Page 90 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Forty-Eight

The added pressure of being a Supreme Court nominee.

Pastor Dave’s statement lingered in Molly’s mind, refusing to let go. Idly picking at her food, she hesitated for only a moment before offering a nervous smile, not sure how Pastor Dave was going to take what she was about to say. Tipping her head, she attempted to soften it with a thread of humor. “Which, if you think about it, if this were a spy movie, a Supreme Court nomination would make a pretty good motive.”

Pastor Dave studied her for several seconds before he responded. When he did, his voice was quiet, but strong. “I was with Alan the night Greg disappeared, Molly, in Mercer, at Dodger’s Bar & Billiards.”

She blinked. “Oh,” she said with a chew of her lip. “I … didn’t realize that.”

“Yes. Marla put a bit of a strain on Alan’s and Greg’s relationship, certainly,” he said with a look that, although kind, seemed to pierce right through her, “but they were good friends too.”

Expelling a slow breath, Molly offered a smile of apology. “That’s good to know,” she said softly, almost regretting that she’d brought it up at all. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, Alan had been involved because her dreams seldom lied.

And she doubted she could say the same about Alan Murray.

Thankfully, a loud squeal broke the tension of the moment when one of Chase’s boys—Cash, she thought—dropped his sippy cup on the floor, exploding the lid off in a loud splash of milk.

“Uh-oh,” the sweet little guy said, blue eyes wide while his brother, Dec, squealed in delight.

“Whoops!” Cat was up like a shot, hurrying into the kitchen to get paper towels while Chase gingerly sidestepped the spill to retrieve the cup. In no time they had the mess cleaned up in true tandem, something that Molly supposed came naturally to parents with twins.

“Sorry about that,” Chase said when both the floor and the twins had been wiped down and new milk poured into the sippy cup, “but one thing I’ve learned since living with the twins”—he sent his wife a wink— “and Cat, is to expect the unexpected.”

Cat’s eyes thinned in mock offense as she pelted him with a milk-soaked ball of paper towels, leaving a wet splat on his pin-striped shirt. “Oh, really, Pastor Griffin? And did you expect that, huh?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said, grabbing the soggy ball. Grinning, he bent to kiss her nape, beautifully exposed by an adorable messy bun high on her head, before secretly dribbling several drops of milk down the back of her neck. “Which is why I have to stay two steps ahead of you, Catfish, or in this case, two dribbles.”

Molly giggled along with the twins when Cat popped from her chair like a tiddly-wink, squealing all the way. Laughter circled the table, and Molly couldn’t help but think her best friend had certainly met her match in easy-going Chase Griffin. A man with the physical strength of an ex-Navy SEAL combined with the spiritual strength of a pastor, the perfect combination to corral a once-jaded spitfire like Cat. God sure knew what was needed to find a lost sheep!

And Brec?What does he need? The renegade thought suddenly drew her gaze to his profile in a subtle peek, thinking as an athlete, he certainly qualified in the physical strength, but spiritual? Yes, he was definitely on his way, but would it be enough? As if in reflex, she glanced across the table to Sloan, who was everything a godly woman would ever need in a man, then back to Brec and wondered for the hundredth time if he was the lost sheep she was meant to lead home.

As if sensing her gaze, Brec turned, his eyes meeting hers in a knowing smile, adding insult to injury with a wink that fluttered her stomach.

Exasperating man! Cheeks flaming, she quickly turned away, well aware that Brec’s husky chuckle was not prompted by the joke Chase had just shared.

“Excuse me,” Sloan said when his cell rang, rising with his phone in hand. He offered Miss Lilly a smile of apology as he made his way to the front door. “But I need to take this.”

Noticing that everyone was finishing up with their meal, Molly jumped up. “Coffee, anyone?”

“That depends,” Cat said with a lazy grin, brows doing a dance for full effect. “Did you make it … or Brec?”

Molly delivered a laser glare that was all for show. “Not too smart, Griffin, biting the hand that pours your hot, hot coffee.”

“Because if you made it,” Cat said with a quick flutter of lashes, backtracking fast, “make it a large mug, please.”

Laughter followed Molly into the kitchen where she made a beeline for the coffee pot, slapping it on with her palm while humming on her way to the fridge. The front door opened, and she shot a smile over her shoulder when Sloan walked in. “Everything okay?”

He quietly closed the door, and her smile faded when he turned, far too solemn-looking for Thanksgiving. “Afraid not.” He slipped the phone in the back pocket of his jeans as he walked toward her in the kitchen, pausing to brace her with his hands. “That was the chief”—his eyes softened while he gently rubbed her arms— “I hate to tell you this, Molly, but it looks like your dream came true.” He issued a long and heavy sigh that seemed to deplete the air in her lungs as well. “Because Alan Murray’s been shot.”

Molly’s body went to stone. “S-Shot?”

Expelling a weary sigh, he gathered her in his arms and laid his head on top of hers. “Unfortunately, yes.” She felt the hitch of his throat as his voice faded to a whisper. “Point-blank range and right through the heart.”