“That’s the purpose of the visit, right? That and connecting some dots with these attacks on you.”
She shoved the drink away from her. “It’s the way he said it.
“She might. Maybe that’s why the killer targeted her.” He spread his hands. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I allowed Michael unsupervised visits with her without knowing her past. I could’ve put him in danger.”
Kieran wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Guess the insecurities about parenthood never ended. If Devon still questioned herself, what chance did he have at getting this right? “She was an old woman. Why would you think there was a problem?”
She flattened her hands on the wrought-iron table and curled her fingers into the gaps. “I don’t know-that instinct thing. I should’ve noticed something. Mrs. Del Vecchio was a little odd, but colorful and harmless…or so I thought.”
He covered one of her hands with his. “You don’t even know what Marquette is going to say. Stop beating yourself up.”
She parted her lips, and he could almost taste the coffee and sweet cream on her mouth. “Kieran…”
The words were lost as Michael approached the table with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“So, did you make some good wishes?”
Michael kicked the toe of his sneaker against the leg of his chair and nodded.
“I hope they all come true.” She pointed to the bulging bag that Michael had lugged from the hardware store. “Looks like you’re ready for a top secret operation.”
“Top secret.” Michael climbed into a chair and licked his lips while staring at the see-through plastic cup.
Devon popped the lid off her coffee drink and shoved it over to Michael. “You can have the whipped cream but no coffee.”
Michael started poking at the mound of cream with the straw and Devon folded her hands around her cell phone and raised her eyes to Kieran’s face. “So, do you think this top secret operation is going to be successful?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Kieran smacked the table. “What do you say, Michael? Are you ready to get operation safe house up and running?”
Two hours later, Kieran stepped back from the house, hands on his hips, and surveyed his handiwork. Who knew putting up lights to catch a killer would bring him one step closer to his son? If Michael was afraid for his mother, afraid for himself, this activity had given him back a little control.
Kieran knew all about feeling helpless and what that could do to your insides.
Devon joined him on the porch. “All done?”
“Yep. I don’t think so much as a blade of grass will sway out here without setting off those lights.”
“Great. Mom’s neighbors are going to love me.” She jumped off the bottom step and crouched next to Michael, who was busy studying a line of ants trundling up the driveway. “It’s after two o’clock. You must be hungry. I made some sandwiches.”
Michael abandoned the ants and scurried into the house, holding up his hand for a quick high five from Kieran on the way inside.
Kieran stared after him. “Seems to be getting his appetite back.”
“Seems to be getting a lot back since we told him about you.” She put her hand on his arm to stop him from following Michael. “While you guys were working out here, I got a call from Detective Marquette. He’s stopping by Coral Cove P.D. first and will be here around four o’clock.”
“That’s good. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried about Michael. Seeing Detective Marquette will remind him about Granny Del’s death. He’ll associate him with that time.”
“He still takes naps, right?”
She nodded. “Most of the time.”
“After all the excitement of the past few days, he should be ready to crash after he eats. Maybe he’ll sleep through the detective’s visit.”
“The car puts him to sleep. Maybe we can go for a quick drive before Detective Marquette gets here.”
He held open the screen door for her. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”
She patted his stomach. “You seem to be getting your appetite back, too.”
Her fingers skimmed the waistband of his shorts, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He had appetites, all right, and they included more than a sandwich and an apple.
Devon poured Michael a glass of milk and then stood with the refrigerator door open. “Kieran, would you like lemonade? Iced tea?”
“Water.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll get it. Sit down and eat.”
While they were eating, Devon dropped the crust of her sandwich and brushed her fingers together. “I forgot to ask you about the diary. Did you drop it at the house when…when we were there?”
“I must have. I probably dropped it in the library. And I forgot to tell you in all the-” he shot a quick glance at Michael busily dunking cookies in his milk “-excitement that I made out a name on the back cover just before all the…excitement.”
“Really?” Devon planted her elbows on the table and sunk her chin in her hands, her eyes shining with anticipation.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but the diary wasn’t some old heirloom. The name I saw on the back cover was Marissa St. Regis and a date.”
“Oh, not very interesting.” She plucked a paper napkin out of the holder on the table and tossed it to Michael. “Wipe your fingers.”
“And the date was recent, maybe ten years ago.”
“Ten years ago? That’s about the time she ran off with Mia’s boyfriend. That could be some fascinating reading.” She tilted her head toward Michael. “Maybe we should take a drive over there and get it.”
Kieran clenched his teeth. He didn’t want Devon anywhere near the scene of the shooting. “We’ll drive over there, but you stay in the car with Michael and I’ll run in and get it.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’re going to take a drive to Columbella House, Michael. Do you want to see the house again?”
“Haunted house.” Michael covered the lower half of his face with the napkin and peered over the top.
“It’s not haunted. Besides, we’re not going inside.”
Kieran winked at Michael to give a reassurance he didn’t feel.
As Devon drove down Coral Cove Drive, Kieran eased out a breath and rolled his shoulders when he saw a couple gardening outside a house down the street from Columbella. They looked up from their shears and waved.
Devon waved back. “Those are the Vincents. They’re friends of your parents.”
On the ride over, Michael had drifted off and now his head was tilted and resting against his car seat.
“I guess it worked.” Kieran jerked his thumb toward the backseat. “I’ll run inside and try to find the diary.”
“Okay, hurry. I don’t want to get stuck in a long conversation with the Vincents. We need to get back for Detective Marquette.”
Kieran slipped out of the car, careful not to slam the door and wake Michael. He crept up the side of the house, lifted the plywood and gained access to the kitchen. Daylight played through the windows, showing him the way with a crisscross pattern of sunlight on the floor.
He edged into the library, darker now with one more plywood window where the bullet had shattered the glass. He knelt on the floor by the desk where he had pulled Devon to safety.
Squinting at the scene with his good eye, his breath hitched. Someone had been here. The sheet over the desk drooped to the floor at an angle. Someone had tucked the leather chair beneath the desk.
Had the cops been back? They’d sent someone to board up the window. Maybe the person who had done that job stepped into the library for some reason.
Crouching forward, he swept his hands across the dusty wood floor, swirls of sunbeams dancing in the shaft of light from the window. Where had he dropped the diary?
