Page 51 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

This man might be your uncle, I tell myself.Stop checking him out.

Ew. That does it. All attraction is gone, replaced by wariness. Handsome men usually send up red flags for me. I’ve met too many of them who have used their looks to get what they wanted, even if it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Yep. The jury is still out on this one.

“So what can I do for you?” Rocco says as we all take our seats. He looks back and forth between Aiden and me. “Something I can help with?”

“Kind of,” I say. “Maybe? I hope. I had some questions for you, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Rocco says, looking intrigued. “What’s this about?”

I take a deep breath of air that smells faintly like cigarette smoke, trying to figure out how best to go about this. I don’t really have the patience to beat around the bush right now, but it would also be stupid to jump in recklessly when the answers I’m looking for have the potential to be so important.

I can feel Aiden’s eyes on me, and somehow I know that he’s watching carefully to see how I proceed. If I crash and burn, will he jump in and help, I wonder? Or will he just stand by and watch?

I think it will be best if I root this conversation in a very non-threatening place. People condemn being selfish or self-centered, but what they fail to recognize is that sometimes we talk about ourselves to avoid forcing other people to open up. If I start this line of questioning by talking about myself, it will come off less like an interrogation and more like a woman seeking to learn more about her own past.

“So basically,” I begin, making myself more comfortable on the squashy couch, “I was looking through some old yearbooks up at the school, and I saw a photo with my mom in it that I wanted to know more about.”

Rocco nods slowly, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. I take that to mean I can keep going.

“Lionel Astor is your brother, correct?”

Rocco’s contemplative look falls clear off his face, morphing into a scowl. “Lionel? Yes. He’s my brother. Why?”

I stare at him, shocked at this change in expression. Next to me, Aiden gives a snort of laughter.

“Uh,” I say, trying to regain my train of thought. “Sorry, should I not…?” Normally I’d be more tactful, but this man clearly isn’t trying to hide his feelings, so it feels okay to ask. “What’s with the death glare? Why are you making that face at me?”

Another unhelpful snort of laughter from Aiden, and I reach blindly in his direction until I find him. Then I give him a good whack.

“Because Lionel’s a real son of a—” But Rocco breaks off, his expression softening into something more sheepish. “Sorry. What I mean to say is, Lionel and I don’t get along.”

My heart sinks a bit; if he and his brother don’t get along, who knows how much he’ll be able to tell me?

“Well, look,” I say with a sigh. “It’s not necessarily only your brother I wanted to ask about. I just had some questions about—about my mom.”

Rocco eyes me shrewdly; all the boyishness is gone from his face now. “You’re Nora Bean’s girl.”

“Yes,” I say, my eyebrows shooting up. “I am.”

Rocco nods. “I knew it the second Aiden introduced you at the dance. You look just like her.”

“I’ve been told.”

“I bet you have,” he says with a snort. “Your mother was a real beauty, and it got her into trouble sometimes.”

My heart, which is already tripping along uncomfortably, picks up its pace. “You knew her?”

“Of course I knew her,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “She and Lionel and the rest of their little gang—they hung around our place all the time. Our house over in the Heights, the house Lionel lives in now—it was the nicest of the bunch, and my parents mostly left us kids alone unless they needed somewhere to vent frustrations. Your mom and the rest of those guys were at our house almost every weekend.”

“Wait, so you were friends with them too?” I say, curious.

“Nah,” Rocco says, waving one hand. “Lionel and I didn’t get along even then. He would never have let me tag along with them. Nora was always sweet to me, though. I always thought she was too good for Lionel.”

“So their group. It was my mom, Lionel, Thomas Freese—”

“Tommy,” Rocco says, nodding.

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