Unraveling the Past. Beth Andrews
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you’re done with the chores I’ve assigned you,” he said, “you are to spend the afternoon pounding the pavement.”
She pressed both hands against her head. Probably trying to keep it from exploding. “What?”
He headed toward the door. “Get a job.”
She scrambled onto her knees, tugging the material of her oversize T-shirt out from under her. “It’s summer vacation.”
“It’s summer,” he agreed, his hand on the handle as he stood in the doorway, “but vacation time for you is over. Working will help you realize what it’s like out there in the real world. Plus, last night’s little adventure proved how much you need some structure to your life.”
“You should be thanking me instead of being such a di—”
“Careful,” he warned darkly.
“—douche bag,” she spat. Not exactly a term of respect but better than what she’d started to call him. “I found that body,” she pointed out. “If it wasn’t for me, you never would’ve even known it was out there.”
This must be why some animals ate their young. So they didn’t turn into teenagers.
“Part of the reason we moved here was so you could get a fresh start. Instead you snuck out of the house and disobeyed my direct order not to engage in any reckless or criminal activity.” Though his hand tensed on the handle, he kept his voice mild. “But you’re right about one thing. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know about the body. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be in Boston, not trying so damned hard to make things work for us here.”
She looked so stricken he immediately wished he could take his words back. That he could tell her he didn’t mean them. But while Jessica was rebellious and mouthy, she was also bright and had a way of seeing through people’s bullshit. No way she’d buy an apology from him. One he wasn’t even sure he’d mean.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be home for dinner at six. Seven,” he amended, figuring he’d have to put in a hellishly long day. “Be here.”
He stepped into the hall and had no sooner closed the door when something hit the other side of it with a loud crash. He tipped his head back and blew out a heavy breath. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get through to her. If he’d ever be able to save her from herself.
Some days he wondered why he even bothered trying.
* * *
LAYNE BACKED INTO HER SPOT in the police station’s paved parking lot. She stepped out of her cruiser only to reach back in for her aviators. The dark lenses hiding her eyes, she shut them long enough for the edginess in her stomach to smooth out. For her nerves to calm and her scattered thoughts to settle.
She doubted herself, the decisions she’d made, which she’d never done before. Couldn’t afford to do now. So she stood there, the bright, midmorning sun warming the top of her head as she inhaled deeply, the familiar briny scent of the sea filling her senses. She held her breath. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes and strode toward the entrance as if her moment of weakness had never happened.
She didn’t do weak. She had too many people depending on her. Counting on her to take care of them.
Sure, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to worry only about herself. To put her own needs first without thought or care for anyone else. To be manipulative and selfish and egocentric.
Like her mother.
But she was so much stronger than Valerie Sullivan had ever been. So much better.
And if she kept telling herself that, if she pretended that this morning had never happened, that she’d never seen that necklace, maybe she’d actually start believing it.
For the first time in her life, she had no idea what was real and what was fiction. What if her suspicions were right? What if the past eighteen years were nothing but a lie? Worse, what if she was to blame?
She pressed her lips together and yanked open the door so she could step into the dimly lit, cool hallway. No. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was. The blame lay with one and only one person—Valerie. All Layne had ever done was keep her family from falling apart.
She’d keep doing it. No matter what.
Before turning the corner that would take her to the squad room, Layne stopped long enough to crack the knuckles of each finger then shook her hands out. Her expression composed so none of her doubts, her guilt, showed, she entered the room and went straight to the desk she’d kept despite her promotion a year ago.
Across from her, Jimmy Meade glanced up from where he pecked at the keyboard of his computer. He frowned. “I thought you were going home to get cleaned up.”
“I got sidetracked,” she said, hooking her foot around her chair leg and pulling it out. As she sat, she felt him watching her. “What?”
He leaned back in his chair, linked his hands together on his protruding stomach—now half the size it had been thanks to his wife insisting he cut back on the sweets in case the new chief decided to fire anyone who could no longer fit into their uniform. “You have something on your mind?”
Her throat clogged. Jimmy had always been on her side, from the moment she’d first been hired. One of her uncle Kenny’s old school buddies, he’d kept an eye out for her, mentored her. And she was about to look him in the eye and lie.
God, she hated this.
“Nope.” She booted up her computer, watched the monitor as if her next breath depended on her wallpaper—a picture of her nephew Brandon in his baseball uniform—loading properly. “Any new developments in the case?”
“Haven’t heard of anything.” He straightened and reached for his favorite coffee cup. “Chief’s been in a meeting with the mayor for almost an hour now.”
Whatever happened in town, Mayor Seagren wanted to be involved.
“It must be my birthday,” Evan breathed as he came in from the break room—obviously the chief had him working overtime, too. “Because I’m about to get a present.” He nodded toward the double glass doors that overlooked the foyer.
The foyer where Layne’s sister Tori laughed at something Officer Wilber—currently manning the booth—said, her head back. All the better to show off her long, graceful neck.
“Oh, I am not in the mood for this,” Layne muttered as Tori sort of…slinked…toward the squad room, a plastic take-out box in her hand. Then again, her black skirt was so tight—and short—normal walking was probably out of the question. And how she waited tables all day in those strappy, high-heeled sandals, Layne had no idea.
Thankfully Tori’s bad attitude and questionable fashion sense weren’t Layne’s problems anymore.
Just a few of the many crosses she had to bear.
“For God’s sake, have some pride,” Layne told Evan. The kid was practically drooling. “And you—” She turned to Jimmy. “You’re a happily married man. And a grandfather.”
He didn’t even have the grace to look abashed that he’d been caught gawking. “Carrie and I have an agreement. I can look all I want. And she pretends I have a chance in hell of letting some beautiful young woman steal me away from her.”
Evan scrambled off his desk and practically tripped over his own feet to open the door. “Morning, Tori,” he said, sounding like a chipmunk going through puberty.
“Good morning,” Tori said, all bright and shiny as a new penny. “Hey, was that you I saw out on Old Boat Road a few days ago?” she asked Evan. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”
“It’s not a bike,” Jimmy and Layne said together, repeating what Evan had told them repeatedly. “It’s a Harley.”
“And