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“You must be looking forward to working with your old friend,” Hugh continued. “How long’s it been since you’ve seen each other?”
“My old friend?” Liam looked confused. “It’s, uh, been a while.” He lifted his waffle and absently took a bite.
Weirder. Cora watched him from beneath her lashes. Who eats waffles with their hands?
“I was surprised to learn Captain Thompson was a buddy of yours back in Ireland,” Hugh said. “And now he’s going to be your boss. Such a small world.”
Liam choked. Coughed. She reached over and thumped him on the back, then she poured him some juice and handed it to him. When her fingertips brushed his, he jerked his hand away, nearly spilling it. He muttered something under his breath with a shocked look on his face. Cora thought she heard him say angels and killing me. She narrowed her eyes. Something was up with this guy.
“Boyd doesn’t even have an Irish accent,” Hugh continued, “so I just assumed he was born in the US. Apparently he moved here when he was still young, so that’s why he sounds like a regular American.”
“But your own accent’s pretty faint, Liam,” she pointed out. “Practically nonexistent. What’s up with that? My dad says you were raised in Ireland and only moved here after you turned eighteen.”
“Uh, yes.” Liam took a drink.
Was he stalling?
Suddenly his eyes flew wide and he stared in wonder at the orange juice in his glass. “This is bloody marvelous!”
Yeah, he was stalling. No one got that excited about store-bought OJ. She watched as he took another gulp, and then another, smacking his lips in delight. His childlike glee was so diverting, she almost forgot to be skeptical. Focus! “So, you were explaining about your accent. Why don’t you sound Irish?”
“Right.” He set down his empty juice glass. “I just acclimated to the language here very quickly. It’s a talent of mine, I suppose.” He switched to a thick Irish brogue and gave her a wicked grin. “But my Irish accent still pokes its head out once in a while, ye ken?”
Cora tried not to smile, but failed. Oh, she ken’d, all right. Too bad he’d acclimated. The accent really suited him. He could wield it like a secret weapon, and the ladies would come running. Did he know it? Probably. Even though he was acting all polite now, he had a roguish streak inside him. She could tell. Suzette was seriously going to love this guy.
Cora was quiet as they ate, letting her father take the lead on conversation. He filled Liam in on some of the city’s summer festivals, the best local restaurants and the university baseball team’s sad losing streak. Even though her father now lived in Charlotte, he’d spent most of his life in Providence Falls, and he still enjoyed relaying all its many attractions to whoever stood still long enough to listen. Liam seemed happy to soak up all the information, asking pertinent questions around enthusiastic bites of his breakfast.
Cora sat back and watched as Liam put a fourth waffle onto his plate. Or was it his fifth?
“You know you can use your fork, right?” she asked, half joking.
He shrugged. “This way’s faster.” He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Then another. He ate like a starving man.
“Geez, when’s the last time you ate?”
He blinked, then asked around a mouthful of waffle, “What year is it?”
She rolled her eyes and jerked a thumb at the wall calendar behind her.
“Ah.” Liam studied the calendar for a few moments, his brow furrowed. “One hundred and sixty-six...no that’s not right.” He paused. “Seventy. I haven’t eaten in one hundred and seventy-six years.”
Hilarious. “Well, in that case, keep eating.”
“These are truly delicious,” he said with feeling. “Your father was right. You are an excellent cook.”
She glanced at her dad. “Well, I’ve had to be. If it were up to my dad, we’d have gone to Shakey’s Burgers every night. Either that, or The Pizza Pirate.”
Liam stopped mid-chew. “Pizza pirates?”
“It’s a restaurant near the police station,” her dad said. “Best pizza in town. You’ll have to try it one of these days after work. Speaking of that, Cora can introduce you to everyone and show you around tomorrow.”
“Dad, it’s not preschool. I’m sure he can manage just fine.” She didn’t even want to think about tomorrow. It was weird enough having her dad try to force the new guy into her house, she had a feeling her boss was going to make her babysit him, too. Cora was driven, she worked hard, and Captain Thompson knew it. He was stoic and not one to dole out praise, but he had a shrewd eye, and he knew Cora was one of the best investigators they had. He’d even told her once at last year’s holiday party. It was a slurred, Cora, you’re an asset to this team. Maybe even the best we’ve got. Sure, he’d had one too many beers when he’d said it, but the unexpected praise had been enough to have her floating on cloud nine for weeks afterward.
“But you can give him the scoop on everyone at the precinct,” her dad said. “Captain Thompson’s a good boss, wouldn’t you say, Cora?”
She tried to think of a diplomatic way to answer. Was he a good boss? Captain Boyd Thompson was as prickly and tenacious as the weeds growing on her front lawn. He was one of those people who looked unassuming, being short in stature, with a forgettable face, and brown, curly hair. The only remarkable thing about him was his shrewd eyes, which seemed to look right into you and glean all your secrets. Even though she’d known him for five years, she still never felt connected. But maybe that was the sign of a good boss. Never get too close, and keep everyone on their toes.
“Captain Thompson demands excellence, and doesn’t tolerate mistakes,” she finally said. “Sometimes that can be daunting, but no one can argue that it isn’t effective. Providence Falls hasn’t had any major crimes in years, and I think he likes to take credit for that.”
