Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,27
warm person. No embraces, no cuddling with babies, no tolerance for fussiness or sticky little fingers.” Macy looked around the formal room to the left again and sniffed. “She didn’t tolerate many adults, either. I believe she loved Mark the best she was able, but she was much better at showing disappointment and disapproval.”
He stopped beside her, and a faint scent of something drifted into her space. Not dog or cologne or soap. No, he smelled like...turkey. Her stomach gave a quiet little growl, reminding her she hadn’t had even a bite since lunch. For someone who snacked routinely, that was a long time to go without food.
“You said your husband had a cousin. Does she live around here?”
“No, she’s in New Orleans.” Disgustingly happy, working in Jones’s historic garden restoration business and planning to start a family soon. Reece had worked hard to get where she was, but still Macy envied her. She didn’t think she could ever be that blissfully happy.
Her stomach growled again, louder this time, and she moved on with the tour. Everything was clean and secure, and soon enough they were back outside.
It wasn’t as much of a relief as it could have been, stepping through that door into the still evening, even though the damage done digging up unmarked graves had been repaired. Looking at the lawn, no one would guess it had suffered any disturbance greater than a mower. But she didn’t have to guess.
With the sun on its downward slide, they walked quickly around the exterior of the house, circled the guesthouse out back, the former farm manager’s office and the storage barns. Contrary to Louise Wetherby’s claim, everything was in good shape, as Macy had known it would be.
She practically hustled Stephen and Scooter back to the van, sighing inwardly when the doors were closed and the locks automatically secured. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”
He fastened his seat belt, then she shifted into gear, backing up beneath the giant oak, heading toward the gate with relief.
“Any place but A Cut Above.”
“You don’t like steak?”
“I don’t like Louise Wetherby.” Abruptly he stiffened. “Sorry. I know she’s one of your neighbors. Are you and she—”
A snort sputtered out despite her best efforts to stop it. “I can’t stand the woman. She’s smug and mean-spirited and tries to be the boss of everyone.”
“But her restaurant sure makes an incredible steak.” He said it regretfully, as if he were paying a real price for not supporting a business owner he disliked.
“So do I.” Warmth spread through Macy as she drove through the gate, energizing her, making her feel damn near normal. “Come over tomorrow night and I’ll show you.”
Immediately upon hearing her invitation, she masked a wince. When had she decided she had first claim to all his free time? He could have plans for tomorrow night. He might want to watch Animal Planet with Scooter. He might just want a few hours away from her.
But he gave no sign of any of that. Instead he asked, “What should I bring?”
“Just yourself and Scooter.” At the end of the dirt road, she turned south onto the highway. “So where for dinner tonight?”
“Dogs are welcome at Ellie’s Deli, at least outside. He behaves pretty well there.”
“He behaves pretty well all the time.” She liked his choice. Ellie Maricci was one of the nicer people in Copper Lake, and the food at her restaurant was outstanding. Following the example set by their boss, the employees were friendly and professional, and eating outside with the day’s humidity literally hanging in the air, they weren’t likely to rouse much attention.
She found a parking space across the square, on the next street over, and Scooter trotted toward the deli, head held high, compact body quivering. “He knows he’s in for a treat, huh?”
“They always have cookies and water bowls, and I usually share with him,” Stephen admitted.
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said drily.
“I’m careful about what I give him,” he protested. “I am a vet, you know.” He reined in the dog as they passed through the gate, then they turned to the left, where tables—all empty—were scattered across the small lawn. “Do you mind letting the hostess know we’re here?”
Macy’s smile faltered, but she quickly forced it back into place. She climbed the steps, crossed the porch and went inside, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere but the hostess station. The girl there was young, maybe sixteen, and didn’t appear to know Macy from the man on the moon.