Page 130 of Secrets Along the Shore
“Dad, come on. You know she can’t tell you anything like that.” James’s beleaguered expression echoes the resigned exasperation coloring Matthew’s face.
“I’m just making conversation,” Edward insists.
“You’re pushing,” James replies.
“What I can tell you,” I say, “is that we’re looking into all possibilities.”
“You’ll tell me if I can help,” Edward says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. It’s a statement, not a question. It’s not the first time Edward has offered his assistance in my investigations. It happens nearly every time I share a story from my job.
Sometimes it’s tempting to take him up on it. There are times when this family’s connections could be incredibly helpful. The thing is, I don’t like to mix business and family—which is ironic, given I’m marrying into a dynasty erected on the back of a family business. In my experience, most favors—even those from people who love you—come with a price that, someday, comes due. I’m determined to protect my relationship with these guys, even if it means turning down help that might make my job easier.
I’ve managed to do pretty well by myself for the last five years. Thesmart move is to keep it that way. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if you can.”
“Good,” Edward says, nodding. “And now onto more pleasant topics—how’s the wedding planning going?”
The full moonpours out on my yard, turning it into a color-stripped version of midday. James, who insisted on following me home, now stands at the door, his arms around me.
“Best day this week,” he says, and brushes a hair from my forehead.
“Me too.”
“I know better than to ask, but I’m guessing you’re unavailable tomorrow? I would have asked earlier, but I didn’t want to bring up more things for Dad to pester you about.”
I chuckle. “I like that he’s interested in my work.”
“In our family, we call that butting-in. It’s only a matter of time before he starts telling you how to do your job. Regarding tomorrow, though, I’m assuming what happened today’s going to keep you busy?”
“Yeah. I have to go to Birmingham to follow up on some leads.”
“You’ve got leads already?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I’m that good.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I am!”
“Oh, I believe it.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Tasha. Kurt Fogerty won’t be transported back to the jail until sometime tomorrow afternoon.
“Important?” James asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Just an update from Tasha.” I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Will I see you in the morning?”
I try my best to keep our standing Sunday appointment, no matter what’s going on with work. Occasionally I’ll miss it, but it’s rare.
“Uh, I would, but Dad’s asked us to have breakfast with someinvestor that’s only here for the weekend. It might turn into an all-day thing.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, affecting a light tone despite my disappointment. At least once a month, Calder Industries jumps the line on Sunday and steals James away. One benefit of ending up in D.C. for part of the year would be the physical separation from Calder Industries, which claims even more of James’s time than my job claims from me.
He rubs a thumb across my chin. “We’ll catch up when you’re back from Birmingham.”
I nod, though I know better. With everything going on, the odds of that happening are lower than either of us is willing to admit.
Not to mention that, after tomorrow’s interviews, I might be busy closing in on a killer.
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