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There’s another sound now, on the stairs, and they turn in unison to find Tom reaching the top step. His gaze quickly bounces from Brittany to Emma, who’s still standing inches from his office door.
“What are you doing?” he asks, not sharply but with a tiny hint of vexation in his tone.
“I needed a pencil,” Emma says, flustered. The room is hardly off-limits to her, and yet they both know she’s never had a reason to go in there since it was first set up. “I thought you might have one.”
Though she’s looking at Tom as she speaks, she can see Brittany in the corner of her eye, and Emma notices her glance up with a look that says,Oops, someone’s done something she shouldn’t have.
“I don’t think I have any in my office, but there’s some in a drawer in the kitchen,” Tom says.
“Great, I’ll grab one there.” Emma makes her way back down the hall, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. “How was golf?”
“Not bad.” He glances at Brittany, who’s still frozen on the threshold of the guest room. “Hey, Brit, how was your night out?”
“Really nice, Tom,” she says, breaking into a smile that, unlike Emma’s, looks genuine. “Thanks for asking.”
“I was glad to get your text a little while ago, but that’s the first we heard from you since last night. Going forward, you need to be better at updating us, okay?”
The gentle scolding clearly catches Brittany off guard, and her smile fades fast, but she quickly recomposes her face. “All right” is all she says.
“I’m not trying to play warden, honey, but I gave your dad my word I’d take good care of you, and it’s good for us to have a rough idea of where you are.”
“Of course.” Within seconds she’s back in the guest room, closing the door with a gentle thud. She’s pissed and Emma knows it’s because Tom expressed his concern morelike a dorm RA or camp director than a person central to his life. And Brittany wants to be central.
“So tell me about these notes?” he asks, turning back to Emma. “Any more thoughts about who could have left them?” If he was actually bothered by the sight of her outside his office, he’s not showing it.
“None, but it’s pretty clear I’ve made an enemy in town.”
“Hard to believe, and yet it does seem someone has a bone to pick with you. My first instinct is to alert the police, but I’m sure they’d say that leaving someone mean notes isn’t criminal, and there’s nothing they can do.”
“Agree.” Besides, the last thing she wants is any more police involvement in their lives.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful and keep your eyes open.”
“Will do.”
“Okay, give me a minute to change and then we can head to the beach,” Tom says, turning back to Emma.
“I’ll go make some sandwiches we can take with us.”
The time alone in the kitchen gives Emma a chance to order her thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that her attempt to snoop was aborted—because it would have been wrong to trespass there, to rifle through Tom’s things. Really, the best way to settle her mind is to come right out and address her concerns with him, and she shouldn’t be afraid to that.
“Ah, look what’s trending,” he says when he bounds into the kitchen ten minutes later. “Tuna salad on whole wheat. My absolute favorite.”
“You want an iced tea, too?”
“Perfect.”
“Hey, before we leave, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot,” Tom says, spearing a pickle from the open jar on the counter and helping himself to a bite.
She takes a breath. “I ended up having a spur-of-the-moment coffee with Scott this morning to talk about our next project. And I’m confused about something he said.”
“Related to your research?”
“No, something else. He said it was you who first came up with the idea of me working with Halliday. I’d always thought it was Scott himself.”
Tom swallows and she can’t tell if his expression is due to her question or the tartness of the pickle.
