Lucy, hovering near the coffee machine with her phone in hand, brightened immediately.
“Morning,” Eleanor said carefully.
Deck’s blue eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
“Morning, is it?” he said. “Funny thing, I went by your house yesterday after Mass—empty. Went by again last night—same story. Young April tells me you were ‘living your best life,’ whatever that means.”
Lucy’s eyes went wide.
“Ooooh,” she breathed. “Deck, does this have anything to do with a certain district attorney and a very public alleyway ambush that turned into a very not-public?—”
“Lucy,” Frannie hissed.
Deck folded his arms, one brow lifting.
“Aye, where were you all weekend, lass?” he asked. “Out saying your rosary?”
Eleanor set her bag on the edge of the desk, schooling her face into something neutral.
“I had plans,” she said.
Deck made a thoughtful noise that sounded a lot like disbelief.
“Plans,” he repeated. “That wouldn’t happen to rhyme with ‘Calloway,’ would they?”
Frannie shot Eleanor an apologetic look.
“He’s been like this since yesterday,” she murmured. “We couldn’t stop him.”
“Didn’t try very hard,” Deck said. “Our Nell disappears for the better part of two days, the whole county hears about her kissing the DA under a streetlamp, and I’m supposed to pretend it’s another weekend?”
Eleanor felt embarrassment crawl up the back of her neck.
“You listen to too many podcasts,” she said.
“Everyone listens to too many podcasts,” Lucy said. “Speaking of, you know theFading Awaycrew basically dedicated a whole segment to you and Reid?”
“I am aware,” Eleanor said dryly. "But until the North Carolina Bar starts accepting podcast transcripts as evidence of ethical violations, I'm going to focus on my case files."
“And yet she still went out with him,” Deck said, half exasperated, half proud. “Reckless, that one.”
“You’re being nosy,” Eleanor said.
“I’m bein’ a man who changed your diapers and watched you storm through law school and doesn’t like finding out about your love life from a bloody livestream,” Deck retorted. “We’ll be discussin’ this properly, Nell.”
There it was.
Nell.
He only pulled that out when he was truly perturbed—or when he thought she was about five minutes away from setting herself on fire.
Before she could answer, Frannie’s phone lit up on the desk.
She glanced at the screen, then at Eleanor.
“Ellie,” Frannie said. “Sheriff Burke Scott on line one for you.”
Saved.
