“But you don’t want me telling you what to do.”
That was the truth staring us both in the face. I brushed the hair away from his forehead, looking for an excuse to touch him, to reassure us both. “You’ve always known that about me.” I shot a quick self-deprecating grin at him. “That says more about me than you.”
It was silent except for Missy’s snoring and the cricket concert. The mood shifted again as we found our footing.
“Why did Darby call Mona?” he asked.
It was difficult to look Grey in the face and answer. “I’m not sure. When I asked, she made up a story.”
“She lied.”
I nodded, not wanting to speak the words out loud. But it didn’t make it untrue. My friend had lied to me.
He sighed, and I felt him let go of whatever emotion he’d been grappling with. Grey never held a grudge. “Mel, do you think she had something to do with Mona’s death?”
“No.”
“She lied to you.”
“I know. But I’m certain she had a really good reason. Maybe Mona was holding some secret over her head. I lie to her every day about you. I can’t be too upset at her. Not yet anyway. I did promise you’d help if she needed a lawyer.”
“Melinda.”
“What? You can’t recommend someone?” I smiled, knowing he’d do what he could. That’s who he was.
He flopped to his back. “Let’s hope she doesn’t need my help.”
“Can we change the subject for real? How was your trip?” I asked.
“Educational.”
Whatever that meant. “Did you bring back any fake art?”
He looked at me funny, as if it was his turn to make a crucial decision.
I laughed softly. “You know I only call it that because it’s your cover.”
The “trips” were his cover for leaving town, but his art gallery, ACT (the acronym stood for Art Crime Team. Clever, huh?), was the real deal. He excelled at plucking new artists out of obscurity and launching them into the spotlight. If he ever retired from superhero status, he had a whole other career waiting for his undivided attention.
He sat up, straddling the lounge chair. His body vibrated with action and his eyes full of life. “Actually, I did bring back real ‘fake art.’”
I sat up too, hugging my knees to my chest. “Forgeries? Can I see them?” excitement bubbled as I realized he was talking about work. His real work.
“They may be commissioned copies. No, I can’t show you.”
“I thought that was illegal.”
“You can have a replica,” he explained. “You can’t pass off a replica as the original.”
“Is that what was happening?”
“That remains to be seen.”
I regarded him seriously. He looked as if he’d been set free, and I felt off kilter, unsettled. I couldn’t pinpoint the emotions swarming inside. “Why are you suddenly sharing with me?”
He shrugged. “You were interested. I’m trying.”
I gently moved my wine glass from the ground to the side table between our chairs. I joined him on his lounge and snuggled up against him. My heart hammered against my chest.
“I love you, Grey Donovan.”
“I love you, too.” There was no smile in his voice, just honest sincerity.
I rested my head on his chest and could hear the pounding of his heart.
“I was serious about Cliff,” he spoke into my hair. “He’s dangerous. Stay away from him.”
It was a cool Sunday morning, and the early fog rolled in like the smoke from Granddad Montgomery’s cigars. Missy and I had just wrapped up a Doga class (yoga with your dog and way more intense than
Fluffy was still with Darby. Dressed in my yoga clothes and my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, Missy and I zipped over to Darby’s rented cottage. Her place managed to be both whimsical yet practical. It fit her personality perfectly.
I left Missy in the Jeep with the windows down. She’d managed to get half of her stocky body out the window, panting with excitement. She seemed to like Fluffy.
I rounded the corner of the walkway, brushing past a cluster of lofty periwinkle delphiniums. I knocked on the kelly-green door we had painted last summer. It swung open; a surprised Darby stood on the other side. With Malone.
It may have been Sunday, but I had a sneaking suspicion they weren’t heading to church. She was still in her hot pink sweat pants and matching hoodie, and he was in his normal Detective Malone uniform.
I had either really good or really bad timing. Depending on which side of the door you were standing on.
“Hey.” I smiled, unsure of what to make of the two of them together.
Darby stepped toward me, then abruptly stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, sorry, Mel,” her voice hitched on my name.
My heart plummeted. “What’s going on?”
“We’re headed downtown,” Malone offered.
Oh. My. God. This couldn’t be happening. “Is she under arrest?”
“No.”
His one word answer didn’t eliminate my anxiety, especially when two fat tears slid down Darby’s cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“O-kay,” I dragged it out waiting for someone to fill in the blanks. No one bothered. “Because of the phone?” I prodded.
Malone looked at me. It was the same look he had at the funeral. “And other things.” His voice was void of emotion.
“What other things?” I urged.
His face remained unreadable. Darby’s was a mixture of fear and devastation. I wanted to reach for my friend, but Malone’s posture clearly communicated that wasn’t happening.
“I-I…” she shook her head and whispered, “You tell her.”
“We found Darby’s birth certificate in Mona’s safe,” Malone said.
I was more confused now than when she’d opened the door. “Why in the world would she have your birth certificate?”
Darby’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Because… she’s my mother.”
I gasped.
That was one Texas-sized secret.
Chapter Twenty
After Fluffy and I’d stood there like idiots watching Darby ride off with Malone in his unmarked police car, I’d called Grey. Bless his heart, he agreed to call in a really
I raced home and dropped off the dogs, then quickly changed into jeans, t-shirt and ballet flats (much more appropriate attire for hanging out at a police station). While Malone questioned Darby, I either paced or read the flyers on the bulletin board across from the information desk. I was still reeling from Darby’s earth-shattering revelation.
Malone had known about Darby’s true parentage at the funeral. Why hadn’t he talked to her then?
Darby finally appeared in the hallway. I immediately recognized the prominent man with his expensive black briefcase standing next to her. He’d defended more high-profile defendants, and won, than LA had unemployed
