Page 63 of Three Steps Behind

“Oh. I hope you’re enjoying it here,” Deck said.

“It’s fine.” George shrugged.

“George and Nick were in the same frat,” Susan said in between sips of her own steaming drink. “Isn’t that right?”

George nodded.

“Nick’s got a photo of them back in the day on the bookshelves in the front room. You’ll have to check it out,” Steve said. “They all had the 2010 hairstyles.” He chuckled.

“Nick always talks about the frat like those were his glory days,” Susan added.

“Because they were,” George said, grabbing his plate and getting to his feet. “I’m heading inside. Nice to meet you.” He gave a chin lift to Deck.

Harper waited until the sliding door shut behind him. “He’s not what you’d deem the friendly sort.”

“You’ll have to excuse George,” Steve said, poking his food around with his fork. “This has got to be a really bad reminder for him.”

“Bad reminder?” Harper leaned forward.

“Of his wife.” Steve set his half-empty plate of food on the arm of his chair.

Twenty-Five

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘his wife’?” Deckard asked, crossing one booted foot over the other. Dark denim jeans, a black tie, black shirt, and black denim jacket looked exceedingly good on him. But Harper focused back on the conversation, or at least tried to.

The taste of the sweet-tart cider lingered on her tongue, and Deck’s cedarwood aftershave swirled on the gusts. The fire had nestled down to nearly consumed logs—just embers and ash. About time for a stoking.

Steve set his empty mug on the patio stone by his right foot and looked over at the sliding door—still shut—then directed his attention back to them. “He lost his wife a year ago, poor guy.”

Her jaw slackened. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

“How old was she? Given he and Nick went to school together, I imagine she was a similar age?”

“I think Emily was also in her mid-thirties,” Susan said. “I do know Taylor said she couldn’t wait to plan her fortieth a few years down the road, but she didn’t live long enough for it.”

“That’s terrible.” And a massive coincidence—which Harper didn’t believe in. “Do you mind me asking what she died of? Just someone else so young . . .” And part of the same friend group. Odd. Very odd.

“I don’t remember.” Susan looked at her hubby. “Do you remember, Steve?”

“Hmm. I can’t say I do. Couldn’t have been a long-term illness, though.”

“How come?” Deck asked, setting his empty cobbler plate aside.

“She and George visited several weeks before she died. She looked great, and neither said anything about an illness.” Steve shrugged a shoulder. “It might have been on the private side.”

“True,” Susan said. “But we played tennis and went white-water rafting during that visit. She seemed like she was in great health.”

Harper scooched forward more, careful not to inch too far, or she’d tip herself out of the chair. “So she was healthy like Taylor?”

“As far as we knew.” Susan swiped the tears pooling in her eyes, her mascara smearing.

Steve cleared his throat and tried to signal there was makeup on her face with hand gestures.

Susan frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“You said to tell you if your mascara trailed down your face.”