Page 7 of In the Bones
Immediately, Nicole’s amber eyes went to Woody. She didn’t wince exactly, but Mac noticed a twist to her sister’s lips as she picked up her burger, nails digging into the toasted bun. “Later,” Nicole muttered through a mouthful. Woody was at the far end of the table, listening to the girls catalogue all their Memorial Day party invitations. There was no way he could hear their conversation, but Mac nodded and asked Nicole if she had birthday plans, an attempt at misdirection that she hoped wouldn’t be obvious.
“I think Woody’s taking us all to dinner.” Nicole didn’t sound particularly thrilled, but at least Woody was doing his job.
It was fifteen long minutes before he got up from the table to grab another bottle of beer. When he disappeared into the house and the girls took out their phones, chatting aimlessly as they scrolled, Mac seized her chance and asked again.
If she was being honest, she hadn’t approved of Nicole’s decision to leave the hotel. Her business plan had made sense, in theory. The owners of big summer properties needed cleaners, larger homes brought in more money, and the job gave her more flexibility. It was the fact that Nicole worked alone in strangers’ houses that irked Sheriff Maureen McIntyre. Nicole liked to call Mac paranoid, but Nicole hadn’t spent half her life in law enforcement. In the last few years alone, Mac had seen people do unbelievable things, things that stoleinto her dreams and poisoned her waking hours. Most civilians glossed over crime as a means of self-preservation. If anyone knew how bad things could get in small towns that felt safe, it was Mac. That hadn’t stopped Nicole from ignoring her sister and attacking the job at full strength.
“Work’s fine,” Nicole said. “I got a new client, actually—just don’t tell Woody. The house is all the way in Cape Vincent, and he won’t like me spending the gas money.”
Mac mimed twisting a key between her lips and tossing it onto the lawn. “Stacy?” she asked, to which Nicole nodded. She and Stacy Peel had only been friends for a year and a half, but Mac knew that the woman had helped Nic out with clients on more than one occasion. “What’s the situation?” she asked.
“Summer place. The owner’s pretty young, but he paid for a big renovation. There’s a girlfriend,” she said thoughtfully, “but it’s hard to gauge their status.”
“I guess the real question is whether he’s messy.”
“Time will tell. He moves in tomorrow.”
“Nice place?” Mac asked.
“Gorgeous. Pass the ketchup?”
When Mac and Nicole were twelve and four, Nicole had gone through a mischievous phase, taking things that weren’t hers and denying responsibility. Their mother had been working three jobs at the time, a steady male presence nonexistent, so the duty of getting Nicole back on track fell to Mac. Even at a young age, Nicole was a surprisingly gifted liar, but Mac learned how to read her by memorizing every little tell. That was why she knew Nicole was withholding something now.
“OK,” Mac said warily. “What happened?”
“What?”
“Come on Nic, you can tell me. Roach infestation? Condom in the bathtub?”
“Ew, no.” Nicole’s hiss drew Blair and Alana’s attention, but the girls quickly lost interest and turned back to their phones. “Jesus, Maureen. You’re not going to stop asking, are you?”
“You know me so well.”
Nicole pushed her cinnamon hair from her eyes and puffedout her cheeks. “There were some weird noises, that’s all. Probably just the house settling after all that renovation work.”
Mac felt movement against her leg and gave a start. She’d forgotten all about Whiskey, who was sitting at attention, awaiting his share. After ruffling the fur on his head, she tore a piece off her second patty and lowered it to the dog’s eager mouth. “Weird noises. Go on.”
Nicole lightened her tone, chasing every few sentences with a sip of beer as she explained about the thumps and creaks, the empty house and driveway, but Mac wasn’t fooled. Her job made her wise to cover-up attempts; Mac was skilled at detecting bullshit, and if she had any doubt in her instincts, all she had to do was study Nicole’s face. Where looks were concerned, she and her sister had little in common. Nicole’s dad had been dark-haired with tidy features, while Mac’s father was so big and blond that when he once claimed he was a Viking, Mac had believed it. The sisters did share one physical feature, though. When they were tense, a series of creases formed around their mouths, the lines stacking up like bass hooks in a value pack. As much as she’d tried to brush it off, Mac could tell Nicole’s time inside the house had left her uneasy.
Across the table, music pumped from Alana’s cell phone. Still no sign of Woody. “You said the house just got renovated. Could it have been an intruder?” Mac asked. “Someone who thought the place was still empty and took off when they heard you upstairs?”Intruder. That was a cop word, one she knew would raise Nicole’s hackles, but Mac didn’t care. Already, her mind whirled with images of home invasions, cat burglars, prowlers dressed in black. Nicole’s shoulders had tensed, which Mac took to mean she was regretting her confession and wishing she’d kept the story about her new client to herself.
“Did you tell the owner?”
“And say what, exactly? Something went bump? Oh hey, by the way, your new house might be haunted? No,” Nicole said. “I have to go back and finish the job. I need this guy to like me.”
“If you want him to like you, honesty’s a good place to start.”
Behind them, the back door slid open and Woody steppedoutside. The bottle of beer in his hand was half empty. He’d been hiding in there, avoiding his family. Avoiding Nicole and Mac. As he dropped into his seat at the opposite end of the table, Mac felt his distance like a canyon, his apathy like a shove.
“I’ll think about it,” Nicole said quietly, touching her own bottle to her teeth.
Mac’s sister wasn’t big on confrontation, would sooner brush off a problem than face it head-on.
But some problems banged on the door until the whole house shook.
EIGHT
Nicole
