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Eight minutes later, he was letting himself into the side door to the kitchen.
Bernadette was busy cooking, so he walked over and kissed the only mother he’d ever known on the cheek. He heard voices in the other room. One was the booming voice of Angus MacGavin and the other of the female variety.
“Angus has company?” he asked, tasting the sautéed rice baked in a buttery tomato sauce with vegetables and shrimp. He didn’t know which was better, the smell or the taste. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. “That’s some good red rice, Bernadette.”
Her eyes kept darting toward the living room where Angus was laughing, the sound of women tittering away. He dipped his head around the corner and saw Bernadette’s neighbor ladies, Mariuma, and her neighbor next to her, Fatu.
Dear sweet ladies who seemed just as smitten by the Scottish fellow as the Pinkie Posse.
Turning away, he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Angus appears to be holding court,” he said with a smile.
“Old fool,” she huffed, wiping her hands on the apron he had seen her wear for decades. “He’s a terrible flirt. Women come and go all day, just to listen to him go on and on about life in Scotland. Which Mia told me that, in truth, he knows nothin’ about.”
“I’m sure there’s no harm done,” Grant said just as Mia popped into the kitchen.
“Heya, Uncle Grant.”
“Hey, Mia, I stopped by to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“This yours?” He held up the purse he’d found at the gas station.
“Um, yes.”
“Can we step outside for a minute?”
“Sure,” she said, somewhat hesitant.
He opened the kitchen door for her, and they walked outside to the picnic table where Mia sat and looked at Grant expectantly.
“I’m looking for something very important. I was wondering if you might have happened upon it.”
“You mean, for your job?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “I’m looking for an old diary and a thumb drive.”
Mia’s face went pale, and she instantly began to dig her toes in the dirt, eliminating any doubt as to whether she knew anything about the two items.
“Mia, do you have them?”
“I had the diary, but I left it somewhere.”
“Can you tell me where?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“It’s part of an investigation. One that might help people you and I love very much. Did you read the diary?”
She nodded, now digging her nail in a wooden groove on the top of the picnic table.
“Did it upset you?”
She nodded again.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s…private.”
