Page 126 of Oddly Fine

Officer Lavigne nodded and headed back towards his cruiser, leaving Beckett to start the car and merge into the slow moving traffic.

“Is that what they call robbing the cradle?” Matthew asked.

“You’re supposed to be monitoring the camera,” Hayes reminded him coldly.

“She’s moving to the third door. The second was also a bust. It was the building’s handyman,” Matthew replied promptly.

“So it’s looking more and more likely that they’re rented directly to his staff,” Beckett said.

“Looks that way,” Matthew said. “So—are you habitual swingers? Or did that blue-eyed hunk just happen to catch your eye?” Matthew asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“I know we’re brothers-in-law—but don’t think that doesn’t mean I won’t stuff your mouth with a dirty sock and tape it shut,” Beckett warned. He found another parking spot and cut the engine. Immediately, he reached over to pull Nickel out of Hayes’ arms and tossed him over his shoulder at Matthew.

Matthew caught him with ease, and didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by Beckett as he snickered while situating the dog next to him.

Hayes was trying to hide his smile, and Beckett wasn’t sure how to read that reaction.

“How is it that I’m always required to do things I’m not qualified for?” he muttered to himself.

“Such as?” Hayes asked, curious.

“Playing nice with assholes I want to shoot!” he declared.

And he was immensely pleased when Hayes barked out a laugh and gave him a fist bump.

They spent four more hours watching Adeline go door-to-door, introducing herself and offering cupcakes to complete strangers, and she came up empty. She’d checked out all of the apartments in question in the buildings owned by Matthew’s uncle. It appeared that all of the people living in them were building workers and lodging was part of their employment contracts. Most of them were undocumented, which explained why they weren’t listed as tenants.

“And you didn’t know your uncle employed illegal immigrants?” Hayes asked.

They were sitting in a local restaurant and Adeline was enjoying her promised poutine while they conferred over the day’s results—or lack thereof.

“No,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “We have some in New York. But we got caught a few years ago and it was a bit of a mess.”

“Then why do it again?” Beckett asked.

“My great-grandparents arrived in the US illegally back in the 1930’s. They were fleeing the rise of fascism in Italy. It wasn’t until much later that we legally established ourselves in the US. I suppose we have a soft spot for immigrants. It isn’t easy—starting anew. Besides—from a business standpoint, they offer quite a few advantages.”

“Now see, that last part I’ll buy—but the whole bleeding-heart thing, not so much,” Beckett said in between bites, pointing his plastic fork at Matthew.

“You enjoying yourself?” Hayes asked, surprised to find that he was still quite fond of Beckett, even while he was inhaling poutine and looking hilariously oversized, stuffed into the tiny booth of a fast food restaurant.

“I forgot how fucking amazing this is,” Beckett said, pointing to his dinner. “Here,” he said, offering up a bite to Hayes, who pulled back and grimaced at the messy concoction piled up on the fork, unconvinced that Beckett’s opinion was accurate.

“Come on—I did the whole caviar thing,” Beckett pointed out. “Now you get to enjoy my country’s national dish,” he stated, like he was suddenly willing to die on this hill.

Hayes knew better than to bother putting up a fight. Instead, he leaned forward, opened his mouth, and let Beckett feed him a bite of poutine. It was salty. That was his immediate reaction, but then, he was forced to admit that it was delicious. It was a deceptively simple combination. Fries, gravy and cheese curd, yet—as with all simple recipes, they needed to be done well, or the whole dish would be out of balance. The fries were thin and crispy, able to hold up even under the ungodly amount of thick brown gravy. The sauce itself was still piping hot, and very savory. It was surprisingly complex in flavour. With hints of rosemary and pepper. The star of the show, of course, had to be the cheese curds. They were fresh, and delectably squishy as he chewed. The piping hot gravy had melted them slightly, but they maintained a chewy texture that reminded Hayes of haloumi cheese.

“Admit it’s good,” Beckett said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I’ll admit that,” Hayes relented with an approving nod. “I suppose—drunk? At 2:00 a.m.? It might be good enough to make me tear up a little.” And God, Hayes remembered those nights. They felt like so long ago now. Almost—ancient history. But there had been times, while he’d been a Navy SEAL, that he and his team had gotten completely smashed on cheap beer and shots of whiskey, going in search of junk food in the early morning hours. This, he supposed, would have been at the top of his list back then.

“That’s right, Haysie-Daisy,” Beckett approved.

Adeline wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed her now empty plate towards them.

“I gotta say—it was better than expected.” She nodded approvingly. She’d managed to scarf down the entire plate. No small feat for a woman who probably weighed about 110 pounds soaking wet. As if agreeing, Nickel poked his head up from where Adeline had stashed him inside her hoodie.

“Right on, Addy,” Beckett said, holding up his hand for a high five. She obliged happily.