I watched Brad take the paper off his straw. I liked his hands. Wide across the palm with long, agile fingers.
Neither Walters sibling wore a wedding band, a quirky fact for two so attractive people. “How is it that you two have managed to stay single? Or were you married before?” I asked.
Brad looked in my eyes. “I’ve waited a lot of years to find the right bride.” He looked away. “Sam was married when she was young, but got dealt a dud. She hung in there longer than any of us thought she should. I think she’s still getting over the sting. But I have to say, I’ve never known anybody as happy to be single as Sam.”
Seeing Brad’s brotherly devotion to his little sis, I struggled with David’s accusations against him. How could this sweet, sister-loving guy be a big-time philanderer?
Of course, no one could, by simply looking at me, say, “There goes a grandma killer.” Unless they’d read about it in the papers.
Secrets. Everybody had them. Mine happened to be tough to keep.
But like Brad, some people out there excelled at keeping secrets. Such as the person who murdered Dietz and Cellar Dweller.
“So where do you call home, Tish?” Brad’s voice interrupted my brooding.
“Um . . .” His question stumped me. “I spent most of my youth in Walled Lake with Gram. But I guess if I think about it, home’s up north, where I was born.”
“Up north. Like Traverse City?” Brad asked.
I bit my tongue. I got really irritated with people who thought Michigan ended at the Straits of Mackinac.
“No. Up north, like Escanaba,” I said.
Brad raised his eyebrows. “An Upper Peninsula Girl, huh?”
I geared up for the insults I’d grown accustomed to hearing whenever I mentioned my place of origin. Sure, the U.P. had its problems. But so did the rest of the world.
Brad cleared his throat. “I went to the academy with a guy from Gladstone. Mike Segerstrom. What a great sense of humor. He’s a state cop in Manistique now.” He shook his head. “Man, is it beautiful up there. I spent a couple weeks fishing with Mike after graduation.”
I sighed in relief. No insults. “I barely remember it,” I said. “I was only seven when I moved downstate.”
I closed my eyes and saw gentle waves licking a rocky shore. Heard leaves fluttering in a playful breeze. Smelled fresh earth and pine needles. Felt hot sand running through my fingers. All memories of a happy childhood, before Mead Quarry rose up that night and swallowed my mother.
“Maybe I’ll take you back there one day.” Brad nudged my shoulder and smiled impishly.
“Maybe.” I looked toward the kitchen, avoiding Brad’s eyes.
I didn’t like the way he got to me. I shouldn’t want to know more about him. Or want to have lunch with him again. Or even feel comfortable around him.
But there was something about Brad that ate away my defenses, made me trust where I shouldn’t, made me hope where I mustn’t.
Sam glided to the counter and set our meals in front of us. Hot steam from the soup hit my nose and I grabbed for a napkin. I looked over at Brad’s fare. A Coney dog and a bowl of the chicken noodle. Not bad looking, actually.
I watched Brad take a bite out of the juicy chili-n-cheese-covered dog smothered with onions. I dipped a fork into my salad, spearing a chunk of lettuce. Brad chewed the spicy-scented Coney. I crunched away on iceberg.
Brad spotted me staring.
“Want a bite?” He pushed his basket toward me.
“Maybe just a little one.” Using my fork, I sliced off a piece. Nothing had ever tasted so good. “Mmmm” was all I could manage.
“You haven’t lived ’til you’ve had Sam’s Coney Deluxe.” Brad took another bite.
“Sounds like a radio ad. But I think you’re right.” I dabbed at the spot of mustard on a corner of my mouth.
“Sam,” Brad called.
She came around the corner.
“Yeah?”
“Get Tish a Coney Deluxe, please.”
I waved my hands in protest. “No. No, really. One bite was enough.”
“One bite is never enough,” Brad said.
Sam looked me up and down. “You look like you can afford it. One Coney Deluxe coming up.”
Brad had me laughing all the way through the second Coney. Sam joined in with her blithe jokes and bright smile. I’d never felt so warm inside. Must have been the chili beans. And all those onions.
At one o’clock sharp, Brad took me back to the house and dropped me off at the back door. Staring out the kitchen window, I rubbed my arms to warm up and watched Brad drive off. The Victorian had never felt so lonely.
33
I closed my eyes and let my dreams run free around me. A pot of chili simmering on the stove. Brad at the kitchen island I’d be putting in next month, reading the paper, a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. Kid Number One, with reams of dark spiral curls framing her round four-year-old face, sitting next to him, filling in the lines of her princess coloring book. Kid Number Two beating on the tray of his high chair, babbling for more crackers. My heart swelled at the imagined scene.
I rubbed a tear from my cheek. A beautiful dream. Nothing more.
Yet for some reason, Brad led me to believe it could come true.
I gave in to the burst of maternal energy that lunch with him had somehow unleashed. By six that night I had finished another upstairs bedroom. The two little dream kids now had a place to call their own. By the time I finished everything, Brad and I could lodge four cuddly whippersnappers each in their own bedrooms.
I washed the paintbrushes in the sink, content. Everything seemed to fit together. My life had unfurled like a mural, with Rawlings the final chapter. Right here in this house I’d spend my days loving my husband, raising my family, and entertaining friends.
Life would be perfect, for the first time ever.
I looked up from the suds at a figure crossing in the dark outside my kitchen window.
David.
I squeezed my eyes closed and sighed. What would I say to him?
What could I say to him? Sorry, David, your worst nightmare has come true. One bite of Brad’s Coney Deluxe and now I’m hopelessly in love with him.
Hearing myself think the words snapped me out of my intoxicating drama. In love with Brad? In love with a churchgoing, iron-pumping police officer? It didn’t even sound like me. In fact, it was almost the exact opposite of what I’d planned for myself.
David knocked. I wiped my hands on a crusty paint rag and opened the door.
“Hi.” I couldn’t think of anything more brilliant to say.
“Tish. I missed you this afternoon.” Remorse, or maybe accusation, sounded in his voice.
“Oh, that.” I waved it off. “I just went for a quick bite to eat.”
“Then you and Brad aren’t . . .” He paused and raised his eyebrows.
“What? An item?” I giggled. “Good heavens, no.”
“Can I come in? Do you mind?”
“Oh, gosh, of course.” I stepped aside.
David walked over to the watercooler and poured a cup. “Would you care for any?”
“No. Thank you. Listen—” I fidgeted, uncomfortable with his familiarity in my kitchen—“why don’t we walk
