Page 42 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
“I thought you went to Stacy’s yoga class today.”
“Yoga?” Lydia's hazel eyes widened with disbelief. “How is it you can be in your line of work? You haven’t seen the flyers all around town? Stacy thought she would try something new to attract clients. It was goat yoga, Kin.Goatyoga. Those little suckers can headbutt harder than a linebacker, and they have absolutely no respect for personal space or the concept of downward dog. I'm pretty sure one of them tried to eat my hair when I was doing my cool-down stretches, too.”
The mental image of Lydia being attacked by farm animals while trying to stay Zen was enough for Kinsley to swallow her beer the wrong way. She grabbed a napkin and then did her best to clear the alcohol from her lungs.
“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing,” Kinsley said once she could breathe. “Find your center, and all that?”
“Yeah, well, my center got relocated about six inches to the left,” Lydia complained as she set her beer down and proceeded to stretch an arm over her chest. “I told Stacy that next time it better be kitten yoga.”
Cecelia approached their table with a full tray, balanced with ease. The waitress had moved to Fallbrook over a year ago, but Kinsley wasn’t privy to the reasons why. From her understanding, her younger brother had made quite the impression.
“Ladies,” Cecelia greeted them, setting down the nachos first, along with extra plates and a stack of napkins that suggested sheunderstood the magnitude of the mess they were about to create. She also delivered two extra bottles of beer. “Wings will be out shortly. Can I get you two anything else?”
“We're good for now,” Kinsley replied, already reaching for a chip loaded with enough toppings to constitute a meal by itself. “Thanks, Cecelia.”
The waitress's smile brightened at the use of her name. Cecelia moved away to check on another table, prompting a question that had been lingering in the back of Kinsley’s mind for a while now.
“I wonder if Dylan is still seeing her,” Kinsley pondered after eating a couple of nachos. “He hasn’t mentioned anyone in particular lately. Then again, he wouldn’t call attention to himself during the family dinners. Mom’s goal is to see Owen married off by next Christmas.”
Lydia barely glanced up from her systematic deconstruction of the nachos, waving a dismissive hand as if shooing away an annoying fly.
“Dylan and Cecelia were a one-night stand. Ancient history.” Lydia wiped her fingers before changing the subject. “Have you and Alex made any progress on the Scriven case?”
The certainty in her friend's voice about Dylan caught Kinsley's attention. She, too, picked up her napkin and wiped her fingers. She wasn’t about to let Lydia change the subject, though.
“How do you know Dylan and Cecelia were a one-night stand?”
“Don’t I know everything?” Lydia flashed Kinsley a smile before turning her attention to the plate, as if she couldn’t decide which nacho to go for next. “Besides, you know Dylan flirts with half the female population of Fallbrook. He’s got commitment issues worse than Owen's, which I heard through the grapevinemight be overcome here soon. Your mother might be onto something. Remember Daphne Briar?”
Kinsley would have remained on the topic of Dylan’s love life if the name Lydia had just mentioned hadn’t diverted her attention. No wonder Kinsley’s mother was so invested in Owen’s love life.
“No,” Kinsley protested as she balanced a nacho so as not to lose all the toppings. She continued to stare at Lydia in shock. “Really? Daphne Briar, the famous oil painting artist who bought the old Cranston farm? I just read an article about her that was front and center in the local paper.”
“One and the same.”
“How did I not know this?” Kinsley stuffed the nacho in her mouth.
“Because you don’t pay close attention to any of your brothers’ love lives?”
Lydia’s deflection hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Kinsley wouldn’t push the issue. She would file the information away for future consideration, though part of her wondered if she really wanted to know what her best friend wasn't telling her about her brother.
Any of them, for that matter.
Just as it was imperative she keep part of her own life under wraps.
Kinsley reached for the first bottle of beer and drained what was left of the contents. The alcohol was a little warm, but she wouldn’t let it go to waste. Setting the empty bottle near the edge of the table, she pulled the cold one closer. Seeing as she had to drive home, she would tap out at two before switching to water.
Kinsley would have brought up tomorrow’s flag football game, but Lydia’s expression shifted when she caught sight of someone across the bar. The easy comfort of their conversation evaporated into thin air.
“Isn't that the journalist who was harassing you last year?” Lydia asked as she reached for her napkin again.
That familiar vice of anxiety clamped around Kinsley’s chest. Lydia didn’t have to mention a name. There was only one investigative journalist who had made her life a living hell, and that was Beck Serra. Her father had granted Beck an exclusive interview with Gantz before the trial began, hoping it would sway public opinion. It had been after Gantz’s so-called disappearance that Beck had tried to dig deeper into the man’s whereabouts.
Kinsley believed he had finally given up on the story, but apparently not. She monitored his progress toward the bar, and his profile was unmistakable even in the muted lighting. His dark hair was still messy, as if he had just run his fingers through the thick strands. He wore the same type of well-worn jeans and t-shirt that had basically been his uniform during his relentless pursuit of the Calvin Gantz story.
It wasn’t like Beck had to stand behind a camera. He wrote investigative pieces and sold them to the highest bidder. Kinsley hadn’t seen him in close to a year, but it wasn’t Beck's presence that made the nachos want to escape her stomach.
It was the man who greeted him.
