“Shepherd’s pie,” she said and set the CorningWare on a trivet.
“It doesn’t smell like shepherd’s pie,” Caleb said. Eve shot him a glare as they arranged themselves around the table, her father in his customary place at the head, while Caleb staked claim to the seat at the foot, neatly trapping Matt and Eve along the side by the hutch.
“That’s because it’s made with lentils, not beef,” her mother said, then whisked the lid off the dish. “Welcome, Detective Dorchester,” she said in a harried voice.
“It’s Matt,” he said again, but her mother was out of earshot, clattering dishes in the kitchen.
“Dad had a heart attack last year,” Eve said in a low voice as her mother reappeared to fuss with the arrangement of serving dishes, then take her seat. “Mom thinks a vegetarian diet will help lower his cholesterol.”
He said nothing, just shifted the basket of rolls to make room for the asparagus, bowed his head through grace, declined the offer of wine in favor of cold water, and accepted generous helpings of everything available.
When her mother was distracted with spreading margarine on a roll, Eve leaned toward Matt and murmured, “You really don’t have to eat that.”
He glanced at his plate. “Why wouldn’t I eat it?” he asked.
“I’d like to hear your perspective on what Lyle’s return to Lancaster means to the East Side,” her father said. The question, directed at Matt, ended Eve’s warnings about the meal.
“FBI information indicates that Murphy’s the leading edge of an expansion effort for the Strykers out of Philly,” Matt said. “He’s using his connections with the Strykers to take control of the meth and crack cocaine market on the East Side, possibly with an eye toward using this as a distribution base for the Midwest. They make more money here, and the local gangs aren’t as organized. They’ve got a better product, a relatively open market, and weak competition in the local gangs.”
From a purely disinterested business perspective, the strategy made sense, Eve thought, but kept her mouth shut.
“And his interest in my daughter’s business?”
“Murphy identified Eye Candy as a possible front.”
Her father’s attention shifted to her, but he didn’t say I told you your club was bad for you, and the East Side. “You’re assisting the police department with this … investigation?”
She wasn’t the only one struggling for a name to call what was happening. “Yes,” she said.
“For how long?”
The only sound in the room was the clink of silverware against china. “A couple of months now.”
“You didn’t tell us.”
“No,” Eve said. “I didn’t want to involve you in something this risky. Any surge in violence or drug sales on the East Side and the business park plans collapse, which will have a huge impact on the neighborhood’s economy. I could help, so I did.”
Silence around the table. Eve squished peas and carrots into the mashed potatoes, hoping that would help with the flavor. It didn’t. The potatoes weren’t her mother’s home-cooked, whole-milk-and-butter-drenched version, but instead had the texture and taste of paste.
Her mother leapt into the lengthening silence. “How long have you been a police officer?”
“Six years,” Matt said.
“And what led you to choose that particular career?”
She should have warned him about her mother’s obsession with careers, but Matt seemed unruffled. Maybe cops were asked that question fairly frequently.
“I enlisted in the Army but my parents were killed in a car accident and my younger brother was paralyzed in the crash. I was discharged to take care of him. The best civilian option that would allow me to raise Luke and use the skills I’d learned in the service was the police department.”
That was interesting. More than she knew. She should start asking questions of her own. Caleb had been quiet far too long, so Eve glanced past Matt at her brother. While his knife and fork were active, he’d taken fewer bites than she had. Her brother gave her a small smile she couldn’t read, then said, “Detective Dorchester’s being rather modest about his military career.”
Matt went still for just a second before swallowing his mouthful of mashed potatoes. Eve glanced at him, but his face gave her no cue to work from, so she turned to her brother. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t put his name in a search engine?”
She’d put Chad Henderson’s name into a search engine and come up with a bland Facebook page. “I’ve had a lot on my mind the last two days,” Eve said.
Caleb slouched down in his chair, a sure sign he was about to get very serious about something. “Remember the pawn shop robbery six years ago when the police caught the thieves in the act?”