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I glance around. “Have you already ordered the bugs yet?”
“Nope.” He pats the top of one box. “I just bought these boxes from Jake Murray. He was gonna sell them at a garage sale, but I talked him down to a steal.”
“You do know Tory’s highly allergic to bees, don’t you?” I ask.
He sets down his hammer and blinks. “Nah, I didn’t know that.”
“At least that’s what her mother always told her.”
“Ah, hell, probably a lie, then,” Dean says with a laugh. “Gloria’s been making up nonsense ever since the day she brought Tory into the world, wanting to keep her under lock and key.”
“You sure?” I press.
It doesn’t take much to get Dean Coffey going.
“Yep, she smothers the poor gal, just like she does my brother. Why John ever married her, I’ll never know. She never was all that cute. Aw, what the hell am I saying? It was the money.”
“Come again?” I cock my head.
“That’s the real reason he married Gloria Redson-Riddle—her family was loaded. But she’s held on tight to those purse strings, doling out cash only when she wants to, and on what she wants.” He looks down at the boxes and shakes his head. “Tory won’t be here much longer, anyway. Gloria will be getting her way again soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has that stupid-ass calling Tory now, offering her a bigger job at the ballet,” he snarls, shaking his head.
“Tory told you about the job offer?” I ask.
“No, my ma called me a little bit ago. Told me all about Gene-Pete or whatever the hell he’s called baiting her back to misery.” He leans against the workbench and crosses his arms. “Nieces get a man in a special way. I love that girl, and I’ll tell you what, I’d rather shoot that bastard than look at him. He blew it once, and now he’s trying to make up for cheating on her.”
Cheating?
My spine stiffens. I need to make sure I heard him right.
“Cheating on who, Dean?”
“Tory, man. Pay attention.”
“Yeah, I figured. Hell. Who’s this guy you’re talking about, though?”
“Jean-Paul Delong. I think that’s how you say it. Even his name sounds like a stuck-up snail. That’s what he is, too. I met him once when Ma and I went to Chicago to watch Tory dance.” He whistles. “Never saw nothing like it. That girl can take the stage like a butterfly takes to the skies. Graceful. Beautiful. Real good at what she does. And how she can do it all on the very tips of her toes is beyond me. That crap’s gotta hurt.”
He pauses, smiling so wide I can’t help but smile back.
“She says it doesn’t,” he continues. “That you get used to it when you’ve been at it as long as her. She has grit. Just look what she’s done with those goats. Shame I’ll have to find those guys a new home this fall. Don’t know how I’ll even be able to finish the jobs I’ve got lined up without Tory around. See, my back—”
“This Jean-Paul dude,” I say, steering his conversation back where I want it. “He’s the one who offered Tory a new gig in Chicago?”
“Yeah. He was the dancin’ director or whatever of the company she danced for, and…” He huffs out a heavy breath. “And he was Tory’s boyfriend for a while. Mostly ’cause Gloria wanted him to be Tory’s man. It was prestigious for her daughter to be dating the director. That’s all Gloria’s ever cared about. Titles and status. How much higher she can get her nose stuck up in the breeze.”
A wave of jealousy strikes me so hard my jaw goes tight.
“They were serious then? And you said he cheated on her?”
“Afraid so. Prick even messed around with the dancer who caused her accident, the one that tore her knee all up. Now he’s calling our girl, offering her some big fancy-sounding job. All so she’ll come lick his boots.” Dean slaps the counter behind him. “I’ll tell you the real reason he’s doing it. It’s so Gloria won’t pull away the money if he doesn’t listen. She’s been propping up the arts and cultures with big donations for years, including his shady ass, usually with Tory none the wiser.”
Sonofa…
Well. That explains Tory’s behavior today.
Why her dream job isn’t much of a dream.
I feel the same way as Dean. I’d rather show Jean-Paul Delong the business end of a shotgun than look at him, and I don’t even know the fuck.
I’m sure as hell not gonna let Tory get stung by him a second time, lured into games bound to bruise the heart.
“Where’s she taking the goats today?” I ask. It’s not my place to butt into her life, but someone needs to, and it might as well be me. “And the ones she’s picking up today? I’m just wondering if she needs a hand.”
