Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,14

hint of encouragement. “You know I can’t be late. Private client? Money in the bank?”

“I know,” I say. “Just enjoying the view.” We understand each other perfectly, at least the vast majority of the time. When we don’t, it’s trouble, but little things? We’ve grown well past all that. It’s good. It’s even fun.

“How’s Kez?” he asks as he skims his soft blue T-shirt over his head. “Not like her to call you out at that hour.”

“She’s got a tough case,” I tell him. “You’ll probably hear about it on the news. Two little girls drowned in the back of a car, no sign of the driver at the scene.”

He hesitates as he puts on the flannel shirt to go on top. “Was the driver abducted, or do you think it was an accident, or what?”

“God knows,” I say. “The 911 call is suspicious, for sure. It’s creepy to listen to.”

“So Kez is asking for your help?”

I shrug and don’t answer, because right now I don’t know how much more involvement I’ll have. He sits down to tie his boots. “What’s your day like?” I ask him.

“Eight thirty private lesson. The guy’s pretty steady, shouldn’t be eventful. This afternoon, sessions in the simulator for the A-320.” The simulators, I know, are stressful, but he enjoys them most of the time. The stress comes from the fact that every single sim he does is going in his record, and affects his ability to make the leap to where he wants to be. But I know how steady he is, and how good. He’ll be okay.

I think about telling him about the new and dangerous troll, but to be honest, I don’t want that to poison his whole day; better to talk tonight, once we’re home and relaxed and everything is quiet.

I head for the kitchen. It’s my day for breakfast, and I make eggs and bacon and toast; Sam eats fast and heads out. The kids are a shambles, as usual, but I get them up and dressed, and make sure they have enough food and juice in front of them to give them strength to face their school day. They keep the sniping to a minimum, thankfully.

They haven’t managed to finish before the doorbell rings, and I have to take the alarm off to admit Vera Crockett. She’s wearing pajamas and ridiculously oversize house shoes and God only knows how she got here, because our house is five blocks from her small, cheap apartment. Walked, probably. Vee doesn’t give a crap what people think. She’s always had that dark, defiant streak since I first met her in Wolfhunter as a girl wrongly accused of her own mother’s murder, and it’s only grown wider as she has matured. She’s almost an adult now.

One who wears battered, enormous yeti house shoes out in public.

“Breakfast?” I ask her, and she yawns and nods. She’s still wearing the ghost of last night’s party glitter. Lanny, at least, has washed hers fully off. “You’re lucky there’s any left.”

“I ain’t picky,” she says, and winks at Lanny. “Anything’s good.”

“Tell me you didn’t walk all that way dressed like that,” Lanny says as Vee pulls up Sam’s empty chair and I get her a fresh plate. Lanny looks genuinely worried, but Vee doesn’t answer, just digs into her eggs and bacon like a starving wolf. The girl’s got manners, somewhere, but she doesn’t usually bother with them. And in truth there’s something satisfying about seeing someone so completely in the moment, every moment. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about her, and her influence on my daughter.

“Hey, Ms. P,” Vee says. “You got any ketchup for these eggs?”

I provide it and try not to shudder. “Vee, what are you doing today?”

“Nothin’.” She pops ketchup-soaked eggs into her mouth. “Killin’ the patriarchy.”

“Killing it by not having a job,” Connor says. “Good one.”

“I got a job,” she says, not quite defensively. “Part time, anyway.”

If she does, it’s news to me. Vee’s record of jobs since being ruled independent is . . . spotty. We gave her the deposit on the apartment, and she’s on her own for rent, which luckily isn’t much; she seems to do okay. I’m not her mom, and I know her well enough to know she won’t welcome me pushing in and interrogating her. Instead, I observe. She doesn’t seem wired or high, which is good. I can’t stop her from doing what she’s going to do, but I have let her know how much I