The house was beginning to smell good. The table and high chair had been set for four. The prep dishes were all washed and put away, and the dishwasher hummed a soothing rhythm.
“Thanks, Ma,” I said, feeling the weight of the day ease a little.
My mother stood and slipped on her coat.
“You’re not staying for dinner?”
“No, I have to get home and heat up leftovers for your father. He thinks I’m out Christmas shopping. If he knew I made a pot roast that wasn’t for him, I’d never hear the end of it. I’ll pick up the kids on Friday after school.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. If they’re with me, Steven won’t bother you.” She bent to kiss my cheek. “Give Nicholas a call. Go out and have some fun. But if you’re going to try his biscuits, be sure to use protection.”
Upstairs in the bathroom, Vero cackled.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Goodbye, Ma.”
I followed her to the door, resting my head against it as I locked it behind her.
CHAPTER 28
The one piece of advice no one ever gives you when you divorce is never take a shower when all the towels are in the laundry. I’m pretty sure it’s right up there with check to make sure there’s toilet paper before pulling down your pants and never accept an offer to murder your ex while using public Wi-Fi.
Vero had let me sleep in after a second long night of writing. By four in the morning, I’d managed to eke out a messy draft of a few opening chapters, which I had emailed to Sylvia without bothering to proofread before falling into a brief and fitful sleep. By the time I’d rolled out of bed at nine, Vero and the kids had already left to take Delia to school. I’d been relieved to wake up to a quiet and empty house, but as I shut off the water and stood in the shower, groping for a towel on the empty hanger, the inevitability of my situation sank in with cold, sharp teeth.
Arms folded around myself, I slunk out of my bedroom, goose bumps pebbling my bare, wet skin. A wave of cinnamon apple air freshener and eau de slowly thawing dead guy washed over me as I opened the door to the laundry closet at the end of the hall. I reached inside the empty dryer and swore.
My mother would insist this was some form of divine retribution, punishment from god for keeping a dead body in my house. Honestly, I’d rather pray the rosary. Someplace warm. With clothes on.
Crossing the hall, I grabbed a marginally clean Disney Princess towel from the hanger in the children’s bathroom. Shivering, I wrapped it around me and knotted the ends of the tiny pink swatch around my chest.
A floorboard creaked down the hall. I paused, head tipped toward the sound of the furnace clicking on. Warmth drifted from the register above my head to combat a sudden icy draft that was creeping up the stairs, as if a door had been left open. I stiffened at the familiar telltale squeak of the riser on the top step.
Searching the bathroom for a weapon, I cursed myself for the childproof locks on all the cabinets. As the slow tread of footsteps grew closer, I grabbed the only pointy object I could find. With my toilet plunger poised to strike, I pressed my back against the bathroom wall. Breath held, I listened as, one by one, the bedroom doors swung slowly open. A dark shadow fell over the carpet beside me. With a feral yell, I raised the plunger over my head and leapt into the hall. My scream died in my throat as I stared down the barrel of a gun.
“Christ, Finn!” Nick lowered his weapon and bent over his knees. “You scared the crap out of me!”
I clutched the towel to my chest. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
His eyes climbed my bare, dripping legs, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. I tugged down the bottom of the towel, glad I’d bothered to shave. He averted his eyes. “I can explain,” he said in a strained voice. “See, I was down the street at Theresa’s when dispatch called with a 10–66. I recognized the address as yours, so I rushed over to check it out.”
“10–66?”
“Right, sorry,” he said, still flustered. “Mrs. Haggerty called nine-one-one. She told the operator she saw someone suspicious outside your house. I did a quick check of the yard and didn’t see anyone, but—”
A door flew open downstairs, crashing into a wall. Nick whirled, gun aimed down the stairwell into the foyer.
I peeped around his shoulder. Joey stood at the foot of the stairs. His wide eyes jumped from Nick to me, and a slow smile spread over his face as he lowered his weapon. “Maybe I should come back later?”