Whiskey Beach Part 23

"You're too skinny."

"I know."

"I'm going to have Alice fix you a sandwich. You're going to eat it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Look at those pretty flowers!"

Eli managed to pull a tulip from the bunch. "For you."

"You're my sweetheart. Come in, come in. Your mother will be home very soon, and your father promised to be home by five-thirty so he wouldn't miss you if you don't stay. But you're going to stay, have dinner. Alice is making Yankee pot roast, and vanilla bean creme brulee for dessert."

"I'd better save her a tulip."

Carmel's wide face warmed with a smile, an instant before her eyes filled.

"Don't." Here was the pain, the distress he'd seen on the faces of people he loved every day since Lindsay's murder. "Everything's going to be fine."

"It will. Of course it will. Here, let me take that bowl."

"They're for Mom."

"You're a good boy. You've always been a good boy, even when you weren't. Your sister's coming to dinner, too."

"I should've bought more flowers."

"Hah." She'd blinked away the tears and now gave the air a brush with her hand to send him on his way. "You take those to your grandmother. She's up in her sitting room, probably on that computer. You can't keep her off it, all hours of the day and night. I'll bring you the sandwich, and a vase for those tulips."

"Thanks." He started toward the wide and graceful staircase. "How is she?"

"Better every day. Upset still she can't remember what happened, but better. She'll be happy to see you."

Eli walked up, turned at the top of the steps to the east wing.

As Carmel predicted, his grandmother sat at the desk, tapping away at her laptop.

Back and shoulders ruler-straight, he noted, under her tidy green cardigan. Her silver-streaked dark hair stylishly coiffed.

No walker, he noted with a shake of his head, but her cane with its silver tip in the shape of a lion leaned against the desk.

"Rabble-rousing again?"

He came up behind her, pressed his lips to the top of her head. She just reached up, took his hand. "I've been rousing the rabble all my life. Why stop now? Let me look at you."

She nudged him back while she swiveled in the chair. Those nut-brown eyes studied him without mercy. Then her lips curved, just a little.

"Whiskey Beach is good for you. Still too thin, but not so pale, not so sad. You brought me some springtime."

"Abra gets the credit. She told me to get them."

"You were smart enough to listen to her."

"She's the type who rarely if ever takes no for an answer. I figure that's why you like her."

"Among other reasons." Her hand reached out, gripped his for a moment. "You are better."

"Today."

"Today's what we've got. Sit down. You're so d.a.m.n tall you're giving me a crick in my neck. Sit, and tell me what you've been up to."

"Working, brooding, feeling sorry for myself, and decided the only thing in that mix that makes me feel like me is working. So I'm going to try to do something to eliminate the need for brooding and self-pity."

Hester gave him a satisfied smile. "There now. That's my grandson."

"Where's your walker?"

Her face reset into haughty lines. "I retired it. The doctors put enough hardware in me to hold a battleship together. The physical therapist works me like a drill sergeant. If I can tolerate that, I can d.a.m.n well get around without an old-lady walker."

"Are you still hurting?"

"Here and there, from time to time, and less than I was. I'd say, about the same as you. They won't beat us, Eli."

She, too, had lost weight, and the accident as well as the difficult recovery had dug more lines into her face. But her eyes were as fierce as ever, and he took comfort in that.

"I'm starting to believe that."

While Eli talked with his grandmother, Duncan pulled his car to the curb, studied the house through the long lens of his camera. Then, lowering it, he took out his recorder to add to his notes for the day.

He settled in to wait.

CHAPTER Seven

PART OF THE JOB WAS BOREDOM. KIRBY DUNCAN SLOUCHED in his nondescript sedan, nibbling on carrot sticks. He had a new lady friend, and the potential for s.e.x convinced him to drop ten pounds.

He'd managed two.

He'd moved the car once in the past two hours, and considered moving it again. Instinct told him Landon was probably settled in for a while-family dinner most likely as Duncan had snapped shots of the mother, the father and most recently the sister with husband and toddler in tow.

But his job was to sit on Landon, so sit he would.

He followed the job into Boston-an easy tail even with traffic-to the building that housed Landon's lawyer. That had given him an opportunity to do a casual walk-around of Landon's car. Nothing to see there.

Some ninety minutes later he'd followed Landon around the Commons, then tailed him to a high-priced salon, waiting while Landon got a trim. Not that Duncan saw much difference for the fifty-plus the snip cost.