“Well, who knows, maybe they won’t live there after all. They said they want to preserve the house, use it for some kind of benefit and then make it into a place where they can do community events.”
“You’re kidding,” Mason said skeptically.
“I’m just telling you what they said. How should I know what they’ll really do?”
“You’re growling,” he warned her.
“I am not growling. My tenure at Flynn Plantation is over. Done. Finis. I have to move on. I have a life.”
Mason started to laugh. It was truly irritating.
“I have a life,” she repeated more firmly.
“Let’s see…you work. You have a few drinks with Vinnie and me occasionally. You occasionally see a few friends. Female friends. You have a cat. A cat, Kendall.”
“A great cat, if you don’t mind,” she told him. “Hey, it’s not easy, keeping this place open. And I like my life. I don’t need to go out all the time or have a million friends.”
He shook his head. “The problem is, you spent too much time caring for Amelia. It was your whole purpose for being for far too long.”
“Mason, stop being so negative. I owed her and I loved her.”
“And what you did was good. But now you have to shake all that off and start over again.”
She lifted her hands in surrender. “I know. That’s what I plan on doing.”
“You should go out on a date.”
“Really? And where am I meeting this date? Want me to pick up a drunk college kid on Bourbon Street?”
He gave her a stern look. Then a smile crept over his lips. “You could start that way. I mean, how long do you intend to live without sex?”
“How do you know how much sex I have?”
“I don’t. I just know how much sex you don’t have.”
“You’re really aggravating, you know that?” she said.
“Maybe you don’t know how to date anymore.” He reflected, ignoring her insult, then shrugged. “So start with sex.”
“I’ll keep your extremely helpful suggestions in mind,” she assured him.
“You could always have sex with me,” he teased.
“Though at the moment I can’t think why, I treasure our friendship far too much for that,” she teased back.
“There are ‘friends with benefits’ these days.”
“Mason, go pick up a college hottie if you’re that desperate. Okay?”
“It’s just about closing time.” He moved to the counter and tossed her a dishcloth. “You clean up the kitchen area. I’ll count out.”
“Hey! I’m supposedly the boss here.”
“Right. But as a good employee, I’m not letting you anywhere near the cash register. You’re too spacey. It’s quiet today, so let’s just close up. I don’t think we’re going to have any emergency readings,” he said lightly. “And I’m ready for a drink.”
“You go. I can finish up here. You and Vinnie covered for me this afternoon, so go on, get out of here.”
“Not without you,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You need a drink more than I do. Come on. We’ll go out and you can tell Uncle Mason all about what’s really bugging you.”
“Nothing’s bugging me.”
“Bullshit. You want to visit massive vengeance upon those wretched plantation thieves. I know you do.”
She laughed. “Honest to God, no, I don’t.”
“Then what is bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Kendall insisted. To change the subject, and also because it actually seemed like a good idea, she suggested, “Hey, maybe I should call Sheila and see if she wants to meet us for a drink. I haven’t seen her in a bit.” Sheila was another old friend. She had always been a bookworm, and now she worked for the historical society. Kendall felt a little guilty about her, actually. Sheila had always wanted to explore the Flynn place, but Amelia hadn’t wanted other company.
“You can call her, but it won’t do any good,” Mason said.
“Why?”
He sighed. Mason liked Sheila, Kendall knew. No, more than that, he had a crush on her. He just wouldn’t speak up.
“She’s on vacation, remember?”
“Oh, right.” How could she have forgotten?
Sheila had planned a three-week trip to Ireland. She wouldn’t be back until the weekend, and this was only Monday.
“But,” Mason said firmly, “we are going out. We. You and me. And you’re going to tell me what’s bugging you.”
It wasn’t until the clock struck five, until the place was cleaned and closed and they were sitting at a corner table at the Hideaway, the bar where Vinnie was playing, that she finally told him what was upsetting her.
“I think it’s the bone.”
“The bone?” Mason repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She looked at him. “Apparently some bum—or maybe more than one—was living out in the slave quarters. There was a lot of trash there. And a bone.”
He was still staring at her, frowning. “Chicken bone? Sparerib?”
“Human,” she told him, and took a long swallow of her beer.