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“Investigate. It’s my job, remember?”
“You’re not a real investigator. Your job’s a sinecure.”
“A what?” I didn’t even know the definition of the insult.
“TJ, be real. Mom makes work for you. It’s a do-nothing job.”
I felt my temper flare. “Bro, try not insulting me while I’m helping you. You came to me, so listen to me. We’re going home, and you’re not going to say anything.”
“What about Nancy?”
“What about her?” My brother’s wife, Nancy, was like my brother, only with ovaries. I never liked her, and she never liked me, especially after my nephew, Connor, was born. Moms worry when alcoholic ex-cons are around their babies. Go figure.
“She’ll ask.”
“Make something up.”
“She’s not stupid, TJ. She’ll grill me as soon as we get in the car.”
“So think of something. Didn’t you ever keep a secret?”
John grimaced. “Not onethisbig.”
“Follow my lead.”
Chapter Four
We entered my parents’ magnificent dining room, which was dominated by a glistening walnut table and high-back carved chairs. Oil landscapes hung on forest-green walls that matched a malachite surround on the fireplace. A glowing crystal chandelier shed expensive light on my parents, Nancy, and Connor at the table, where fancy dessert plates with gold rims were filled with cake remains. I could hear Gabby and her husband, Martin, in the kitchen, talking and laughing. We’d missed the blowing-out-the-candles, but plenty of cake was left, so things were looking up.
I composed myself. “Honey, we’re home!”
My father frowned. “TJ, where were you?”
“Dad, I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped—”
“On my birthday? Explain yourself.”
“John, is everything okay?” Nancy cocked her head, and her sleek blond hair fell to one side. She was head-cheerleader pretty in a flowery dress, but her blue eyes glinted and her lips formed a sour pout.
“Sorry, Nance.” John kissed her on the cheek, sat down, and ruffled up Connor’s hair. “How’s my buddy?”
“Daddy, I ate Brussels sprouts.”
“Good for you!”
“Big mistake, Connor.” I sat down. “You’re gonna fart up a storm.”
Connor burst into giggles, and I cut myself a piece of vanilla cake with buttercream icing. It was my father’s and my favorite, the only thing we have in common except DNA.
Meanwhile he kept frowning. “TJ, where the hell did you go?”
My mother placed a hand on his arm. “Paul, not now. Boys, look what I got your father. It’s vintage, an Oyster Cosmograph Daytona, the same watch that Paul Newman had.” She gestured to a stainless-steel Rolex with a white face, gleaming in an open green box. My father collected watches, a hobby I never understood. At least cars are fun. Watches only tell you how late you are.
“Wow, nice, Mom,” I told her.
“Paul Newmanwisheshe were Paul Devlin,” John added.
My father remained undeterred. “Marie, I have a right to know where the boys were.”
