Not yet, Shea tapped back. They’d started out by asking for mediation—a negotiation of the terms of a no-fault, no-contest divorce. It was a big signal that Shea wouldn’t go after Keenan for all his money. If they agreed now to the phone conversation Shea had resigned herself to, it would give Keenan hope. Contact with Shea couldn’t be their first or even their second concession. Before they came to the table, he had to accept that he may never see or talk to her again.
It’s a thin line… Tasha returned. Make a man like him too angry and he might double down. People stop being themselves in a divorce.
One more week, Shea replied. You didn’t live with a master negotiator for ten years without learning a thing or two. Rule number one of negotiation was that you didn’t have to come to the table.
Just don’t let yourself get obsessed with beating him out of spite, Tasha shot back. Approaching a divorce with a fighting spirit never ends well.
Shea tried not to resent the chastisement. Tasha’s words were good advice.
And don’t forget, Tasha rejoined. He still hasn’t signed off on our proposal to halt action on the money. If he hasn’t yet, his attorney is gearing up to use it.
This was what kept Shea up at night—not often, but every once in a while, when her armor cracked and she could no longer keep worst-case scenarios at bay. Keenan’s refusal to acknowledge Shea’s purpose in taking the money meant he could still claim criminal intent.
There’s no winning this game, Shea shot back plaintively.
We will win, Tasha shot back so quickly Shea imagined she could hear Tasha’s most resolute voice. But you still need to lay low. If he presses charges, a federal warrant may be issued. Federal, because you crossed state lines. A traffic stop could land you in jail until we sort things out. Whatever you do, don’t get in trouble with the law.
7
The Helicopter
Dev
“This is completely unsustainable.”
Delilah’s curt words were delivered at the same moment she pushed forth Dev’s steaming cup: a quadruple americano, light on water, heavy on cream. His first long sip gave him time to swallow the kind of hot retort that came out when he operated on too-little sleep.
“Know what I love most about this place?” he managed as he slid a twenty into the tip jar. “The coffee’s pricey but the lectures are free.”
“You look like shit,” his sister continued matter-of-factly. There was plenty of love between them but “tough” was Delilah’s middle name.
“It’s just ‘til Duff recovers,” Dev reasoned at the end of another rejuvenating gulp. At that moment, it tasted better to him than his green juice.
“What time did you say you had to be at The Big Spoon again?” he asked. His voice was innocent but his eyebrow arch was not.
Delilah was stretched every bit as thin as him, between running her bakery and picking up slack at The Big Spoon. Hell, she might have even had it worse. Delilah had bread in the oven by five in the morning. At least he got to sleep later.
“Maybe if my boss wasn’t such a cheapskate, he’d hire me some help…" Her comeback didn’t have much bite.
“If your boss wasn't such a cheapskate, he wouldn’t be so good at what he did.” Dev smirked. “And if you keep calling him a cheapskate, he might just rethink your bonus.”
The reproachful frown Delilah had sported moments before metamorphosed into repent. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know what I’d do,” he challenged, standing to his full height and crossing his arms.
Because stubbornness ran in the family, Delilah had refused to take his money for helping at The Big Spoon, so he’d booked her on a dream vacation: a master class at some fancy school for pastry chefs in Paris followed by a monthlong culinary tour. God bless her, did his sister love cheese.
“No one’s complaining about your spending priorities.” Delilah hedged, bringing her hands up in a universal show of peace. “All I’m saying is, you’re burning the candle at both ends. How’s Duff coming along?”
Dev was grateful for the change in subject. He’d just returned from the house of Kate Duffy, who was technically now Sheriff Duffy but still known as “Duff” by half the town. When she’d been promoted to Sheriff, she’d deputized Dev. That had been six months back, when things in Sapling had been calm. It had been more a precaution than anything else—a need for an extra hand in case of emergencies. The department was three men down and they were still in the process of hiring three more staff deputies after a five-year run with a bad predecessor.
The Sheriff before Duff was the one who had succeeded Pete—Dev’s surrogate dad and Evie’s late husband. The year Pete passed away, Duff had lacked the seniority to be considered for the job. The other guy had received so many complaints, the commissioner finally promoted Duff. He’d driven away ten deputies over the years, which meant Duff was understaffed. She’d tapped Dev because people knew him and trusted him and, having shadowed Pete the way he once did, he understood procedural policing.
Most things that ever happened in Sapling could be dealt with by Jack and Brody. Only, Jack and Brody were young. Both had more training than Dev, having graduated the academy, but both were new to Sapling. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that some odd event might happen that would be outside their depth.
No one had anticipated the spate of vandalisms that had happened on River Road. Real vandalism—not kids with too much time on their hands and a can or two of paint. Though there was always a facade of theft, an underlying element of destruction was continuously present, seemingly designed to leave the mills themselves in ruin.
Duff had gone to investigate a call three months back and arrived just in time to catch a side full of shrapnel. She’d shattered her elbow after being thrown by the blast of a suspicious explosion. Had she been closer to the source, she would have been killed.
“Her body’s healing fine, but that’s about it.” Dev lowered his voice, even though the store wasn’t open yet and they were alone. Delilah resumed the task of filling her display case with breakfast treats. It took effort for Dev not to get sidetracked by her blueberry scones.
“But she’s coming back to work, isn’t she?” Delilah’s concerned face was back in place.
“Not the way she is now…” Dev said gravely. “Not with whoever’s doing this still on the loose.”
“Shit…” Delilah stopped, the muffin she held suspended midair as she took a moment to study Dev’s face. “What are you gonna do?”
“Same thing I always said I’d do,” Dev replied. “Take over as long as she needs. Longer, if that’s how long it takes to catch this guy.”
Delilah shut the back panel of her glass case. “What makes you think it’s a guy?” she challenged with an eyebrow arch.
“Physical evidence at the crime scenes have been indicative of intruders who were men. And you need to stop sleuthing,” he scolded. “This isn’t Murder, She Wrote, Jessica Fletcher.”
“The fact that you even remember her name proves you loved that show just as much as me. And even if the ones who did the dirty work were men doesn’t mean they were the only ones involved. Face it—we’re smarter than you.”