There was a great deal of laughter, and then the three of them went inside the restaurant, where the air was steamy and fragrant and warm.
Miranda took her turn at hugging the new arrivals, and Frank came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his cobbler’s apron, to shake hands with Mike and nod a shy greeting to Alice.
The whole scene was festive, even though all the holiday decorations had been removed days before.
Mike refused politely when Brynne offered to prepare a late breakfast or an early lunch, whichever they preferred.
“We need to head on over to the house and start settling in,” he said.
“And the dogs have been cooped up since we left Wyoming,” Alice added.
The Baileys frequented a network of campgrounds all over the Western United States and parts of Canada, which usually made it easy for Brynne to keep track of their approximate whereabouts at any given time.
In this case, they’d caught her by surprise.
“We stopped at the supermarket to pick up a few necessities,” Alice continued. “Gretchen Lansing was there, working away. We offered our condolences, your dad and I, but she wasn’t very receptive.”
“No,” Brynne replied, remembering the death-glares she’d received from both the Lansings on the day of their son’s funeral. “It must be awful to be so angry and so bitter.”
“She’s lost her boy,” Alice reminded her daughter, her voice softening with sadness. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
Brynne’s eyes burned again. “I’m fine, Mom,” she said.
Alice hugged her tightly. “Thank the good Lord,” she replied.
“I think I hear those pups barking,” Mike teased, already edging toward the door. The Baileys had always had dogs; the current pair were rescued Yorkies, and Alice babied them shamelessly. “We’d better get going.”
“You’re always ‘going,’” Miranda put in. She’d been hovering at the edge of things, which was fine, since she was considered part of the family. “About time you settled down in one place for a while.”
“We plan to do that right here in Painted Pony Creek,” Alice responded. “Our gypsy days are over. Come spring, we plan to sell the RV and use the money to build onto the house and maybe update this place, too.” She looked around, assessing the admittedly dated interior, worn vinyl chairs, Formica tabletops and linoleum floors.
Although Brynne was very glad her parents were staying in town indefinitely, she felt a little like a third wheel, where the restaurant was concerned. She wasn’t sure there would be room for her, once Mike and Alice returned to work.
Her misgivings must have shown in her face, because her dad gave her a one-armed hug and reassured her. “Don’t go worrying that we’ll take over completely,” he told her. “Your mom and I aren’t here to edge you out of the business. You’re still the manager, and we’ll follow your instructions.”
Fat chance, Brynne thought, biting back a laugh.
“Or,” interjected Alice, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “you’ll finally get married and give us some grandchildren.”
That time, Brynne did laugh. “Don’t jump the gun, Mom. Whatever you might have heard to the contrary—” here, she turned a glance Miranda’s way “—there’s no wedding on the horizon, and there are certainly no babies.”
Clearly, Alice wasn’t convinced, but she did back off slightly, probably because Mike gave her a meaningful look. “Well, anyway,” she chimed, “we’ll be off now. I’m dying for a long soak in my own bathtub.”
With that, the hustle and bustle of leaving began.
Soon, her folks were back in their RV and headed for the house on Pine Street.
And Brynne returned to her work, waiting tables, consulting with Frank in the kitchen, and feeling unaccountably lonely.
Maybe it was time to text Eli.
* * *
ONE OF THE THINGS Eli disliked about winter was that it got dark so early.
He left the office in the thick of twilight, consulting his fancy electronic watch as he approached his truck: 4:37.
That day, he’d left Festus at home since he’d been in various meetings and, in between, he’d scoured the regular web for any trace of Freddie’s interactions with Tiffany Ulbridge.
He’d come up dry, which was frustrating, but he knew there had to be something, some thread of connection. Freddie had navigated the dark web like a pro, but there had been no indication that Tiffany had.
Obviously, Freddie had used a false name, just as he’d used Eli’s pictures in several different profiles. He’d followed up on the alternate identities and, again, found nothing.
The state was satisfied that Freddie had been Tiffany’s killer, and they were ready to sign off and let the whole incident fade away into history.
From Eli’s point of view, they were probably right.
Probably.
Freddie had clearly catfished Tiffany, baited her, possibly for months, and when she’d spurned him, he’d murdered her out of frustration and rage. He wouldn’t be the first loser with an if-I-can’t-have-you-nobody-can mindset and, sadly, he wouldn’t be the last.
Screwed up as that motive was, it made sense, coming from a lowlife like Freddie.
And yet——
It was too easy. If Lansing had developed feelings for Tiffany through their virtual “dates”—virtual dating being a concept Eli found utterly foreign—he would have been hurt by her rejection, but killing her?
Every hour of every day, people of all kinds loved and lost. They betrayed, or were betrayed. But was it really that easy, when you loved someone, to shut everything down?
Sure it was, for some people.
But had Freddie been one of those people?
Granted, he’d certainly been no saint, and he’d sported one of the worst attitudes Eli had ever come across, but up until a couple of years ago, he’d been a non-entity, for the most part, like his mother.
Then again, Freddie had planned on doing real harm to Eric, and others. That meant he’d been capable of violence.
It had certainly seemed that way when Eli visited the Lansings on New Year’s Eve.
No closer to an answer than before, Eli drove home through the thickening darkness, feeling the chill in the air even though he had the truck’s heater going full blast.
He missed Brynne.
He missed his dog.
He wanted to be inside his house, with a fire going and something savory warming up in the microwave.