“Sorry, rough night.”
“I’m sure. I’m sorry about Tish. I know you were close.” He coughed and focused on dumping cream into his coffee cup.
We talked quietly about Tish, and I went over the timeline with him again.
Josh walked over with the coffeepot.
“Want a warm-up, Clyde?”
I nodded and pushed the cup toward him.
He started to pour and stopped.
“Man, things are not going his way,” he said, looking out the window.
Mac and I looked across the street to see Milo striding away from Cecile. She caught up to him and grabbed his arm, but he shook her hand off hard enough that she stumbled as he continued up the street.
“What’s that all about?” I looked up at Josh.
“Dunno, but he and Joe were getting into it yesterday.” Josh shook his head and finished pouring the coffee.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Same thing. Milo came barreling out of the Grill, Joe right behind him, but he turned on Joe and pushed him against the wall. I don’t know what they said, but it didn’t look friendly.”
“Well, Joe isn’t supporting Milo’s bid to develop that land out along the highway. Maybe they’re having some father-son disagreements about Milo’s plans,” Mac said.
Josh shrugged and walked over to the counter to help the next customer.
I leaned forward to avoid being heard by nearby coffee drinkers. “Do you know Milo isn’t really Joe’s son?”
Mac looked up from his coffee, holding my gaze for a moment.
“Yeah. I know. I didn’t think that was common knowledge, though.”
“How did you find out?”
“I worked the Julia Wyatt case.” He glanced out the window. “It came up then.”
“Don’t you think he could have something to do with what’s been going on around here?”
“No. I don’t.” His eyes jerked back to me and had taken on that steely color I didn’t like.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”
“Stubborn? I’m doing my job. I’m working with real facts, not—”
“Not what?” I lifted my right eyebrow. Combined with the different-colored eyes, I thought it was very compelling. This might be my best chance for a fight. A way to put some distance between us.
“Not . . . hunches.” He glanced down again.
I stood quickly and knocked the chair over. I hesitated, feeling like maybe I had overplayed it.
“Wait, Clyde. I didn’t mean it that way.” Mac stood and blocked my planned stomp out of the café. He took my arm and tried to steer me back to the chair.
“What way did you mean it?” I kept my voice low because the other customers were not even pretending to be minding their own business.
“I meant that this case is not your problem. It’s my job to find the killer. Just . . . let me do my job and stay out of it.”
“Oh well, now that you put it that way . . .” I jerked my arm out of his grasp and brushed past him out the door. I didn’t have to fake being mad this time.
I stormed up the street until I remembered I’d parked in the other direction. Faking a fight wasn’t necessary to keep my distance—I could just have a conversation with Mac about the case and it would happen by itself. I kept walking rather than go past the café again and run into him. Who did he think he was, telling me to stay out of it? Tish was my friend. My feet seemed to be taking me around the block, which was a good idea. I came up to my car from the other side. By the time I got there, I knew what I needed to do.
*
I pulled into our driveway and was pleased to see both Alex’s blue Honda and Diana’s green VW bug. I hoped everyone would be on board with my plan.
I found them all in the dining room. They had the pendulum out again, but it didn’t seem to be going well. Alex was gripping the chain, his knuckles white. Vi hovered, obviously fighting her urge to just grab it from him. Mom and Diana watched for any signs of movement. Dad read the newspaper at the far end of the table.
“Oh, there you are!” said Vi. I had only seen her briefly on the way to the funeral, but something was different about her. She seemed older to me today—her hair was in a tangled braid, the lines near her mouth were more prominent.
The rest of the group turned to the door, and Alex set the pendulum down with a look of relief. My mother’s eyes were puffy and her nose red from crying. Diana’s skin was blotchy, and she had mascara smeared under her eyes. Even Dad looked haggard, and I could tell he wasn’t reading the paper as much as staring at it.
“Hi. Where’s Seth?”
Diana pointed down; my mother glanced heavenward for strength.
“I’m under here.” Seth’s voice floated out from under the tablecloth.
I bent to look and was met by three sets of eyes.
“Aren’t you a little big to be playing ‘fort’?” I asked.
“I’m not playing. Tuffy’s all worked up about something, and he doesn’t want to come out.”
I glanced at Vi, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged. I sat next to Diana, across from Alex.
The doorbell rang.