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“Ah.”
I stretch up on my toes to reach in and dig out the salt and pepper, plus the paprika. I know how Grant eats and I know he likes his spicy.
“Only salt on a third of the pan,” he grunts. “No pepper or anything. Nell’s particular.”
I giggle.
“Only because you let her be.” I keep myself from pointing out that it’s adorable how much he indulges the little girl.
The dirty look he throws me as he pushes the sizzling burger patties around says he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I watch him sidelong while I season the fries, trying to work up how to ask, before I decide to be direct.
“So,” I say. “You want to tell me what’s up with Ros? How long has she been this weird?”
He pauses, gathering his words.
“If you’d asked me a few days ago, I’d have said not long at all. Then again, that’s mostly ’cause I hardly ever saw her the last year or two with the murder drama and all. Guess that in itself was a little weird, considering she was always around town before. She’d always wave or stop by for a quick conversation.”
I frown and pick up one of the steak fries for a taste test.
“Where has she been going? Why can’t I get her to come home?”
“No damned clue,” he growls. “But I’m thinking it’s got an awful lot to do with Aleksander Arrendell.”
I’d bitten down on the piping hot fry—and now I choke on it, coughing and coming close to spitting it out.
“Aleksanderwho?” I force swallow and pound a fist against my chest.
“You heard me.” Grant watches me in stark silence, then turns the burner off, sets the spatula down, and rips a paper towel off the dispenser roll before offering it to me.
I eye him intently as he sighs.
“Look, I don’t think you’re gonna like what I’m about to tell you, Butterfly.”
“If it’s what I think you’re saying, I know I won’t like it.” I wipe my mouth roughly with the paper towel. “Thanks. But what the hell do the Arrendells have to do with Ros?”
Grant grits his teeth, looking away from me and back again.
Oh, Jesus.
It must be bad if he’s steeling himself like this. I brace myself, but I’m so not ready for the moment he says it.
“Ophelia, they’re engaged.”
“They’re—they’re—what?” I think I’m about to commit a homicide, Aleksander Arrendell primary victim. Rage boils up inside me. I stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking or just misspoke. “My baby sister is... is engaged tothatcreep? What the hell? Since when? How do youknow?”
“I saw them together the day you came back,” he bites off. “Up at the big house when I was responding to that suicide call. They were hanging all over each other. She showed me the ring and told me to stop worrying, said they were engaged. She begged me not to tell you.”
“Holy shit. Well, I can guess why,” I grit through my teeth, clenching my fists. “She knew what I’d say. Jesus, how could she? How—knowing what we know now, about Ulysses, when we’ve always known. Weknewthey had to be involved that night, and Ethan...”
I can’t carry on. The burning thud of my heart makes me incoherent.
“I know,” Grant answers bitterly. His voice is heavy and rough, but he’s still here with me, sharing the same shock, even if he’s not hissing and spitting like a wet cat. “It doesn’t feel right. Ros barely reacted to seeing that poor maid hanging there in the big house. I’ve seen ’em around a few times since and she always seems like she’s... fuck, I don’t know.” He trails off, clearing his throat.
“Like she’s what, Grant?”
“Not herself,” he replies carefully.
