry to barge in on you like this,” Martin said. He nudged Dawn when she remained silent. “Aren’t we, honey?”
“Don’t call me honey,” was all Dawn said, her voice more of a growl than anything else.
Martin frowned at her but when his eyes returned to me he replaced it with an apologetic smile. “Dawn told me what happened this morning,” he explained. “And, well, I just felt like it was important for us to come by and apologize. I was the one who asked Mikey to call you, and I didn’t think Dawn would…would react th
e way she did.”
Dawn scowled, her arms folded against her chest. It looked as though my house was the absolute last place she wanted to be.
I felt the same way.
“It’s fine,” I said. Her behavior had been the furthest thing from fine but I was anxious to get back to my guests and my meal, mostly so we could just get it over with.
Martin cleared his throat and nudged Dawn again.
She blew out a breath and stared at me, her eyes angry. “I’m sorry,” she said shortly.
I almost laughed. That was the sorriest excuse for an apology I’d ever heard.
But I didn’t care. I just wanted them gone. Well, Martin could have stayed—I liked him—but Dawn was rounding out the list of my least favorite people. Sheriff Lewis was probably the only one higher up on the list.
“Apology accepted,” I said, as graciously as I could.
I was just about to say goodbye and close the door when Eric appeared next to me.
He waved an empty wineglass at me. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked. His eyes were a little glassy and I wondered if he was following in Jill’s footsteps with his alcohol consumption.
I opened my mouth to answer but Dawn’s gasp made me swivel back in her direction.
“You!” she shouted. “What are you doing here?”
Eric shrank back from the door, clutching the wineglass to his chest. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Dawn took a step toward us. Martin reached for her elbow but she jerked out of his reach. I backed up, bumping into Eric, who then jumped like a snake was about to strike him.
It wasn’t a bad analogy, considering the expression on Dawn’s face.
“You’re the one who told the sheriff I was there!”
Eric’s eyebrows disappeared under his mop of dark hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Yes, you do,” she barked. “You told him you saw me at the motel.”
His eyebrows dropped back from his hairline, furrowing into a frown instead. “Because you were.”
Dawn stepped forward again, and I stepped back. So did Eric. We were now out of the doorway and inside the living room. Martin had the door propped open, as if he didn’t know whether to come in or wait outside.
“You set me up.”
Eric was shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was backing up, heading for the dining room.
“You’re the only person who put me at the motel that night. The only ‘eye witness.’” She used her fingers to form air quotes around the last two words.
“You mean you weren’t there?” I asked, confused as to what she was trying to say.
She glared at me. “Of course I was there! But he told the sheriff so he would think I murdered my brother!”
I tried not to roll my eyes. I was pretty sure Eric had told the sheriff because it was the truth, and not because he had some ulterior motive to pin a crime on Dawn.
“What’s in it for you, huh?” she asked, still seething. “Did Owen leave you his half of the restaurant? Does he have some secret will I don’t know about?”
Eric looked genuinely confused and a little scared by Dawn’s tirade. “I…I don’t know if he had a will. He didn’t say anything about one.”
I held up my hand. “I think we’ve discussed this enough,” I said. “We were just sitting down to dinner. Maybe we can continue this conversation later?”
Eric nodded quickly. “Works for me.”
He didn’t wait for a response, and hightailed it to the dining room, his need for the restroom apparently gone.
If Dawn had heard what I just said, she made no indication of it. She watched Eric disappear into the dining room and then, with a huff, marched after him.
“Dawn, I—”
But it was too late. She wasn’t stopping. Not now, and probably not until she’d finished saying her piece.
Martin shot me an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
I didn’t answer. Instead I hustled after Dawn, hoping I could intervene before she ruined any remaining hope I had of salvaging our holiday dinner.
Eric had already slid back into his seat, positioning himself next to Jill so that he was just out of view from the doorway. Every head at the table swiveled in our direction, their confusion expressed collectively on their faces.
Everyone except Jill.
Because Jill was hammered, and she was currently staring at her phone, laughing boisterously.
“Jill,” Gunnar warned in a low voice. The look of disapproval on his face was hard to miss.
She wiped at her eyes. “Sorry,” she managed to choke out. “I just…these pictures…” She dissolved into a fit of giggles, and I had to wonder if whatever she was looking at was truly that amusing or if the wine she’d consumed had altered her reality just enough to make everything seem funnier than it was. Because no one else at the table was laughing.
“Jill,” Gunnar repeated, louder this time.
She glanced up. “Oh my god, you guys have to see these!” She turned the phone around and showed it to everyone seated at the table.
I squinted, trying to see what was on the screen. All I could make out were two guys holding pillows. Two guys who looked like they were only wearing underwear.
“Is that…you?” Laura asked, directing her question to Eric.
What skin was visible on Eric’s face flushed a deep red.
Laura leaned in for a closer look. “What are you doing?”
Jill put her thumb and forefinger on the screen and zoomed in on the picture. “Don’t you see the caption? ‘Pillow Power: We Smother the Competition.’” She laughed again and the phone shook in her hands.
“That was a long time ago,” Eric muttered, not looking up from the table.
I mimicked Laura, leaning closer so I could get a better look.
“Is that…Owen?” I asked as I examined the photo.
It wasn’t a question that needed answering. I could tell exactly who was in the picture: Eric and Owen. They were sitting on a couch, wearing what looked like matching boxer shorts. Each held a pillow. A beer bong was on the coffee table in front of them, empty, with crumpled beer cans littering the carpet. Someone had superimposed a caption on the photo. It did indeed read ‘Pillow Power: We Smother the Competition.’
“What is this?” I asked Eric. “Some kind of…club?”
Eric’s voice was barely audible. “It was just something we did for fun. Drank beer and had fights with our friends. Pillow fights, though, ‘cuz no one wanted to get hurt.”
“What happens in Pillow Club stays in Pillow Club?” Gunnar asked wryly.
I stifled a smile at Gunnar’s joke.
Dawn snatched the phone from Jill’s hand.
“Hey!” she protested, grabbing for it, but Dawn moved out of reach.
Her fingers flew across the screen as she scrolled through pictures. And then they froze. Her mouth dropped open and she slowly turned the phone around.
“What’s this?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom.
Eric shrank into his seat, as if he wished the bottom would fall through and open a portal to another world. A world without Dawn.
I glanced at the screen. It was a picture of Eric and a pretty brunette wrapped up in a hug. Their cheeks were pressed together, and both were smiling.
“It looks like a picture of Eric and…a girl,” I offered quietly, hoping Jill wouldn’t hear and silently cursing Eric for apparently flirting with her while he had a girlfriend.
“That’s not just any girl,” Dawn said. She stabbed the screen with her finger. “Why are you hugging Owen’s girlfriend?”
THIRTY SEVEN
Eric sputtered, his lips trying to form words but failing.
“Answer me,” Dawn demanded.
Gunnar pushed out of his chair. “Look, I think this can wait for another time.”
But Dawn wasn’t having it. “Why are yo
u hugging her? Tell me! Why? What is this?”
I felt my blood pressure rising. This was not how I’d pictured dinner to go. Actually, nothing had happened that afternoon had been what I’d pictured for my Thanksgiving holiday. Not the extra guests, not the chestnut soup with duck fat garnish, not the fight over the seating arrangement with Gunnar, and certainly not Dawn suggesting one of my guests of having an affair—if that’s what she was doing—with her dead brother’s girlfriend.
“Dawn,” I began.
“Answer me!” she screamed, her face turning a startling shade of red. “You are hugging my dead brother’s girlfriend! Why?”
Eric’s fist pounded the table. “She was my girlfriend first!”
All eyes at the table turned to look at him.
“She was my girlfriend first,” he repeated. His voice was raw. “And he…he stole her.”
I let his words sink in for a moment. So did everyone else gathered around the table. Even Dawn was quiet for a minute, his accusation catching her off guard.
But the wheels in my head were beginning to turn. Because suddenly, I had a theory about what happened to Owen…and who might have killed him.
“Owen stole your girlfriend?” I kept my voice gentle, concerned.
Eric nodded.
“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”
If he was concerned about spilling his soul to a table full of strangers, he didn’t show it. “I…I introduced the two of them a few months ago. Becca had just come back from overseas. Madrid. She was going to school there.”
“So you had a long-distance relationship?”
“For two years. I went to see her once.”
“What happened when she came back?”
His expression darkened. “I introduced her to Owen. And…and she dumped me.”
I felt a tiny twinge of sympathy for him, and a whole lot of animosity toward Owen. What kind of guy stole their friend’s girlfriend?
Owen Nichols.
But there was something else I was focused on, something that had niggled the back of my mind when I’d first noticed it.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” I asked quietly.