Page 18 of Frosted and Sliced

She faced forward and smoothed a nervous hand along her pants. “So,” she began. There was a not-so-small part of her that wanted to smooth over the awkwardness, to wave away Burke’schastisement and make everybody feel better, but she resisted the urge. The reality was that the women had been horrible to her, repeatedly and for too long, and she knew it. Part of growing up meant offering forgiveness, but also allowing other people to own up to their mistakes and attempt to change them. “Let’s talk about the winter festival.”

After the oh-so-public airing of grievances, it was only a matter of time before Brody arrived. He did so while Georgette was on day two of sorting the linens. Unlike with Burke, she could sense her brother’s appearance. Maybe negative feelings like disapproval and resentment created stronger vibrations, announcing his presence like Darth Vader’s theme music.

She saw his shoes and glanced up, offering a tentative smile she hoped did not look guilty.I am a grown woman and a business owner. I can do what I want.

“Georgette, is a man living in your attic?” he began, by way of greeting.

“Do you mean that literally, or was that a euphemism?”

He grimaced and sank beside her on the floor. “I don’t want to know what you think that might be a euphemism for. Gross. Just answer the question.” Of everyone in her life, she could hear Brody the best, was so attuned to his voice, expressions, and modulation that she could puzzle together his words without needing to rely on visual cues as much. She allowed part of her attention to return to her work, to give herself a reprieve.

“I have a handyman,” she admitted.

He sighed, longsuffering. “What’s his name and social, I’ll run him, see if I can pick him up on any relative warrants.”

“What makes you think he has them?” she asked.

“Aimless drifters who live rent free in attics always do,” he replied.

“You’re too young to be this cynical,” she said.

He gave her a flat look that she guessed was a big brother expression but also might now be a cop expression. Becoming chief of police had taken what little hope and joy he had and crushed it, and she kind of hated that for him. She could still remember the Brody he was, before their parents were killed, a daredevil kid whose exuberance often landed him in trouble. Losing them and becoming her guardian at eighteen had aged and sobered him to the point of severity. Georgette felt guilty about that, and so many other things. It was always between them, the weight of his responsibility. She’d been trying to relieve him of the burden for the last thirteen years, but hadn’t so far succeeded. Even when she went away to culinary school, he’d called and checked in every night, making certain she was home, safe, and okay.

“He’s not a criminal,” she said with far more certainty than she felt. Was Burke a criminal? He was certainly on the run fromsomething. No way would he arrive here and agree to live in her attic, otherwise.

“How do you know?” he demanded.

“Because he’s friends with Elyse. He presented the conference here a couple of weeks ago.”

That gave him pause. “What was the conference about?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. He made me turn off my hearing aids whenever I entered the room.” She scowled, still stung by that.

“What?” Brody exclaimed. “He can’t do that. You shouldn’t have complied.”

“He was my guest, it seemed like it was for the best.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t want me to hear what he was talking about.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Spy stuff.”

“Elyse is out of the spy game,” he returned.

“Not completely. She works for a private investigator and security firm, there’s probably a lot of overlap.”

“I don’t like this, Georgette. It’s a terrible idea to let a stranger in here.”

“Brody, I let strangers in here every day,” Georgette pointed out.

“They don’t set up shop in your attic,” he returned.

Brody’s head whipped around, and they saw Burke standing at the edge of the room. Georgette wondered if he cleared his throat, as an introduction.

“The Burke,” Georgette announced, unnecessarily.

Burke ignored her and focused on Brody. “The brother.” His tone was so unusual. Everyone in town revered Brody. He was like a hero of old, their stoic chief of police, the athletic young Adonis who gave up his future to raise his little sister. Georgette couldn’t think of one person who didn’t alternately like or respect him, even girls he’d dumped. And now this odd drifter who inhabited her attic stared at him like something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Brody,” he said, as he unfolded himself from the floor and stood to his full height.

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