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“I’m not sure I can get past it,” Arnett said.
She looked Arnett dead in the eye. “Would you ever plant evidence, even if you truly believed a suspect was guilty?”
He sliced the air with his hand. “Never.”
“Would you report me if I did?”
“So fast it’d make your eyes bleed.”
She broke into a smile and turned up her palms. “So, what’s the problem exactly?”
He stared down at the table for a long moment. Then he inhaled deeply, gave her a watery smile, and finished his beer. “Don’t you have a boyfriend and a creepy cat to go home to?”
* * *
The heavenly melange of garlic, onion, and cheese from Matt’s spinach and mushroom lasagna greeted Jo as she pushed through the front door of her house.
Twice-a-month Sunday family dinners had fallen into a comfy, predictable pattern, but this was the first with Matt as a live-in member of the family. As such, Jo was grateful she hadn’t had much time the previous week to worry about how it would go. She was even more grateful to drop into a chair at the kitchen table and sip coffee until her family arrived.
Her worry would have been wasted, anyway. The dynamic at dinner was easy and peaceful, unchanged from any of the Sunday dinners that had come before. And while Jo braced herself for what her mother would say when she and Sophie adjourned to the kitchen to clean up, her mother turned out to have other issues on her mind.
“I didn’t want to ask in front of the girls, but what have you decided about David?” Elisabeth asked.
Sophie flinched. “I haven’t yet, Ma.”
“You must be leaning one way or the other,” Elisabeth said.
Sophie’s expression turned simultaneously sheepish and defensive. “It’s not that easy. I have a lot of factors to consider.”
“And you’ve been considering them for almost two months now.”
“There’s no rush, Ma,” Jo said, giving her mother a pointed glare. Sophie wasn’t used to being at the receiving end of her mother’s spotlight of criticism; she was used to being the golden child while Jo was the one who failed to live up to expectations.
“There most certainly is.” Elisabeth tilted her head toward the living room. “Those two girls in there.”
Sophie’s jaw clenched. “You’re not suggesting I take him back for the sake of the girls, are you?”
Elisabeth bent to stack dishes into the washer. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I support whatever decision you make. I’m just saying that everyone is in a holding pattern until you make it, and the only reason to put it off is because you’re punishing him. Which, if it wasn’t for the girls, I’d be fine with. But they need to know what their new reality is. So, if you’re done with him, let him go. If you aren’t, or even if you aren’t sure you aren’t, let him back into the house and begin counseling.”
The growing red splotches on Sophie’s cheeks suggested she was about to say something she’d regret, so Jo jumped in. “Matt’s finished unpacking. I was so worried about how everything would fit together, but I think we did a pretty good job. What do you think of the new office, Ma?”
Sophie threw her a grateful look.
“It looks like you always intended it to look that way. You two have very similar taste in styles, even if you disagree on color palettes. I’ve never understood how you can surround yourself with such bold colors, Jo. His eye is so much more classic.” Elisabeth switched to the top shelf of the dishwasher as she loaded in the glasses.
“It looks like you two are happy as can be,” Sophie asked. “You must be feeling better.”
Elisabeth’s head whipped around. “Feeling better about what?”
Jo shot a narrowed-eyed glare at Sophie. Sophie scrunched up her face, genuinely annoyed at herself, and mouthed “Sorry.”
“Nothing, Ma. Just, with the murders hitting right as Matt moved in, I got a little distracted and forgot he lived here now. I forgot to call him and let him know when I was going to be late.”
Elisabeth tilted her head at Jo. “That’s not what she meant. Why would you need to feel better about a tiny thing like that?”
Jo cursed mentally. That was the problem with her mother—she was smart as a whip and if you were going to lie to her, you’d better be damned good at it. Jo had never been good at it, so for years she’d survived most things in their relationship by just not telling her mother about them at all. But, as her therapist repeatedly reminded her, that wasn’t how you built trust and intimacy in a relationship. She reminded herself her mother was just concerned, and there was no reason to be defensive.
Jo cleared her throat. “I was also feeling a little claustrophobic, and wondered if I’d made a mistake having him move in.”
