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CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faith
Grace pushed open the side kitchen door, arms laden with a cardboard box. “Birthday lunch!”
Matthew shoved his chair back to grab the box from her. “What? Who snitched? Man, something smells good,” he said, lifting the top. “Nice. You didn’t have to do that, Grace.”
“Happy birthday, little brother,” she said, hugging him sideways. “And hush. I’ve never had a brother before. Humor me.”
“Croissant sandwiches from Dolly’s new place?” I said, sniffing appreciatively. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday at the diner, and the only thing to hit my stomach since had been one too many margaritas and this morning’s coffee.
“Yes. Chicken salad, turkey and Swiss,” she said with a labored sigh as she lowered into one of the wooden chairs. “And... cream cheese and jalapeno in case you don’t want meat.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what you liked, Matthew.”
“All of it,” he said, leaning down to hug her again. “Thank you.” He turned to pull out dishes from a cabinet. “Faith and I were about to throw together whatever we could find in a pot and hope for the best.”
“You look nice,” Grace said to him, eyeing his slacks and button-down shirt.
“I met with Mr. Wexley first thing this morning,” he said.
“Oh, how did that go?”
He snorted and shook his head. “I don’t understand why the reverend went to so much trouble to leave me all this. I mean—he was barely around. Barely knew me.”
“You didn’t miss much,” she said in a monotone, then glanced at me. “You okay? Looking a little green there, Faith.”
“Yeah, we might have commiserated-slash-celebrated a little last night,” I said, rubbing the spot between my eyes with a weak grin. On the upside, there had been no nightmares, no hoodie, no smells, no creepy voices. I might have found the cure. “Matthew makes a killer margarita.”
“Just one?” she teased.
“At a time,” he chuckled, winking at me. “Faith might have lost count.”
“Faith is a lightweight,” Grace whispered loudly.
“Yeah, well, Faith needed to tame the beast in her head,” I whispered back. “The one that wanted to go full postal.”
I hadn’t told Grace about Mateo’s outburst. About my suspicions that there was something more in play than what we’d witnessed. She didn’t need to worry more about her husband than she already did.
“About that,” Grace said, nibbling the corner of her bottom lip.
“Nope,” I said, getting up to pluck a few bottles of water out of the fridge. “We’re not speaking of—”
“Adam got released this morning,” she said. “He’s home.”
I stopped mid-grab, then took a breath and forced my muscles through the motions to see it through. “That was fast,” I managed, schooling my expression carefully as I turned and set the waters on the table. Blindly, I grabbed a sandwich, not caring what kind, and set it on a plate. “Who posted his bail?”
“I didn’t get the details,” she said, picking the Swiss cheese out of her sandwich.
Even more reason to believe something wasn’t right. There was no way Adam would be released without a bail hearing. Not carrying that much illegal drugs. On parole for a drug conviction. No way.
“Eat,” Matthew said, pointing at my plate. “It’s my birthday, my rules, and I say he isn’t worth ruining something this good.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “You’re right.” I forced myself to take a bite of chicken salad and flaky croissant. I knew it was delicious, but it was like chewing paper, and I had to fight to choke it down. “Tell Grace what you were telling me last night,” I said, needing a subject change and the eagle eyes of my sister to be off me. “About your plans.”
“Oh?” Grace quipped, one hand resting on her swollen belly.
Matthew shrugged around a bite. “I’m a single guy, my mom’s gone, and my job at the food bank in Charlotte can be easily taken over. My staff is the best—”
“Oh my God, are you moving here?” Grace blurted.
