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“The better question is how you know.”
He gives a slight shrug, a smile on his lips.
“Did you perform it yourself?”
His lips hike up higher for a second, an almost laugh. “I wish. But my point is that it’s not him. Maybe my dad’s back in town, and he and my mom decided to give it another go. Or maybe she wants to bring Izzy to a church service or something.” He runs a hand along his chin, thinking. “But you’re right. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it.”
“If she doesn’t back down, we can have Deacon check her out,” I say, referencing the private investigator who used to work for Myles & Lee but quit after they took on the Burkes’ case. Unlike me, he quit immediately. Because, unlike me, he put his integrity over personal gain.
Danny actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he looks out at the view and then at me. “Mira treats Deacon like he’s her long-lost grandfather, but I think he probably should have retired ten years ago. He’s an incompetent private investigator, and I think he’s deaf in one ear. Last week I asked him if he wanted a beer, and he launched into a five-minute monologue about deer season.”
“Huh,” I say, because this is bad news. How many people have I recommended Deacon to? Enough that it’s embarrassing.
“If my mother doesn’t back off, I’ll talk to Burke. He’s not using Deacon anymore. I think he hired the couple he worked with last summer, the husband and wife team who helped him find evidence against his parents. They were tied up with some personal business for a while, I guess, but they’re back in town, and they’ve already found some more dirt on the Burkes. Maybe we can hire them to keep an eye on Rita.”
It feels like he just took a bat to me, because Burke didn’t tell me any of that. In fact, I can’t think of the last time I talked to Burke, one on one. Or hung out with our whole group of friends. Everything in me has been focused on finding a job—on recapturing my sense of purpose. But maybe the distance isn’t only my doing. Maybe Burke hasn’t totally forgiven me for how long it took me to quit Myles & Lee. Maybe he doesn’t trust me, especially not with information about his parents and their case. Maybe he’s not so certain I wouldn’t go running to Fred Myles and prostrate myself at his feet, offering up information about these new private investigators.
Maybe he shouldn’t trust you, a voice in my head suggests. Maybe no one should. It’s Ruthie’s voice, of course. I’m starting to think she’s my conscience, and if so, maybe it’s not the worst thing to ever happen to me. She’s a powerful force, much bigger than Jiminy Cricket’s dick.
“Okay.” I nod, trying to sound like I’m not fazed by any of this. “What evidence have they found?”
His expression is almost pitying. “You’d know if you’d come last Saturday.”
“Last Saturday?” I ask, the words ashen in my mouth. What did I miss last Saturday?
“All of us guys got together for a D&D game. You didn’t answer any of our messages. I tried calling you, too.”
And Danny hates calling people, always has.
Last Saturday was the day my mother’s neighbor had called me to say she hadn’t seen my mom leave the house for four days, and she was getting worried.
She wasn’t getting worried of course—I’ll bet she was hoping something ‘interesting’ would happen so she could tell all of her friends she was the one who’d noticed.
I run a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, man. I completely blanked. I didn’t even see the messages.” He knows about my mother’s off-and-on depression, but I haven’t told him she’s slipping again. If I did, I’d feel like I was doing it to earn his sympathy and distract him from what I did. And seeing as he doesn’t know the half of what I’ve done, it would feel wrong to let him offer his support.
At least this assures me that Burke didn’t purposefully shut me out. But I have the sinking feeling that I’ve created a rift there nonetheless, much like I’ve finally done the job of creating one between myself and Danny. It’s my job to fix things for people, but it’s always easier to fix things for other people than to pull out the glue and look at the shards of your own life.
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” he says, but he doesn’t sound pissed anymore. “But you got the job.” He gives me a smile as if to acknowledge that we are both well aware that I didn’t do it through my charm or capabilities. “So everything’s going to be all right now, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, the word ringing hollowly in my ears. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“The guys and I will take you out for a drink next week,” he adds, “to celebrate your new job.”
Shock beats a tune in my ears. “But you’re pissed at me.”
“And I’ll still be pissed next week,” he says, giving me a look that guarantees it. “But I realize this wasn’t entirely self-motivated. You wouldn’t have gone through with it if you didn’t want to help Ruthie with her insurance.”
“Oh,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. I’d figured this might be it, the moment he’d finally tell me that I don’t have the same blood pounding through my veins, so there’s no reason for him to keep putting up with my bullshit. “I thought…”
I can’t bring myself to say it. To lay open my chest like that.
“I know what you thought,” he says, watching me now. Danny has trouble reading people sometimes, but he’s never had trouble reading me. After my dad died, he was the only one who’d talk to me in the way I needed to be talked to. Other than my mom, he was the only who’d felt bothered to talk to me about it at all.
I feel choked up but don’t want to let it show, so I just nod.
“Well, let’s spread the good news,” he says flatly, making it clear he’s still upset and maybe will be for a while.
“You want to call the guys?” I ask, surprised. Then I nod, because he’s right. If I feel left out, it’s because I’ve cut myself out. There’s a solution for that.
