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She huffs out a breath. “Do you have that bugged too?”
“Nah, Gram told me.”
“I just hit the wrong button on my phone. Total accident,” she says, holding her hands up.
She doesn’t look mad, but she’s definitely agitated, raising even more questions.
Marty shakes his head at her.
“For the record, the house isn’t bugged. Nothing but common sense safety measures I put in place when Gram insisted on turning this old place into Amelia’s. Reinforced locks and sensors for the doors, windows, and sensitive areas.” He looks at me. “Maybe you should look at rigging those up for Faye’s house.”
I shake my head.
“I suggested it, but she’s afraid she’ll forget if there are too many codes involved. I’ll have to see what Faulk has in mind.”
“Are there motion sensors anywhere else?” Shelly asks.
“Nope. Again, Gram was worried over customer privacy, but you’ve seen the little outdoor camera by the front door.” Marty eyes her curiously, raking a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she insists. “Those are just things I should know, don’t you think?”
Both Marty and I ping on her insistence, a bit too firm and yet not quite genuine.
“Guess so,” Marty says.
She rolls her eyes at him and walks away.
We both watch her retreat and share a slow look before I follow him outside.
As soon as we step out of the door, he asks, “Is it just me or is she acting funny?”
“Damn right,” I throw back.
“I wonder...since she won’t tell me, maybe she’d explain more to you?”
My brows fly up. “What makes you think that? You’re her brother, Marty.”
“Exactly. You aren’t her big bro. You’re just her friend, and she still trusts you the same way she did in the good dope days.”
I stare through him, wishing like hell that was true.
Marty might be a good man, but he’ll never win any awards for being observant anytime this century.
He gives me a parting nod as he starts down the steps. “Let me know what you find out.”
Once he’s out of earshot, I huff out a breath and walk back inside.
I’m her fucking friend, all right. Barely.
No doubt there’s something happening that she’s being tight-lipped about, though, and I have a gut feeling it may involve their smarmy, womanizing guest.
I’ve got to figure this shit out and keep out of breaching any friend zones I shouldn’t.
We’re friends.
Friends.
And I try like hell to drive the meaning of that word through my skull. I should also be crystal clear on what it doesn’t mean, too.
