Luc (Jill’s not seriously marrying that guy, right?).
And Elena (do you want to buy my old smoothie machine? I’m getting an upgrade? No? What if I give it to you? Still no?).
Vin figured it was Anthony’s turn. His big brother wasn’t the chatty type, but he’d been known to take his hobby of lecturing to the cell phone once or twice.
But it wasn’t Anth.
“There’s that sweet voice I know and love,” the low voice on the other end said in a cooing, mocking voice.
Vincent grinned. “Well, son of a bitch. If it isn’t the prodigal son.”
“Prodigal brother to you,” Marco said.
“What’s that? You seem to be breaking up—must be because you’re in Goddamn California.”
“Easy, Grandpa. This isn’t a World War One radio. Cell towers work just as well here as they do there. Probably better.”
Vin sat down on his couch, well aware that he was still wearing an atypical, broad smile.
Of all his brothers, Marc had always been the one to piss him off the least. Younger than Vin by two years, he’d been easier to relate to than Anth, who’d always pissed everyone off with his interfering tendencies.
And Marc had been the cool brother. The one who was always just a couple inches taller than you, just a little bit better than you in sports, and in the case of Marco and Vincent, was about ten times nicer than you.
It wasn’t that Marc was soft. Not in the least. The man was six feet two inches of sheer muscle, and his intolerance for the “bad guys” ran blood-deep. He could also be stubborn, impatient, and intense.
But people liked Marc. Liked his quick smile, his sense of humor, his good-old-boy charm.
So yeah, Vincent had idolized his brother as a kid, even though the other was younger.
As adults, they’d been close too. Closer than he was with Luc or Anth. And then Marc had up and left for California with barely a month of warning, all for a woman.
“How’s Hollywood?” Vin asked just to needle his brother. “You busy working on your tan?”
Marc didn’t live anywhere close to Hollywood, but the thoroughly East Coast Morettis clung to California clichés whenever they talked to Marc.
Partially out of ignorance, but more so out of persistent dismay that one of their own had up and left them for the other coast.
“Absolutely,” Marc said. “Just got done pruning my poolside palm trees.”
Vin smiled. Marc was just about the only brother who’d mastered the skill of not letting his siblings get under his skin.
“And Mandy?” Vin asked, not that he much cared.
Marc’s girlfriend was… well, suffice it to say, none of the Morettis had ever been able to figure out what Marc saw in Mandy Breslin.
She was pretty, yes. Stunning, even, in a Barbie-esque kind of way. She was also manipulative, selfish, and completely allergic to anything resembling work.
It galled Vin that they’d moved to California for her “acting” career, and yet they were living off of Marc’s salary while Mandy waited for her big break.
“She’s good,” Marc said.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed, noticing the delay in Marc’s response. “Gone on any auditions lately?”
Another pause. “No. Her agent’s called with a few possible commercial slots, but she wants to hold out for something bigger.”
Of course she did.
“How’s Jill?” Marc asked before Vincent could press the issue. “Rumor has it she’s getting married.”
Well played, Big Brother. Well played.
“Yup.” Vincent’s voice was curt.
Marc didn’t take the hint. “And how do we feel about that?”
“We, being the Moretti collective, or…?”
“Good point,” Marc said. “I already know how the rest of the Morettis feel about it. How are you handling the news?”
Vincent slouched back on the couch. “Not much to handle. My colleague is getting married. Not exactly earth-shattering.”
Marc snorted. “Really? That’s where you’re going with this? Jill’s a colleague now?”
“She’s my partner.”
“I know who and what she is,” Marc said quietly. “I also know who and what she is to you.”
Do you? Because I sure as fuck don’t know.
“Can we not talk about this?” Vincent grumbled.
“Sure,” Marc said easily. “How about you tell me about this case you and your colleague are working on.”
That, Vincent could do.
Hell, he needed to do it. He’d been staring at his boards for hours now and couldn’t shake the sense that something was just out of reach…
He filled Marc in on the Lenora Birch case.
Told him of finding the body but without a single sense of what might have gone down. Told him that they’d interviewed all of the usual suspects—ex-lovers, ex-husbands, jealous ex-lovers of Lenora’s ex-lovers…
And nothing.
He and Jill had been following Vincent’s suggestion of “starting over.” They’d interviewed everyone again with fresh eyes and ears, and they weren’t any further along than they were before.