life back. I want you to be happy again. I miss my boy. I miss seeing you happy.”
He heard the tears, closed his eyes. “I’m getting it back. I feel more myself here than I have in a long time. Hey, I’ve put on ten pounds.”
When she burst into tears, the panic returned. “Mom, don’t cry. Please.”
“It’s happy. It’s just happy. I can’t wait to see you for myself. I’m going to go tell your father, Hester, and call Tricia. We’ll bring a feast. Don’t worry about a thing. Just keep taking care of yourself.”
When he hung up he just stood for a moment getting his bearings. Ready or not, his family was coming to Bluff House. And his mother’s “Don’t worry about a thing” wouldn’t cut it.
He knew damn well his grandmother would expect Bluff House to shine, and he couldn’t dump all that on Abra.
He’d figure it out. He had better than a week to figure it out. He’d make a list.
Later, he decided. Now, he discovered, he really did want that beer. And he wanted it in a noisy bar. With Abra.
So, he’d grab a shower, and maybe he’d walk to the village. That way she could drive them both back after her shift.
He headed for the steps, realized he wore a grin. Yeah, he thought, he felt more like himself than he had in a very long time.
Sixteen
ABRA WOUND HER WAY THROUGH TABLES, BUSING EMPTIES, taking orders and checking IDs as the Boston-born band pulled in a hefty share of the college crowd. Following bar policy, she rewarded each party’s designated driver—when they had one—with free non-alcoholic drinks through the night.
Otherwise, tonight’s crowd leaned heavy on beer and wine. She kept her tables happy—casually flirting with guys, complimenting girls on hair or shoes, laughing at jokes, quick conversations with familiar faces. She enjoyed the work, the noise and the hustle. She liked the people-watching, the speculating.
The stone-cold-sober DD from her table of five channeled any desire he might have had for beer into hitting on a nearby table of girls, particularly the milk-skinned redhead. From her reaction, the way the two of them danced, the whispers when the girl group trooped off as a pack for the ladies’, Abra figured the DD might just get lucky later.
She served a round to a pair of couples—she cleaned for one set—and was pleased to see earrings she’d made dangling from both women’s earlobes.
Boosted, she made her way to the back table, and its single occupant. No familiar face here, and not by her gauge a particularly happy one. Anyone who sat alone at the back of a bar nursing tonic and lime didn’t project happiness.
“How’s it going back here?”
She got a long stare and a tap on the now empty glass in answer.
“Tonic with lime. I’ll take care of that. Can I get you anything else? We’re famous for our nachos.”
When all she got was a shake of the head, she took the empty, tried an easy smile. “I’ll get right back to you.”
Thinking the likelihood strong that the tonic-and-lime would be a lousy tipper, she headed back to the bar.
Risky, he thought. Risky coming in here, getting so close to her. But he’d been reasonably sure she hadn’t seen him that night in Bluff House. Now as she looked him right in the eye without a single flicker of recognition, he could be absolutely sure. And rewards, God knew, took risk.
He’d wanted to watch her, to see how she behaved—and he’d hoped Landon would be there, opening up a fresh opportunity to get back into the house.
But then he’d hoped the police would take Landon in for questioning. He’d needed only a small opening to get in, plant the gun, make an anonymous call.
Now, they’d searched the place, so planting the gun in Bluff House wouldn’t work. But there was always another avenue. The woman might be the best route.
She could be his way back into Bluff House. He needed to think about that. He had to get back in, finish his search. The dowry was there; he believed it with every fiber of his being. He’d already risked so much, lost so much.
No going back, he reminded himself. He’d killed now, and found it a great deal easier than he’d expected. Just the press of a finger on the trigger, hardly any effort at all. Logically, it would be easier the next time, if a next time proved necessary.