Page 147 of Our Little Secret

“Hungry?”

But Marilee was already involved in her iPad again, and as Brooke set the groceries on the kitchen counter she spied Neal in his makeshift den, little more than a desk shoved under the single window in the laundry alcove.

“I’m going to run before the snow starts to pile up,” she explained to her husband. “But I’ll warm up some cinnamon rolls when I get back.”

“Sure.” He didn’t bother looking away from his screen, so Brooke took advantage of her family being caught up in their electronic devices. She snapped on Shep’s leash and took him on the same path as the day before, noting as she passed the stump where she’d buried the bracelet that it seemed undisturbed, snow beginning to cover the blackened wood and brambles.

On the beach she and Shep ran a short distance, then she circled back to the house and eyed the exterior of the upstairs bathroom bump out. Sure enough, there was a wire that ran up the side of the firebox and chimney, then tucked beneath the weathered shakes to the area where the shower was located. So far, it seemed, Gideon hadn’t invested in wireless technology.

“You miserable son of a bitch,” she muttered. “No more.” She made her way back to the shed, located the old toolbox, rummaged through the interior, and finally located a rusted pair of wire cutters that she hoped would do the job. With only an old rhododendron as a screen she knelt down and cut the damned wire near the ground where it was buried. God knew where it led.

She didn’t care. All she needed to do was dismantle the damned thing.

Mission accomplished.

Whistling to the dog, she grabbed two chunks of dry oak from the shed as her excuse just in case Neal or Marilee had been watching. Then she headed inside.

As it was, neither seemed to have even noticed she was gone.

Over the next few hours she had a light brunch of cinnamon rolls and fruit with her family, wrapped the few presents she’d brought from Seattle, laid them under the tree, and decided a bottle of wine would have to do for Leah. Though on her last visit her sister had claimed to be off wine, that had proved to be untrue, so the Merlot would have to do.

Once the presents were set she pretended to reorganize and clean the cupboards, all the while looking for any other spy equipment.

“Didn’t the cleaning people do a good enough job?” Neal asked as he caught her ostensibly polishing the doorknobs and dusting the doorjambs and window casings as she searched.

“It’s been years since this place has had a real top-to-bottom scrubbing,” she explained. “Nana believed that cleanliness was next to godliness.”

“Then she must’ve always been washing stuff,” Neal observed because he understood how deeply religious the older woman had been. Even still, the cabin held more than its share of holy artifacts from the days when Mary Elizabeth Flannigan O’Hara had been the matriarch in charge. He hitched his chin toward the Celtic cross mounted over the archway near the front door.

“Amen,” Brooke said and just kept working.

A few hours later she was satisfied that the house was swept of bugs or as clean as she could get it. She set out cheese, crackers, and cut vegetables with ranch dressing in lieu of lunch.

As promised Neal had set up the record player, and Marilee found a spot on the couch. Rather than view TikTok videos or text friends, she picked up her e-reader and settled in while Neal headed upstairs for a shower.

Just like old times, Brooke thought, pushing aside her anxiety for the moment. Humming to the likes of Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, and Mariah Carey, Brooke started the soup stock of tomatoes, spices, and clam juice. Soon the scents of garlic and basil and tomatoes filled the room. As George Michael sang about “Last Christmas,” she sliced clams and vegetables and tossed them into the simmering base. As she slid the sourdough round to reheat in the oven, she thought about her conversation with Gina Duquette at the bakery.

“Marilee,” she called from the kitchen, then shouted a little more loudly until Shep gave off a bark and her daughter looked up from her e-reader.

“What?”

“You talked to Leah. Right?”

“You know that.”

“Did she ever mention coming here?” she asked, the old timer clicking loudly as it wound down. “You know, in the past couple of months or so?”

From the corner of her eye she saw Neal coming down the stairs. “Something smells good.” He headed to the kitchen.

“Hope so,” she said.

To her surprise he stepped behind her and pulled her tight against him, then kissed the top of her head, something he rarely did.

Marilee winced. “Ugh! Stop.”

“Okay.” Neal took a step back but patted Brooke on the rump and winked at her.

“Oh, Dad, no! I don’t need to see that!” Marilee said, pulling a face as she shook her head and turned to her mother, “You think Aunt Leah was here? Like on the island?”

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