Chapter 5

Joey

 

“You look like a librarian.” The words leave me before sense can stop them.

“Excuse me?” Kennedy lowers her chin, her green eyes widening.

I lift a hand, waving it in front of my face. “Your glasses.”

Her eyebrows lower and her red-tinted lips purse, sending me a warning signal that if I had slept more than a couple of hours, I might listen to. After all, having grown up with four sisters, I’m well aware of the grudges women are capable of holding.

“Are you telling me that the only women you’ve ever met who wore glasses were librarians?” She tilts her head, keeping her focus on me as her jaw tightens.

The expression is so similar to my twin sister, Arianna, when she’s giving me the opportunity to backtrack and beg for forgiveness before bounding down a path that leads to days of me apologizing.

“You’re thinking way too hard about the answer to such a simple question,” she says before I can come up with a reply that isn’t either sarcastic or rude.

She begins to retreat, then spins on her heel to face me again. “You likely won’t find anyone who mistakes you for being anything more than an asshole if you continue to lumber around with your knuckles dragging the ground.” One twist and she walks away, damn near strutting her way back to the counter, where an elderly woman greets her with a hug. Kennedy glances in my direction as she wraps her arms around the woman, turning away as soon as she realizes I’m still watching her.

I consider maintaining my stare, curious to see what her reaction would be, but a man steps in front of me and successfully blocks my view.

“Can I help you with something?” His lips slant upward, but his light brown eyes are framed by furrowed brows and his neck muscles are strained. With a quick glance that I camouflage with a fake cough, I see his fists are tightly balled at his sides as well, all revealing a clear aggression toward me.

I slap my chest a couple of times to continue the facade that I’m choking and flash him a grin. I don’t know what his business is. Maybe he’s the girl’s boyfriend or brother, maybe just a friend, but it awakens a sense of realization that had she been any one of my sisters, I’d be doing exactly what this man is: warning me away. “I’m looking for X-Acto knives. A couple of them.”

He lowers his head, clearly not believing me, before he points a finger behind me. “Over here.” He takes a wide step, leading me in the direction of the tool.

As I turn, my gaze travels over to Kennedy once more, catching her stealing a look in my direction. She tucks her long blonde hair behind an ear and averts her attention to the cash register. The longer I stare at her, the less she looks like the locals milling around. Her lipstick, highlighted hair, and loose blouse all set her a few degrees apart.

The man I’m following looks back as I turn my attention forward, and his smile evaporates into a grimace, heavily enunciated with thick lines around his lips. He grabs two of the X-Acto knives and extends them to me, holding his grip longer than necessary as I reach to take them. “Anything else?”

Coen and Tom Wallace appear, and I’m not surprised to see Tom’s lips curved in a smile, his shoulders relaxed. He likely realizes my brother is going to pay for his entire retirement with this house and the work he’s going to have to put into it.

Tom pats the shoulder of the man standing across from me. “How are things going, Jackson?”

Keeping his stare on me, Jackson nods.

“Thanks again for all of your help. I appreciate your time and all the information you shared,” Coen says. “We’ve got to get back, because a couple of dumpsters are being dropped off.” Coen clamps a hand around my shoulder, and with a firm tug, we take a step back. “Have a great day.”

Tom grins. “We’ll see you guys around.”

Kennedy wraps up with another customer, who parts with a laugh. “See you around, Jelly Bean.” With a wave, he disappears, leaving the nickname to replay in my ears over and over and over again.

If this were a few years ago, I could likely rely on my brother to flirt with Kennedy to learn more about her, but since meeting Ella, Coen doesn’t even turn when a beautiful woman passes, let alone learn her history.

She takes the two tools I place on the counter and without saying a word, rings up our order. “Your total is eleven ninety-eight.” She stares at Coen, refusing to look in my direction.

Coen hands over a twenty.

I cough again, and still she won’t look my way. “I’m assuming you can break that large of a bill at this fine establishment?”

A smile teases her lips, too tight to be sincere. “Only because we’ve had a few customers this morning,” is all she says while gathering his change. She places the tools into a paper sack and slides it across the counter to Coen. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You too,” Coen says, shoving me in the direction of the door.

“What are you doing?” he asks as we trek through the parking lot to his truck.

“What are you talking about?” I turn back once more to the shop, the glass door a shade of black because of the afternoon sun.

“When did you start acting like an asshole to the general public?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pull open the passenger door of the truck and hop inside.

“Like hell you don’t.” Coen starts the truck. “‘I’m assuming you can break this large of a bill’?” he mimics me with a high-pitched voice and scrunched face. “It was a twenty. You made us look like total dicks. I live here, Joe. You can’t come across like a putz, because that’ll follow me. And more importantly, it will follow Ella and Hayden.” He glares at me, a clear threat for if that happens.

“Don’t worry about it. Your reputation is fine. This town loves you and idolizes me.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous how many people think you saved this town.”

I pull my chin back, feigning offense. “I did.” I didn’t. A few years ago, before I accepted the promotion that made me a detective dealing with child neglect, abuse, and sex crimes, I was with narcotics. I infiltrated a gang using Haven Point as its to pass through, the small population and sleepy atmosphere keeping them under the radar. Months of staying at the town’s only hotel allowed me to acclimate myself and get to know a few of the residents.

“Didn’t she look like a librarian?”

“Who?”

“The lady at the hardware store!” I cry.

Coen throws his hands in the air. “You told her she did, didn’t you?” Though it’s a question, he lacks the inflection for it to be.

“But you saw it, right?”

He juts his jaw forward. “The librarian we had in grade school was older than our grandma, and all of her pants had an elastic waistband.” He points out his truck window in the direction of Wallace Hardware. “She looked nothing like any librarian I’ve ever known.”

“So you did notice her? I was beginning to lose all hope of you ever being my wingman again.”

A swift shake of his head has us both laughing. “I quit being your wingman after that time you set your sights on that woman with the dark curly hair at Al’s and left me to explain where you went when you escaped out the back.”

I look at my brother, trying to recall the memory he’s describing. “When did I ever skip out on a date?”

“It wasn’t a date. You were interested in her and spent the entire night showing off for her; then when she took the bait, you ditched.”

Thoughts of dark-rimmed glasses and long blonde hair slowly recede as the memories of the old cheap bar Coen and I used to frequent comes to mind. The place was a dive, with bright-red plastic-covered booths that were each adorned with a bright-green lampshade hanging from the ceiling, and a bartender that never bothered with IDs but would pour from the top shelf if you paid in cash. The woman was beautiful and mysterious, ignoring us like she didn’t know others existed. I played some of the best games of pool and darts that night, waiting for her to take notice; finally she did, giving me a second and then third glance. I approached her, reading her welcoming smile and appreciative sweeps over my body.

“She was married,” I tell Coen.

He snaps his attention toward me. “You never told me that.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal.” It isn’t anymore, but that night it seemed like a very big deal. Deception is too frequently a part of my life, and as soon as I saw the distinct tan line on her left ring finger, her small roll of cash (to avoid credit card receipts), and her phone, which she silenced each time it rang—I was out.

“Didn’t you hook up with her in the bathroom?”

“We made out against the back wall. And for the record, that was all her.” As soon as I told her my name, she took my hand and led me to the dark hallway. There she leaned against the wall, hooked a finger in one of my belt loops, and pulled me closer. She kissed me like her life depended on it, like I was all she could have ever imagined. Likely, I was a revenge plan or a pawn to get attention. Who knows? I didn’t stick around to find out, and after messaging Coen to get his ass out to the truck, I dropped him off and cleaned off her kiss with the remains of a bottle of Campari.

“Sex in public bathrooms is disgusting,” I add. It’s also something that’s reported to me far too often, making all public restrooms look far more like a crime scene than the spot for a sexy rendezvous.

“Are you offering this from experience?”

“Common sense. Something you severely lack. I can’t believe you didn’t buy a house inspection. I’m beginning to feel guilty for getting you an in with the fire chief here. Not only are you living in Podunk, but your house is a lemon!”

“I’ve told you, we like Podunk,” he says. “This is the kind of place I’d been hoping to find when I moved back to North Carolina a few years ago. It’s peaceful here, and though some of the people are nosy, most of them just want to be helpful.”

“Peaceful? You have a city of vermin living in your walls.”

He doesn’t acknowledge my question. “What do you hear when you go to bed at night back home?” Coen asks, turning his attention to me as we drive down the dirt road that leads to his house.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Seriously,” he insists. “Think about it. In DC you hear traffic, dogs, people yelling, sirens. There’s so much noise that it becomes a constant, and you begin to think it’s all white noise. But it’s really all a distraction. Everything vying for your attention. Then you start juggling all this shit and have your hands in a thousand different pots and have no time to do anything you really want to. Here, life is simple. It’s easy. I go to work and then spend my days off with Hayden and Ella. We play ball, watch movies in the park, take walks, go on bike rides, eat ice cream—simple things that we take for granted until they get shoved out of the way for shit you don’t want to do that seems important. Crap like HOA regulations and meetings, shopping for the latest and greatest, attending parties and barbecues for people you don’t even like. All this shit builds into this monstrous weed that impedes the good in your life and your sleep, sucking all your time, energy, and fun.”

“You worked an extra two days this week,” I remind him.

He sighs heavily. “I know. We’re short-staffed, and two guys have been out with family issues.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like code for vacation.”

Coen shakes his head. “More like paternity leave and a sick parent.”

My eyebrow remains raised.

“Do you trust anyone anymore?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“You have to remember where we are. I know Picket’s wife—saw her very large pregnant belly. And I’ve seen Walters and know how hard it’s been for his mom to be going through dialysis. You have to believe people once in a while, otherwise you’re always going to be living in a world of one, and that’s a lonely place to remain.”

“Why are you giving me life advice? I was telling you that in a few months, you’re not going to be singing this Kumbaya song. It’ll be winter, and you guys are going to be too cold to go outside, and you’re going to be bored and cut off from the world.”

Coen lifts his shoulder with a subtle shrug. “Ella and Hayden are my world. I don’t think we’ll feel cut off at all because being here has done nothing but strengthened our relationship.” He glances over to me, and I see the hesitancy in his brown eyes as he closes his mouth from saying anything more.

My mind spins, wondering what was supposed to be tagged on. That if I’d ever loved someone, I’d understand? That my job has jaded me from seeing the good in people? That life doesn’t hurt as much as my world proves it can?

“The hidden city of mice definitely provides a wrinkle . . .” Coen’s eyes grow wide as he pulls to a stop in front of his new two-story farmhouse. “A big wrinkle. But we’ll take care of it. And hell, this allows all kinds of changes to be possible. Maybe it’s for the better.”

I stare at him, waiting for reality to dawn on him—that living in the house while it’s all torn to shreds is going to be a nightmare. “I don’t know, man. The three of you are going to be living in some pretty tight quarters for a while. That apartment above the garage is nice, but I don’t know what you’ll be thinking about it after a few nights . . .”

He pulls his head back. “That’s your space, man.”

“What?”

Coen nods. “Ella’s boss has this giant beast of an RV he’s letting us borrow during repairs. He’s dropping it off later today.”

“You’re going to live in an RV?”

Once again, his shoulders bob without hesitation. “It’ll be like camping.”

I’m speechless. Absolutely baffled by how calm he is about this entire situation. When his expression lacks any change, I shake my head. “You’re crazy.”

He laughs. “But we already knew that.”

“Has she told her boss yet that she’s planning to quit?”

“She told him before moving here.”

“So he knows she’s eventually going to quit and is still letting you guys borrow his RV?”

Coen nods. “He wants her to do this. They made a deal that if she helps train her replacement, he’ll help her and almost work as a free contractor while she establishes her own marketing company.”

“He sounds crazy, too.”

“There are good people out there, Joe. Lots of them. You just hang around far too many of the bad ones.”

 

Large packing containers are delivered the next day, delaying things further as we pack up all the belongings and furniture I had come to unpack just a couple of months ago. It was semi-miserable at that time, but today is grueling. The sun is hot, and the containers trap and radiate the August heat.

“Didn’t you promise me that I’d never have to help you move again?”

Coen’s mouth dips into a pronounced frown, failing to find humor or even sarcasm in the situation. Personally, it’s what’s fueling me to keep going back inside for more loads.

“You’re going to need to have the exterminator fix your damn bug problem, too. These mosquitoes are going to swoop in and carry Hayden off.” As if on cue, Coen swipes at another insect.

“Maybe we can negotiate with them to take you instead—”

His retort is cut off by Ella and Hayden, who park beside my truck and bound out, carrying three large pizza boxes and a white grease-stained bag that she sets on a picnic table we moved into the garage.

“Wow!” Ella exclaims, her attention focused on the contents of the containers. “You guys are machines! I didn’t mean for you guys to do all of this alone.” Her widened eyes turn to Coen.

“I’m hoping that exterminator can come out this week. I don’t want any excuses for him to not be able to take care of it all so we can get started on the remodel. Having everything out will allow us to expand the closet and knock out that divider wall in the living room.” He gazes toward the house, seeing the mental blueprints he’s been yapping about all morning. “I think this is going to turn out to be a blessing in disguise. We’ll be able to make this house exactly what we wanted.”

Ella smiles broadly, her love for my brother etched visibly across her face. “Are you sure you’ll be able to, with work and everything?”

Coen brushes off her concerns with a subtle lift of his shoulders. “We’ll make it work.”

“You guys are amazing.” She turns her radiant smile to me.

“In the meantime, Hayden and I might need to test out the fire pit and pitch a tent in the backyard. Make this camping experience a little more authentic,” I say.

“Yes!” Hayden cries at the same time Ella’s shoulders draw back with hesitation.

“Uncle Joey snores,” Coen warns him. “You may want to stick with the RV, or you and I can sleep in a tent on the opposite side of the yard.” He winks at me, the asshole.

Hayden laughs, reaching for the pizzas. While Ella may seem like an overprotective mom to most, Hayden is oblivious.

“What kind of pies did you get?” Coen asks, helping to separate the boxes.

“Mom got that weird one with the vegetables again,” Hayden replies, pointing to the far box.

“Good. She should. It’s her favorite.” He looks at Ella as he says it, and for a moment it feels like I’m intruding on this perfect world they’ve created for themselves. This perfection they both deserve.

Ella swats at the air. “Why don’t we eat in the camper so we don’t get eaten alive by these mosquitoes?”

I grab the nearest pizza box and the bag, and Coen scoops up the other two, and we head toward the trailer, which I’m surprised to admit is far roomier than I’d expected. Their dog, Shakespeare, greets us with a tail wag as we enter.

“Did you get hot, girl?” Ella asks, reaching down to pet the dog.

“She was sitting in the house, scratching and barking at the walls, so we forced her outside, and within fifteen minutes she was sprawled out like she’d been speared.” Coen pats her hindquarters.

“We forgot the root beer!” Hayden cries, pulling open the fridge door and ending our conversation.

Ella drops her head back on her shoulders. “Shoot! I’m sorry, dude. I completely forgot.”

“That’s okay. I’ll run out and grab some really quickly,” I offer, fishing my keys from my pocket.

“No!” Ella objects. “It’s okay. We can go get some tomorrow for the leftovers.”

“Leftovers?” I ask. “There aren’t going to be any leftovers. Have you seen the three of us eat?”

Hayden smiles but shakes his head, too. “Don’t worry about it, Uncle Joey. Next time.”

Uncle Joey.

This kid has shot like a rocket straight into my heart, and with those words I’m reminded of the fact. “The store is five minutes away. I’ll be right back.” I ruffle his hair and then punch Coen in the arm before he can add to the chorus of objections and head out to my truck in the driveway.

The trip is short, and while I’m there I can grab a case of beer, which I know my back will need later tonight.

The small parking lot is surprisingly full as I navigate down the first aisle. I pause at the sight of reverse lights.

Bam!

My truck likely rocks less than an inch, but the impact made one hell of a sound that has me craning my neck over to see a small black car sticking out of the bed of my truck.

“What in the hell!” I grumble. “Five fucking minutes. That’s all I needed.”

I slide out of my driver’s side door and go around the back to inspect the damage. “Holy shit.” I brush a hand over my dark hair, noting the dent that will require my truck to be in the shop for days, possibly longer.

“What in the hell were you doing? Why’d you stop?”

I swing my head around, anger rounding my eyes as I face the woman from the hardware store—Kennedy. Looking over the top of her car in my direction, a scowl is etched across her face, which is curtained by her long blonde hair. “We’re in a parking lot, lady. What do you think I was doing? This isn’t rocket science. I was trying to find a goddamn parking spot.”

“You were going, and then you stopped!”

I shoot my arm out, pointing to the spot I was waiting for. “Because a parking spot opened up!”

“The speed limit isn’t listed as mosey!” she fires back.

“Oh, sweetheart. Here in Haven Point, you might be the Southern belle, but in the real world, we take ownership of our mistakes. What we don’t do”—I take a step in her direction—“is shovel our messes onto some poor schmuck, that schmuck in this case being me.” I point to my chest. “Especially not when one does something so brazenly stupid, like gunning it out of a parking spot.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. I’m no one’s sweetheart.” She glares at me through narrowed eyes that are as icy as they are hard. “You obstructed traffic!”

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at her. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Do you know anything about the law?”

“Let’s call the sheriff. I’m sure he’d love to educate you on the law.”

“Do it,” I challenge her, folding my arms across my chest. “Please, call Ray. Do you need his home number? Because I’ve got it here.” I reach for my cell phone.

Her shoulders don’t fall like I expected. Instead, she stands to her full height and lands another glare on me. “You just can’t admit you were in the wrong, can you?”

“No!” I cry. “Because I wasn’t in the wrong.”

“You hesitated!”

“You gunned it!”

“‘Gunned it.’” She mocks me with an eye roll followed by a scoff. “You really need to venture outside of the town’s limits if you think that was ‘gunning it.’”

“Do you see the dent you put into my truck?” I ask. “A family of raccoons is likely going to make residence in this hole.”

“Oh my God, and you’re an exaggerator. Perfect. Let me guess, your neck hurts, too, right? You can’t go to work? You might need additional compensation?”

I pull my chin back.

Is she kidding?

“Look, sweetheart. You hit my truck. It’s that simple. Your car is exhibit A, my truck is exhibit B, and this fresh dent is exhibit C. Are you following how that adds up? I didn’t hit you. You. Hit. Me.”

“Do you think talking to me like I’m some sort of child is going to make this better?”

“It certainly can’t make it any worse.”

“Let’s end this fun dance. Why don’t you grab your information, and I’ll grab mine, and we can sort this through our insurance companies. They can tell you that you’re wrong.”

“Can’t,” I tell her, scrolling through my list of contacts.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’? Are you uninsured?” Her frown grows deeper.

I lift a finger and listen to the phone ring twice before Ray answers. “Hey, Ray,” I greet him. “Got in a fender-bender down at the market.”

“Someone hit you?” Ray asks.

“Yup.” I release a deep breath. “Apparently, they were in a hurry.”

“Claire made pork chops. Let me see if someone can come; otherwise, I’ll be there in ten.”

I hang up and turn to the woman who I’ve decided doesn’t know how to do anything but scowl.

“I can’t believe you called the police over this.”

“You’re who wanted to,” I remind her.

“This is unreal. You’re unreal.”

I nod. “I’m all natural, baby. It is pretty unreal.”

Her eyes narrow with disgust. “Just stop talking.” She looks between our cars again. “Can’t we just exchange information and get going? My car runs, your truck runs; you’re fine, I’m fine. Let’s move things along.”

“Can’t,” I tell her again.

“Why not?” She yells the words, frustration coloring her cheeks.

“Because in the beautiful state of Virginia, you have to report all accidents that involve damages over fifteen hundred dollars to law enforcement, and since I’m not an active-duty cop down here, I have to call someone in.”

“You’re a cop?” Her voice drops.

“Detective, actually.”

She expels another deep breath. “Perfect. Just perfect.”