the stupid things people do that they believe they can get away with.” She pushed her plate away. “You want dessert?”
“No, and neither do you. You could have drowned in that milk shake.”
“Back to being my keeper, huh? Never mind, I’ve got to save room for dinner. Bobby’s taking me to D.C. tonight.” She raised an eyebrow so I could see all four colors of her Technicolor eye shadow as she signaled for our check. “He says he’s got a surprise for me.”
“What do you think it is?”
“With Bobby, who knows? Maybe a visit to the police memorial and then pizza and a beer somewhere. His idea of fancy is a restaurant where the paper napkins are rolled around the silverware instead of in one of those dispenser thingies.”
I smiled and she picked up the check. “On me. You’re feeding us this weekend. We’re looking forward to your party.”
“Me, too, now that we have our power back on.”
She walked me outside.
“If you find out anything about Beau Kinkaid, will you let me know?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “See you tomorrow at the anniversary party.”
I drove home. Dead ahead of me were the mountains with their softly graded hues of blue. Solid and comforting, I usually never tired of the view. But today I couldn’t concentrate on anything except scenarios of what Annabel Chastain might tell Bobby about Leland’s role in her ex-husband’s death. With Chastain Construction’s press office stage-managing events, I had no doubt they would do whatever was necessary to protect Annabel Kinkaid Chastain.
That included throwing my father to the wolves.
Chapter 11
I went back to the fields and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up storm debris. When I got home that evening, Eli’s Jaguar was sitting in my driveway. I parked behind it and listened as piano music flooded through the open windows of the sunroom. It sounded like Chopin—something torrential and passionate played on my great- great-grandmother’s Bösendorfer concert grand, a wedding present purchased by her husband on their Austrian honeymoon. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. Eli could have gone to Juilliard or studied with some top teacher and actually made a living as a concert pianist, he was that talented.
The piece crashed to an end with a dissonant chord Chopin hadn’t written. I went inside, wondering what had happened to bring my brother here again. Maybe he was even more desperate for money than the last time we’d spoken.
He looked up from the keyboard when he heard me. Disheveled and unshaven, his eyes had the look of a dog that had been kicked repeatedly and had no idea why. In the cheery room filled with light pouring in through the banks of windows and reflecting off walls painted the color of liquid sunshine, he seemed dark, disturbed—and broken.
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “What happened? Where are Hope and Brandi? Are they all right?”
He shrugged and ran his finger across the top of the music stand as though checking for dust. “I suppose they’re all right. They’re probably at home.”
“Why aren’t you at home?”
“I’m not living there anymore. We’re splitting. Trial separation.”
I bent down so my cheek rested on top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yup.” His voice sounded strangled.
“You all right? Where’d you sleep last night?”
“My car. My office.”
He hadn’t answered the first question. “Since when?”
“Couple of nights.”
“Why didn’t you come here?”
“I couldn’t.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to imagine what he’d done on those nights.
“You’re staying here tonight,” I said. “And as long as you need, until you get things sorted out.”
“Thanks.” He patted my arm, but he still sounded lost.
“You going to see a marriage counselor?”
“Don’t think so. Right now she just wants her space.”
“Where’s your stuff?”
“I grabbed some clothes and threw them in the car. Everything else is still at the house.”
“Well, get what you’ve brought and put it upstairs in your room. I’ll go fix us drinks and dinner. I stopped at Safeway today and restocked my fridge after the power failure. You okay with grilled chicken and asparagus? If you want to take a shower, I’ll start getting it ready.”
“I’m not hungry. Thanks, anyway.”
“You have to eat.”
He got up and looked around the familiar room. “What am I going to do, Luce? What am I going to do?” His voice broke.
“First you’re going to get your clothes out of the car. Then you’re going to take a shower and change. After you eat something you’re going to get a decent night’s sleep in a bed. The rest will come.” I shoved him gently toward the door. “Go on.”
He showed up in the kitchen twenty minutes later wearing old jeans and a faded maroon-and-orange Virginia Tech T-shirt. His dark hair was still wet and he hadn’t bothered with the usual gel, so it fell across his forehead the way it used to before Brandi began masterminding his clothes and appearance, turning him into her own personal dress-up doll.
“Where’d you get that T-shirt?” I uncovered a ceramic bowl of homemade topping for bruschetta.
“There’s still a couple of things in my old dresser upstairs.” He stuck a finger in the bowl and licked it. “Tomato salad?”
“It’s for the bruschetta. Use a spoon if you want to taste it. It’s gross when you use your finger.”
“My finger is very clean. Don’t worry.” He rummaged in the silverware drawer and found a spoon, helping himself to another mouthful. “Tastes good.”
“It ought to. Tomatoes and basil are from my garden.” I pulled a baking pan with half a dozen slices of toasted baguette drizzled in olive oil out of the broiler and handed him a spoon. “Here. The tomatoes go on top of the baguette. Not too much or it gets messy. I’ll finish the asparagus.”
“Brandi orders from every restaurant in Leesburg. Otherwise, it’s frozen.” He heaped tomatoes on a piece of bread and ate it. “Where’d you learn to make this?”
“Dominique served it as an appetizer a couple of times at the Inn. It’s her recipe. Are you planning on eating everything as you fix it, or will you leave some for our drinks?”
“Sorry.” He unclipped his phone from his belt and checked it, setting it on the counter. “I stopped by the General Store. Heard they identified the guy you found. An old friend of Leland’s.”
“Business associate. Doesn’t sound like they were friends,” I said. “His name was Beau Kinkaid. Does it ring any bells?”
Eli picked up his phone and checked his messages again. “Nope. I was probably in diapers when it happened. I was precocious, but not that precocious.”
“It seems it happened thirty years ago,” I said. “So you would have been one.”
“My two-year-old memories are kind of dim.”
“Bobby said Beau Kinkaid’s ex-wife is coming up here from Charlottesville to talk to him. She says the last time she saw her husband alive, he was mad at Leland and wanted to settle things.”
Eli finished fixing the bruschetta and went over to the refrigerator. “What do you have to drink around here? I
