Pete ambled in. “So eat all you can.” He called over his shoulder, “Abby. Seth. That means you too. Come refill your plates.”
Scott and Pete made sandwiches and scooped extra potato salad and coleslaw onto their plates, but the younger couple didn’t appear. Voices drifted from the living room. Zoe shifted in her chair, trying to pick out a word or two.
“Eavesdropping?” Scott said around a mouthful of potato salad.
She shushed him. “No. Yes. Sort of. I’m hoping they’re patching things up.”
Scott looked at Pete, clearly confused.
“Young love gone bad,” Pete said.
Scott nodded, as if those four words explained all.
The volume of the conversation in the other room rose, making eavesdropping unnecessary.
Abby’s voice, while louder, remained even. “I’m not trying to stick my nose where it’s not wanted, but don’t you think—”
“What I do and with whom really isn’t any of your business anymore, is it?” Seth’s tone carried a razor-sharp edge.
“I couldn’t care less what you do in your spare time.”
“Then why were you spying on us last night?”
“I wasn’t.” Abby’s pitch rose half an octave. “I just happened to be picking up takeout.”
“Just happened,” Seth said, mimicking a girlish voice that sounded nothing like Abby. “You need to make a point to ‘just happen’ to be anywhere but where I am.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“And you can’t let go.”
There was a thud as if one of the stacked boxes had fallen over. “Maybe you’re the one who can’t let go.” This time, Abby’s voice lowered.
Zoe realized she wasn’t the only one in the kitchen straining to hear. When heavy footsteps headed their way, she—and Pete, Scott, and Lauren—became very interested in the food on their plates.
Abby, wide-eyed and red-faced, appeared in the doorway. She looked at each of them before settling on Zoe. “Are we ready to go get another load?”
Zoe chewed quickly and swallowed. “Sure.” She deposited her napkin on her plate and met Pete’s icy blue eyes.
He gave a nod.
Zoe grabbed her coat and followed Abby outside, not catching up to her until she climbed into the pickup. Zoe started the old truck but didn’t shift it into gear. Instead, she faced her passenger. “You okay?”
“No.” Abby’s chin quivered, betraying her tough-girl façade.
Zoe reached over and placed a sympathetic hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Men can be such—” She almost said asses but realized she’d be repeating Abby’s word choice, which might reveal she’d been listening. “Jerks,” Zoe said instead.
Abby opened her mouth. Closed it. And looked at Zoe with tears in her eyes. “I hate to bail on you, but if you don’t mind, when we get back to Pete’s, I think I’ll take my car and go home.”
Zoe faced forward, brought her hand to the shifter, and dropped the old Chevy into gear. “You’re not bailing on us. You got roped into helping when all you wanted to do was ask about John Doe.”
Abby turned her face away. “Seems like I’ve been wasting my time on a lot of things lately.”
Twenty-Five
After moving all day Saturday, Zoe collapsed into bed for her first night in her new bedroom. Her phone rang. A traffic fatality on the far side of the county. The scene was horrendous. Three dead, two more Life Flighted to one of the Pittsburgh trauma centers. She and Doc spent Sunday morning in autopsy. Arriving home by lunch, she found her mother unpacking the boxes marked “Kitchen” and Pete looking homicidal. Zoe sent him back to his old house to collect the woodworking tools he’d left behind and braced for a day with her mother.
Kimberly planted her fists on her hips. “You shouldn’t put the plates in that cabinet. They should go over there.” She pointed.
Zoe offered up a prayer for patience. “I can rearrange things later.” She added a short stack of bowls next to the plates, then leaned down to remove another newspaper-wrapped bundle from the box only to find Merlin had hopped in. She shooed the tabby from his nest and received a green-eyed glare. “Today, I just want to get some of the boxes emptied and out of this house before the cats claim them all.”
“You’re only making more work for yourself. Better to do it the right way the first time.” The “right” way being Kimberly’s way. She turned her attention away from Zoe’s kitchen design and picked up a legal pad and pen she’d set on the table. “Have you confirmed the cake?”
“Yep.”
She made a mark on the pad. “The church and minister?”
“Yep.”
Kimberly raised her eyes from the list. “For Friday night’s rehearsal too?”
“Everything has been confirmed, Mom.”
“What about the rehearsal dinner? Your fiancé is supposed to pay for that, you know.”
“I know. He knows. It’s just a small informal get-together at Walden’s.”
Kimberly wrinkled her nose. “Small,” she muttered. “Informal. You should be having a much larger affair. Two attendants. That’s pitiful.”
“Patsy and Rose are my best friends. And Pete and I don’t want a huge wedding.” Zoe closed her eyes and her mouth. She and Kimberly’d had this conversation at least a dozen times over the last few months. Rehashing the choices she and Pete had made would do nothing to sway Kimberly to their side.
“I know you want to pay for this yourself, but if money’s an issue, Tom and I will be happy to cover the bills. It’s traditional for the parents of the bride to—”
“You’re paying for the reception in St. Pete. That’s plenty.” Zoe faced her mother with a forced and exaggerated smile. “Do you want to do me a huge favor?”
“What?” Kimberly asked, her tone suspicious.
“You have such a great sense of style. Would you mind unpacking the living room stuff and deciding where it should go?”
The compliment did the trick. Kimberly brightened. “I’d be delighted.” She set the pad and pen down and headed to the other room, calling over her shoulder, “And the silverware goes in the other drawer.”
Zoe
