Page 2 of Kiss Me Now
“Gran, everyone loves that place. And you don’t have to worry that we’ll fight about it. Just leave it in the trust like everything else. Landon will be a great executor. We all trust him.” Landon was my younger brother, who had a steady temperament and a shiny law degree. “And can we please stop talking about what we’re going to do with your stuff when you die? It’s morbid.”
I drove toward home, the usual urge to shower after doing surveillance work making me speed fast enough to upset the DC Metro police if they caught me.
“Death is only morbid to the young,” she said, not sounding remotely subdued. “Death is a stranger to you, but I’ve finished up eight decades on this earth, and lately, he looks more like a familiar friend. I’m not at all worried about it. Don’t plan to go soon, but ‘soon’ is relative these days. Just want to make sure everything is in good order, so I don’t have that hanging over me while I enjoy whatever time I have left.”
Impending death was her favorite tactic to guilt me into a visit. Every time it worked, I drove out to Creekville to find her in perfect health. I’d spend the whole weekend trying to convince her to let me take care of things around the property while fending off her efforts to spoil me. I always drove home feeling mildly annoyed but also way more relaxed than when I left.
But this was different. She wasn’t dangling it over me to get me to come out. I tested the waters. “You know, Gran, I really haven’t been out there in a few months. How about if I come out next weekend and fix some stuff around the place? I can put up that lattice for you.”
She’d asked me to do it last summer, and I’d meant to get to it. More guilt prickled in my chest.
“Oh, it’s fine, Ian-boy. It sounds like your job is keeping you plenty busy. I don’t want to be a distraction. Just come out the next time you find yourself with some downtime. Brooke has been excellent company. She’s keeping me young.”
Now I was really worried. There were red flags and then there were six-foot neon letters spelling out S-C-A-M-M-E-R. But I couldn’t let on that I was worried about the Brooke person or Gran would take offense that I didn’t trust her judgment. Good thing navigating tricky undercurrents like this was my specialty.
“That’s a relief, honestly, Gran,” I said. “I do feel bad that work keeps me in the city so often. It’s good to hear that you’ve got someone keeping an eye on you. This Brooke...what’s her last name?” I kept my voice casual.
“Brooke Spencer,” Gran said. “Loveliest young woman. She inherited Fred Sandberg’s place next door. Her great-uncle, I think. He was withdrawn, kept to himself, but Brooke couldn’t be sweeter.”
The neon danger sign began to flash. This “sweet” Brooke had conveniently inherited an old man’s property and now my grandmother was prepared to hand over hers as well? Not on my watch. My mouth pressed into a grim line. I spent all my time looking for the ways in which people cheated each other and exploited the systems that ordinary folks tried to live by. I could smell a swindle a mile away.
Well, 120 miles away, to be exact. Brooke Spencer was the kind of “sweet” that described rotten meat, and I could smell it from here. I’d gather as much information as I could without tipping off Gran, but I was getting to the bottom of this. It looked as if my weekend plans had just changed.
Gran was my newest client even if she didn’t know I’d taken her case.
Chapter Two
Brooke
Irocked back on myheels and shook out my shoulders. They were sore, but as I stared down the row of weeded tomato plants in Miss Lily’s garden, I recognized it as the good kind of ache, the kind that came from an honest morning’s work. I pulled off my gloves and was tucking them into the pocket in my garden tote when Miss Lily emerged through the French doors of her big Colonial-style house. Mansion?
I idly considered the question as I rose and waited for Miss Lily to cross the lawn—grounds?—to me so we could confer about the garden. It probably was a mansion, I conceded as I catalogued the home’s features. It was only two stories, but long gracious wings extended from the center, and from the front, elegant windows welcomed guests arriving up the long drive. Also, the house sat on three acres, so that might qualify as more than just a yard. But Miss Lily herself was salt-of-the-earth, and it was hard to associate my gardening friend with the idea of something so grand as a mansion.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lily,” I called.
“Didn’t think I’d see you out here today, Brooke,” the older woman answered as she drew near. She wore her favorite straw hat for working in the garden and carried her own well-used tote of garden tools. “Thought you were going into the school.”
