It wasn’t Juliet’s first death threat nor would it be her last, but it was the most memorable since it came from Bobby Tatro. The gun charge was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Tatro’s crimes. Everyone knew it, but prosecutors needed more evidence to charge him.
In the three weeks since his release, Juliet hadn’t seen or heard from him, but still she watched her back. If Tatro was smart, he’d recognize that he’d served his time, paid the price for his mistakes and was now a free man. He’d move on with his life. Leave his past behind him. Get a job, save some money. Be glad he hadn’t been charged on any of the violent offenses various prosecutors and investigators suspected him of having committed.
That, however, wasn’t what Juliet or anyone else believed Bobby Tatro would do.
As she and Wendy approached the house, Spaceshot perked up, leading the way through a gap in another stone wall and down to the small barn, where spikes of hollyhocks and dahlias with blossoms the size of dinner plates and tangles of blue morning glories grew up against its rough-hewn boards. The barn and sprawling white clapboard house were pre-Civil War, but the three greenhouses and perfunctory equipment shed were added as Longstreet Landscaping had expanded.
Her parents and three of her brothers—Jeffrey, Sam and Will, Jr.—worked in the family business. Joshua and Paul were in law enforcement. Juliet was in law enforcement, too, but they all persisted in the stubborn hope that she’d give it up soon and come home. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in her. It was that they worried about her.
Wendy stopped alongside the tidy vegetable garden, fat, ripe tomatoes and pole beans dripping off staked plants, and tilted back her head, looking up at her aunt. “We need to bury Teddy sometime.”
Taken aback, Juliet managed a nod. Teddy was Wendy’s golden retriever, who’d died at sixteen the week before her mother left for Nova Scotia. Wendy had his ashes in a cracker tin in her room. “Sure, Wendy. Do you want to do it before I leave for New York—”
“No!” She seemed almost in a panic, then calmed herself. “No, I’m not ready. I can’t do it today. But I think we should before the ground freezes. Unless—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about spreading his ashes in the lake. He loved the water.”
“He sure did. I’ve never seen a dog love the water as much as Teddy did.”
That brought a tug of a smile to her niece’s face. “Remember when he jumped in and followed us in the kayak? He didn’t want to give up. I thought he’d drown.”
“He was a great dog, Wendy.”
“Dad says sixteen’s a good run for a golden retriever, but—” Her eyes pooled. “I wanted him to live forever.”
Juliet put an arm around Wendy’s small shoulders. At five-nine, Juliet was half a foot taller. She didn’t want to think about how much she outweighed her. “Whenever you’re ready, whatever you decide to do with Teddy’s ashes, I’ll be here.”
“Dad almost left them for the vet to get rid of. He said he thought it’d upset me, having Teddy’s ashes. It’d upset me more not to have them.”
“I guess he meant well.”
“You know what Grandma says—”
“Yes, I know. ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’” Juliet smiled. “We’ve all had that lecture.”
They started down the stone path to the side porch, Wendy sniffling back her tears. When they reached the country kitchen, Sunday lunch was on the long, scarred pine table. Roast chicken, buttermilk biscuits, gravy—but also vegan ratatouille, salad and, especially for Wendy, a little bowl of kidney beans, pinto beans and chickpeas.
The girl leaned into her aunt and whispered, “Don’t mention my wanting to visit you in New York, okay?”
Juliet nodded her promise to keep her mouth shut.
Joshua sat next to his daughter. At forty, he was the tallest of the Longstreet brothers and also had the hardest head. He didn’t approve of homeschooling, vegans, Wendy’s year off, his ex-wife’s six months in Nova Scotia—none of it. And he wasn’t subtle about it, either.
Sam, two years younger, worked the landscaping equipment and kept it running, and he and his wife, Elizabeth, a nurse, had three kids—two boys and a girl, ages thirteen, ten and eight, all of whom went to public school.
Juliet’s father, Will, Sr., almost white-haired now at sixty-five, settled at the head of the table. He smiled at Wendy and asked her about her walk out to the lake. “The leaves are starting to turn,” she mumbled, but didn’t seem to know what else to say.
Her grandmother set a small pot of hot green tea in front of Wendy’s plate. “I read that tea is the healthiest drink there is. We should all drink more of it.”