She nodded, that fake smile she’d been practicing in the mirror since she was three plastered in place. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m head of the DDA now.”
I stilled. “The DDA?”
“The Downtown Development Authority.”
“I know what it is.” My temper was bubbling to the surface.
“Oh, good, that will save us time.” Her smile widened. “We’re in the middle of a big push to beautify all the businesses. You know, add some flowers, and wash the windows, new coat of paint.”
Two Broomsticks Gas & Grill hadn’t been painted since before I was born. I could see where this conversation was headed. “You want Grandpa to paint the restaurant. I’ll mention it to him.” I tried to make my escape again, but Phoebe was having none of it.
“I was talking to Monica Johnson the other day — she’s my best friend — and we both think the restaurant would be lovely if he painted it blue. I think the town council would really enjoy that.”
I couldn’t see my grandfather painting the restaurant any color that would make the town council happy — mostly because he made it his life’s mission to fight with it at every possible opportunity — but I managed to keep from snapping that out. “I’ll mention the color blue.”
“You should really meet Monica. She’s relatively new to the area.”
“Well ... if I have time.” I had no idea who Monica was, but if she was willingly hanging out with Phoebe something must be wrong with her. I had no inclination to find out what that something was.
“You two have a lot in common,” Phoebe blathered on.
Would this conversation never end? “How so?”
“You used to date Hunter. Now she does. In fact, they’re very happy. Like ... really, really happy.”
It was like a punch to the gut. She knew it would be. “How great for them.”
“So, do you want to meet her?”
“Sure. We’ll set something up.” This time there was no stopping me when I turned to retreat to the kitchen. Phoebe called out to get me to stop, but I pretended not to hear her. My heart was pounding by the time I made it into the kitchen and found two salads waiting for me on the counter. “What’s this?”
My cheeks were burning and I thought for sure I would have a few minutes to collect myself before having to face Phoebe again.
“Those are the salads they ordered,” Brad replied.
“But I didn’t even put in their orders.”
“They always order the same thing.”
“They always ask the same thing, too,” Trina offered. “They want Dad to paint the restaurant blue. He said the only way he would do that is if Smurfs take over the world and force him.”
I was still trying to wrap my head around the salads. “But I didn’t even put in the order.”
“They’re ready anyway.” Brad’s smile was tight. “Take them out. If you’re not fast enough, she’ll come back here to complain and watch us work, and nobody wants that.”
“Nobody,” Trina echoed.
It was the one time I’d ever seen them agree on anything. Still, I was feeling helpless when I shifted my eyes to the left to gauge an encroaching figure. Grandpa had obviously finished his afternoon trip to my bathroom.
“You know what fun is?” he asked me as I fought to catch my breath.
I watched with unveiled interest as he lifted the turkey from one of the salads and licked it before placing it back on the salad.
“Did you just ... ?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
For some reason, the small act of defiance made me feel better — even if it was a gross violation of food regulations. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
“Don’t mention it, Dolly.”
The nickname made me smile. He’d called me Dolly on and off since I was a kid. I was the first female grandchild. He’d spent more time with me than some of my other female cousins. The boys still reigned supreme, but I was hardly the forgotten grandchild. “I guess I should take this out.”
“Definitely,” Grandpa agreed. “While you’re out there, tell her the only way I’ll paint this restaurant blue is if she tells me the exact color of her boyfriend’s balls so I can make them match.”
My mouth dropped open. “I can’t tell her that.”
“Fine. I’ll tell her when she stops in tomorrow.”
His reaction made me laugh. “I’m taking the salads out now.”
“When you’re finished, you can knock off for the day. You’re still getting used to the pace.”
That was music to my ears. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t mention it.”
6
Six
I was still agitated after my shift ended, so I went upstairs to take a long shower. By the time I was cleaned up and dressed, it was midafternoon and I had absolutely nothing to do.
People always say they want to live in a quaint town. The problem with that is they never take into account the realities of doing so. Sure, everybody knows everybody and there’s a charming feel to almost every interaction. Even when people hate each other for some perceived slight from twenty years earlier, the insults are more amusing than dangerous.
In Shadow Hills, for example, people carried guns regularly, but almost nobody was ever shot. There was the occasional drunken sign-shooting contest, of course, but those only garnered warnings from the police department. Nobody ever died. In the city, if you saw a gun you ran in the other direction. In Shadow Hills, you greeted the individual carrying the gun with a warm cup of coffee and “oohs” and “aahs” over what a nice piece it was.
On the flip side, half the people in the city couldn’t pick their neighbors out of a lineup. In Shadow Hills, neighbors knew every secret — and it wasn’t always pretty.
I tried to distract myself with cleaning the apartment. I’d barely messed it up, though, so it took only twenty minutes. I had nothing to unpack because I didn’t own anything other than a few changes of clothes and an old castle sculpture that I’d carried since I was a teenager. I had nothing to do but sit around and stare at the walls. I considered running to the hardware store to paint over the dull cream color, but I decided that seemed like too much work.
I couldn’t get the situation with Roy out of my mind. Grandpa was acting squirrelly. Heck, he idled at squirrelly. He was acting completely out of sorts. He hid from Hunter and then pretended otherwise, a move he had to know would ultimately backfire. It wasn’t as if Hunter would simply give up because he stopped by once and Grandpa wasn’t around.
I knew Grandpa was incapable of killing anyone. Probably. He’d threatened more than a few people during the course of his life. The instances before I was born were still related — accompanied by gales of laughter — around the family dinner table. As far as I knew, though, he’d never followed through on a threat.
As for Roy, he was a jerk. That’s the one thing everyone could agree on. He was bombastic, sexist, misogynistic, racist, and occasionally ageist. He was lecherous to the point of making any female in his vicinity uncomfortable. He wasn’t an overt groper, but he had no problem patting a shoulder or rubbing a back without invitation. And his eyes invaded every personal space imaginable. He made everybody uncomfortable. But was that enough to kill him?