Page 8 of Kiss Me Now
“Ian is pretty handy,” Gran said. “My John made all our kids help keep this place running, assigning them to shifts with the groundskeeper during the week and overseeing their chores himself on the weekend.”
Gramps had been a gruff old man for as long as I could remember, a result of him presiding over the law school at the University of Virginia for so many years. “Lawyers make me cranky,” Gramps had told me one summer when I visited. “Don’t be one.” Somehow, I’d still ended up working with lawyers anyway, and unsurprisingly, Gramps had been exactly right about them.
“I’ll send Ian over to help tomorrow,” Gran said in a tone that made it clear she’d made up her mind.
Foolish Brooke attempted to argue with her. “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ve already remodeled an entire bathroom with the help of YouTube and calling Grace at the hardware store in town every time I have a question. I’m sure they’ll both get me through another Saturday without much trouble.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m happy to. My dad raised me the way Gramps raised him, and I’m handy as advertised.” Normally, I might look forward to sleeping in on a weekend visit to Gran, followed by a round of golf, and then a leisurely afternoon on the back porch with her. But I was here to assess the threat Brooke posed, and a home improvement project was the perfect cover to spend more time with her. By tomorrow morning, I’d have gone deep down the Internet, and I’d have plenty of questions for her while we worked.
“He’s fine. You see?” Gran said, her tone smacking of “I told you so.” “He’s a good boy. Happy to help.”
We passed the rest of dinner chatting about Brooke’s extensive (and expensive-sounding) renovation plans. When Mary came to clear the dinner dishes, Brooke placed her napkin on the table as though she were done and earned herself a stern look and a headshake from Gran.
“Not so fast, young lady. You still need dessert.”
“I couldn’t possibly make room,” Brooke protested. “Mary is too good a cook. I’m full to bursting.”
“Oh, fine then,” Gran said, leaning back. “But it’s a shame to pass up fresh ice cream made with peaches straight from Jimmy Lowe’s trees.”
Brooke promptly dropped her napkin on her lap.
“Smart girl,” Gran said, grinning.
By the time we polished off the peach ice cream and butter cake Mary had made, even I was sure another crumb would make me burst. I sympathized when Brooke pushed back from the table with a groan.
“All right, I really need to go,” she said, rising. “I’m going to have to roll myself home, but I definitely need a good night’s sleep before I tackle the floors tomorrow. Good night, Miss Lily. I hope you dream of peaches. I know I will.”
“I might be stuck here,” Gran confessed lazily from her chair. “Mary surely outdid herself. Ian, why don’t you walk Brooke home then come help your overindulgent grandmother up from the table.”
“I’ll be fine,” Brooke protested. “You stay and take care of Miss Lily.”
“Sorry,” I said, already rising. “But I never disobey Gran.”
Gran shooed us away with a laugh, and I walked Brooke to the patio doors. But when I stepped out behind her, prepared to see her across Gran’s well-lit grounds to her unlit yard, she turned and held up her hand.
“No need to walk me home,” she said. “Miss Lily worries too much.”
“It’s dark,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
“I do. You came here to visit her, and she’s been waiting a long time for that.”
Disapproval ran through her tone.
What did I care if she banged her shin or bumped into an oak or two in her stubbornness? She was right; I was here for Gran, and I’d have plenty of time to dig the truth out of Brooke tomorrow. “All right, then. Have a good night.”
She gave me another of her polite nods and headed for her uncle’s place, melting into the shadows as she finally crossed Gran’s property line.
I watched the spot where she’d disappeared for a long time, considering what I’d learned from my observations. First and foremost, it was easy to see how an astute judge of character like Gran had been taken in by this wholesome-looking woman. She had an easiness about her that appealed to Gran’s good humor and warmth, and if I hadn’t known she was sketchy, she might have charmed me too.
But Ididknow, and I noticed more warning signs. Her subtle changes in topic whenever Gran’s conversation veered toward anything about Brooke’s life before two years ago. How she’d touched on her childhood a few times in the most general terms when I’d shared my own stories about summers at Gran’s. Nothing came up from college or after. It was as if her adult life didn’t exist before eighteen months ago, when she’d started her teaching credential.
Why the gap? She didn’t fill it even when I asked questions about what she’d been up to between high school graduation and staying with her uncle before his death.
Whatever secrets Brooke Spencer was hiding, they wouldn’t stay that way for long.
