Grey came home the next day. It was a great reunion full of Chinese takeout, foot rubs and a couple of glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. Darby had been a dear and offered to dog-sit Fluffy for the night. I let her.
Missy, Grey and I camped out on the patio with a devastatingly beautiful view of the Pacific. Grey lived in the Laguna Beach highlands referred to as Top of the World.
I loved experiencing sunset from his place. It was as if I could reach out and skim my fingers along the pastel hues of the sky. I swear there were times I could smell the scent of the setting sun.
The tension that had surrounded us the last time we were together was gone. Tonight it was about reconnecting, and I loved it.
“So how was the funeral?” he asked, stretched out on a chaise lounge in jeans and a sweater.
From my matching chair, I rolled to my side so I was facing him. He turned his head in my direction. His intelligent green eyes watched me lazily. I set my wine glass on the flagstone.
“Crazy. Jo and Tricia were arguing in the women’s bathroom. Cliff demanded that I give him Fluffy. Malone threatened to throw me in jail. And Caro had the audacity to show up wearing my brooch.”
“What did you do?”
“I wanted to rip it off her chest-”
He chuckled. “Why did Malone threaten to toss you in jail? Again.”
“Oh.” I smiled sheepishly. The night grew chilly. I tugged at the bottom of my sweater to cover my behind. “He thinks I’m poking my nose into his investigation because I told him either Jo or Cliff killed Mona. I’m leaning toward Cliff.”
“Last week you thought he was a loser.”
“He’s still a loser. But I overheard him talking on his cell phone. He owes someone money, and, from the sound of it, it’s a lot. Then he threatened me because I wouldn’t give him Fluffy. And when Darby and I were leaving, we saw him involved in a super intense conversation he didn’t want Malone to hear.”
The air that had been relaxed and calm now sparked with a new energy. The length of Grey’s body tensed, down to his bare feet. “Stay away from him. Let the police handle it.”
I didn’t want to ruin the mood. “Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.
Grey rotated to his side and reached for me. He kissed the back of my hand, adjusted my sapphire engagement ring. “When were you going to tell me you had Mona’s phone?” his voice was deceptively gentle.
I withdrew from his grasp, uncertain of how much he knew and how much was a guess. “You knew?”
“It’s my job to notice details. Why are you keeping secrets from me?”
My pulse quickened. I sensed his uneasiness at broaching the subject. It was time to clear the air. I quickly explained everything, including Darby’s number being programmed into the phone. “I wanted to talk to her before I turned the phone over to Malone. I knew if I told you, you’d want me to give the phone directly to the police.”
“You didn’t confide in me because you didn’t trust me.” His jaw was so rigid it looked like it was about to splinter. He was hurt by what he thought was my lack in confidence of him.
“It wasn’t about me trusting you,” I picked my words carefully, wanting to be truthful but not cause further upset. “I knew you’d be angry if I kept the phone. And I didn’t want to lie. I’m sorry. I do trust you.”
“But you don’t want me telling you what to do.”
That was the truth staring us both in the face. I brushed the hair away from his forehead, looking for an excuse to touch him, to reassure us both. “You’ve always known that about me.” I shot a quick self-deprecating grin at him. “That says more about me than you.”
It was silent except for Missy’s snoring and the cricket concert. The mood shifted again as we found our footing.
“Why did Darby call Mona?” he asked.
It was difficult to look Grey in the face and answer. “I’m not sure. When I asked, she made up a story.”
“She lied.”
I nodded, not wanting to speak the words out loud. But it didn’t make it untrue. My friend had lied to me.
He sighed, and I felt him let go of whatever emotion he’d been grappling with. Grey never held a grudge. “Mel, do you think she had something to do with Mona’s death?”
“No.”
“She lied to you.”
“I know. But I’m certain she had a really good reason. Maybe Mona was holding some secret over her head. I lie to her every day about you. I can’t be too upset at her. Not yet anyway. I did promise you’d help if she needed a lawyer.”
“Melinda.”
“What? You can’t recommend someone?” I smiled, knowing he’d do what he could. That’s who he was.
He flopped to his back. “Let’s hope she doesn’t need my help.”
“Can we change the subject for real? How was your trip?” I asked.
“Educational.”
Whatever that meant. “Did you bring back any fake art?”
He looked at me funny, as if it was his turn to make a crucial decision.
I laughed softly. “You know I only call it that because it’s your cover.”
The “trips” were his cover for leaving town, but his art gallery, ACT (the acronym stood for Art Crime Team. Clever, huh?), was the real deal. He excelled at plucking new artists out of obscurity and launching them into the spotlight. If he ever retired from superhero status, he had a whole other career waiting for his undivided attention.
He sat up, straddling the lounge chair. His body vibrated with action and his eyes full of life. “Actually, I did bring back real ‘fake art.’”
I sat up too, hugging my knees to my chest. “Forgeries? Can I see them?” excitement bubbled as I realized he was talking about work. His real work.
“They may be commissioned copies. No, I can’t show you.”
“I thought that was illegal.”
“You can have a replica,” he explained. “You can’t pass off a replica as the original.”
“Is that what was happening?”
“That remains to be seen.”
I regarded him seriously. He looked as if he’d been set free, and I felt off kilter, unsettled. I couldn’t pinpoint the emotions swarming inside. “Why are you suddenly sharing with me?”
He shrugged. “You were interested. I’m trying.”
I gently moved my wine glass from the ground to the side table between our chairs. I joined him on his lounge and snuggled up against him. My heart hammered against my chest.
“I love you, Grey Donovan.”
“I love you, too.” There was no smile in his voice, just honest sincerity.
I rested my head on his chest and could hear the pounding of his heart.
“I was serious about Cliff,” he spoke into my hair. “He’s dangerous. Stay away from him.”
It was a cool Sunday morning, and the early fog rolled in like the smoke from Granddad Montgomery’s cigars. Missy and I had just wrapped up a Doga class (yoga with your dog and way more intense than Mommy and Doggie Yoga) on Main Beach. A light transparent mist settled on my arms. I felt refreshed and ready for the day.
Fluffy was still with Darby. Dressed in my yoga clothes and my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, Missy and I zipped over to Darby’s rented cottage. Her place managed to be both whimsical yet practical. It fit her personality perfectly.
I left Missy in the Jeep with the windows down. She’d managed to get half of her stocky body out the window, panting with excitement. She seemed to like Fluffy.
I rounded the corner of the walkway, brushing past a cluster of lofty periwinkle delphiniums. I knocked on the kelly-green door we had painted last summer. It swung open; a surprised Darby stood on the other side. With Malone.
It may have been Sunday, but I had a sneaking suspicion they weren’t heading to church. She was still in her hot pink sweat pants and matching hoodie, and he was in his normal Detective Malone uniform.
I had either really good or really bad timing. Depending on which side of the door you were standing on.
“Hey.” I smiled, unsure of what to make of the two of them together.
Darby stepped toward me, then abruptly stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, sorry, Mel,” her voice hitched on my name.
My heart plummeted. “What’s going on?”
“We’re headed downtown,” Malone offered.
Oh. My. God. This couldn’t be happening. “Is she under arrest?”
“No.”
His one word answer didn’t eliminate my anxiety, especially when two fat tears slid down Darby’s cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“O-kay,” I dragged it out waiting for someone to fill in the blanks. No one bothered. “Because of the phone?” I prodded.
Malone looked at me. It was the same look he had at the funeral. “And other things.” His voice was void of emotion.
“What other things?” I urged.
His face remained unreadable. Darby’s was a mixture of fear and devastation. I wanted to reach for my friend, but Malone’s posture clearly communicated that wasn’t happening.
“I-I…” she shook her head and whispered, “You tell her.”
“We found Darby’s birth certificate in Mona’s safe,” Malone said.
I was more confused now than when she’d opened the door. “Why in the world would she have your birth certificate?”
Darby’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Because… she’s my mother.”
I gasped. Holy crap.
That was one Texas-sized secret.