Page 23 of Shadow Justice

Holly came to his side under the pretense of reaching for small plates. Her voice was low. “Nell belongs to this group. She’s the only one missing.”

Reid glanced at the table again, seeing it differently now. Seven people when everyone was present. Predictable night, predictable table, predictable orders. A window view that let anyone outside watch the group with little effort. “Was she here at the last meeting?”

“I think so.” Holly kept her face angled toward the pastry case, her voice steady enough that anyone watching would think she was discussing inventory. “She always sits by the window.”

Reid looked toward the street, then the reflections in the darkening windows. Tonight the glass showed the room back to itself, warm light and moving figures layered over the rain outside. During daylight, anyone across the street could see in clearly. At night, the vulnerability reversed.

“Where are the blinds?” he asked.

“I don’t have blinds.”

He lifted his brows. “Why not?”

She lifted one hand. “Historic storefront. I wanted the windows open so it’s warm and inviting.”

He didn’t say what she already knew. Open, warm, and inviting also meant visible.

Across the room, the silver-haired woman touched the book beside her and said something that made the rest of the table fall silent. Holly heard it. Reid could tell by the way her hand closed around the stack of small plates. She recovered quickly, carrying the plates over with a softness that belonged to grief rather than service.

“Nell must be running late,” the silver-haired woman said when Holly reached the table. “Should we go ahead and order for her?”

Holly glanced back at him. The club members didn’t know. Nell’s attack hadn’t been made public. He nodded.

“Sure.” Holly’s voice held. Reid didn’t know how, but it held. “Cinnamon, no whipped cream?”

The woman nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’ll bring it over.”

Reid turned toward the counter, putting his back to them as Holly returned. “That couldn’t have been easy. You handled it well.”

Holly gave him one brief glance, then walked him through the process of making the cocoa. Milk, chocolate, cinnamon, no whipped cream. He watched her hands as she worked, steady and efficient, though the moment had to be cutting at her. “It feels deceitful,” she said softly. “Not to tell them.”

“Hopefully, when you can, you’ll have better news to share.”

When the drink was ready, Reid expected her to carry it over herself. Instead, she set it on the tray and held it out. “You take it.”

He carried the cup to the book club, placed it beside the yellow book, and stepped back. “Did you enjoy this month’s selection?” he asked.

Responses were mixed and passionate enough that he gathered the book had either changed lives or ruined a perfectly good week, depending on which end of the table answered.

As he returned to the counter, the second group came in with more noise. The courthouse retirees arrived like a weather system, laughing over one another, shaking rain from hats, carrying card decks, score pads, and old grudges with equal enthusiasm.

They claimed the long tables, and within two minutes, they’d rearranged chairs, argued about rules, and ordered enough coffee to suggest none of them planned to sleep tonight.

Reid recognized one of them before the man saw him. Hank Toler had been a bailiff in his grandfather’s courtroom for more years than Reid could count. He was older now, his shoulders rounded, his hair gone white, but his voice still carried the gravelly authority that could silence a gallery by clearing his throat. He stood near the counter studying the menu with narrowed eyes, as if he needed a new eyeglass prescription but was too stubborn to get it.

Holly reached for a mug. “Evening, Hank. Usual?”

“Depends. You still watering down the coffee for the tourists?”

“I save the dangerous stuff for you.”

“Good girl.”

Reid stepped closer with a stack of clean spoons, and Hank’s eyes narrowed again, then widened. “Well, I’ll be damned. Reid Fleming.”

Reid offered his hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Toler.”