Chapter Four

Emma

“I don’t understand why you can’t stay here with us.”

I sighed at my sister Kate’s protest as I spun around on my heels. “I need to get the diner ready to open in the morning. There’s a ton of work to do.”

Kate pursed her lips. “I don’t see why you can’t stay closed for a few days. Trust me, Em, no one expects you to dive right back into work.”

“Kate! Enough. Okay? Just let me go.” I flexed my jaw but quickly released it and tried to soften my expression. “I’m sorry,” I said, starting again. “Tommy is finally asleep, and I need a little space, okay? I’ll be back up to check on him as soon as everything is done, okay?”

My baby sister looked ready to launch into another lecture. She was nineteen already. When was a little maturity going to kick in? Then, she seemed to read my mind. She stopped herself and nodded. “All right. Do you want me to come help?”

I quickly shook my head. “I need to be alone.”

Her lips went into a thin line. “Okay.”

I pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and then slipped past her for the door. Tears were bubbling back to the surface, and I wanted to be alone when they finally broke free. The door shut behind me and I paused at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing, and squeezed my eyes closed against the blur. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, and I briefly wished for them to dry up. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and hurried down the stairs before Kate—or worse, my mother—could come back out and find me.

Tommy Jr. had spent hours crying in my arms after I told him the truth about his father. No details, of course, just that he wasn’t coming home ever again. My mother and Kate were there as well, and we took turns trying to console him. Not that there was anything we could do or say that would take away the pain he was feeling. Of course not. He’d lost his father. His best buddy. Regardless of Tommy Sr.’s failings as a husband, he’d always been a good father. Tough—sometimes too tough—but he loved Tommy, and there was no one who could argue that he had the best of intentions.

When Tommy finally fell asleep in my mom’s bed, I’d taken a hot shower until my skin was lobster red, and then dressed in jeans and a t-shirt to go downstairs and get to work. Kate instantly argued against the plan. She was always the bossy one between us. But I knew it was for the best. Sure, I could lie down, but what would be the point? Sleep wasn’t going to find me. In some ways, I didn’t want it to. I knew there were likely to be horrible dreams waiting for me. I hadn’t seen Tommy. The police had forbidden it, but I’d scraped together enough of the details to know what had happened, and my mind could put together the pieces to make a complete picture.

It wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t want to remember him that way.

“Tommy, what in the hell were you doing?” I whispered to the dark hallway at the bottom of the stairs. I flipped the light switch and a fluorescent tube light flickered to life above me. I dug the key ring from my pocket and let myself into the kitchen of the diner. I had to get my mind on work now.

The diner kitchen was small and cramped, but I’d made it my mission to see everything ran smoothly regardless. I was as familiar with the space as I was with my own kitchen upstairs even though I wasn’t the line cook. I’d started as a waitress right out of high school. Then when Tommy and I married, he made a deal to rent the place from Dylan’s father, and we ran it together. It hadn’t been my dream, but with three mouths to feed and bills to pay, I couldn’t turn it down.

I turned on every single light in the place, hoping to somehow exorcise the dark shadows, but they lingered regardless of the bright lights. I set about making biscuit dough and pie crust. The silence threatened to swallow me whole. The radio didn’t do much to help. I found myself tuning out the music and instead circling through the same thoughts tangled in my head.

The diner was constricting, like something from Wonderland. The walls seemed to be shrinking in on me as I worked. Every nook and cranny held a different memory. Tommy and I’d spent so much time together running the place, mostly arguing about everything from which suppliers we used to Tommy’s penchant for hiring waitresses who were barely legal and tended to show off too much of their assets. There’d been good times, too. Of course. But for some reason those weren’t the ones that came back to me as I stood in the middle of the kitchen.

Covered in flour, sweat, and butter, I finally surrendered. I shoved everything into the large walk-in fridge, scrubbed at my hands until my skin was raw, and then threw on the winter coat I kept for doing inventory in the fridge and freezer and went outside. I didn’t even bother to lock up behind me. The air was frosty and thick. Little puffs of chilled breath followed as I started down the sidewalk. I had no plan or purpose. I drank in the air fast and hard, as though I’d just finished running a marathon instead of making some pies.

The light was on in the bar next door. The front window had been busted in the shooting, but they had boarded it up. Light filtered through it along with some music. The apartment above was dark. I doubted Tara was the one sitting in the bar late at night. In fact, there was only one person I could think of who’d be hanging out at this hour.

On that instinct, I went to the door and found it unlocked. As I suspected, Dylan sat at the bar, a drink in his hand, staring blankly at the gallery of framed photographs on display on the wall. Wedged in between bottles of liquor, a wall of photos in random discount store frames showed Malloy’s history, going all the way back to before color photography was even an option.

Dylan didn’t turn at the sound of me pushing inside until I crossed into the light. It was almost like he was expecting someone. Though, from the look on his face, it wasn’t me. “Emma! What are you doing here?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting off the lingering chill from outside. The bar wasn’t all that much warmer. Likely thanks to the front window being blown out. The plywood could only do so much to fight off the bitter chill. “I was next door and needed to get some air.”

His eyes darted to the watch on his wrist. “It’s nearly one AM.”

“I know.” I moved closer and slid onto a seat a few down from his. I cast a glance around. It looked like Dylan had started the cleanup process. Heaps of broken furniture were piled against one wall, and a few garbage bags had been filled with debris and sat open across the room. I tried to avoid the bullet holes in the walls but couldn’t help but see the remnants of the damage. “God, they really did a number.”

Dylan didn’t follow my eyes. Likely he’d seen enough to last him a lifetime. I doubted either of us would ever forget what the battered bar looked like. “Semi-automatics from what Paddy said. The police rounded up all the shells and shit.”

“Right.”

“You want a drink?” Dylan asked, holding up a bottle.

I shook my head. “I thought you weren’t going to start?”

Dylan’s eyes dragged over the edges of the room in a slow circle. “I changed my mind.”

Silence stretched between us. Dylan sipped at the contents of his shot glass, and I wrung my hands together in my lap.

“Who did this, Em?” he asked, a little too curt for my liking.

I straightened. “I—I don’t know. What makes you think I would?”

Dylan cocked his face toward me. “You’ve been here, Em. I haven’t. All I know is the shit you guys write in letters and emails. That’s it. The candy-coated version of the truth. You’re the one who knows what really goes on around here.”

He refused to drop his probing stare and after another long minute, I caved. I hated that about me. One look from him and I melted. “Don’t get so pissy. I don’t know who did this, but I’ll tell you what I do know. Or, at least, what I think I know.”

“Please do.”

I drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “Tommy and Jimmy were spending a lot of time together over the last few years. Tommy didn’t . . .” I paused, struggling to control the waver in my voice. “Tommy and I were having some issues. All right?”

Dylan didn’t say anything.

“I figured it was the normal shit—drinking, poker and pool, probably fucking around.”

“He was cheating on you?”

My eyes snapped to Dylan’s, surprised at the heat I found there. “I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He lost interest in me and often came home smelling like perfume. I didn’t like it, of course, but I didn’t want to go around asking about it. I figured everyone knew and was keeping me protected by not mentioning it.”

Dylan’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything.

“Jimmy started buying some really flashy stuff. Stuff he couldn’t have afforded from working this place. I mean, hell, half the regulars have running tabs that go back so far, they’d have to mortgage their homes to pay them back. That’s how it’s always been around here.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“He bought a new car. Brand new. I don’t remember the type. But it looked expensive. Then he started dating Tara, and she was always talking about the stuff he’d buy her. Jewelry, handbags, shoes.”

“The ring she wears?”

“You saw it?”

He nodded. “She was upstairs when I got here earlier.”

“Oh. Well, yes. The ring. The remodeling job they did upstairs. She went through three contractors to get it just the way she wanted. None of us could understand why anyone would spend that kind of money in this neighborhood. This isn’t a brownstone in Brooklyn or something.”

“I agree. It’s overkill.” Dylan ran a hand over his stubble-coated jaw. “What’s she like?”

I squirmed on my stool. “I don’t want to sound catty or anything, but there’s something about her that rubs me the wrong way. I can’t quite place it, but something’s off. No one really knows where she came from. She just blew into town, knocked Jimmy on his ass, and next thing you know he’s rearranging everything in his life to make her happy.”

Dylan frowned into what was left of his glass. In a snap of a movement, he threw the rest of it back.

“I know they were holding gambling nights. Casino nights, they called them. I never came, but they were pretty popular. Lots of people came out to gamble and drink. I thought it was just a way to boost revenue, but one night, Tommy Sr. came home drunk off his ass, and I asked him about it. He normally clams up when he’s like that, but this particular night he was a real chatterbox and told me that gambling wasn’t all they had going on.”

Dylan’s eyes cut back to mine.

“He said there were working girls there. Escorts.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed. “Jimmy was running prostitutes?”

I held up my hands. “I don’t know if it was him or someone else, but they were there.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

I nodded. “I know. But there were a lot of late nights, strange comings and goings, and clearly some money on the side. The pieces line up, and if it was anyone but Jimmy, I’d say it was pretty clear.”