“Prob’ly. Plainclothes detective, super shiny badge? Anyway, he’s in the kitchen. For you, of all things. Are you stuck? You’re all hunched over.”
“Oh, God.” The potential for disaster was staggering. Least important, but the first thing that came to mind: I look like hell. Most important . . . “Where’s Mom?” she scream-whispered.
“It’s okay.” Her irrepressible brother, the oldest of the boys, bounced up from the carpet and gave her a reassuring peck on the cheek. “She’s lying down for her post-lunch siesta. Prob’ly in preparation for her predinner siesta.”
“Thank God.” Her mother did not care for the company of those in law enforcement. Not even those trying to solve her husband’s murder. Sometimes especially those trying to solve her husband’s murder. It was almost like, as bad as her father’s murder was, her mother was afraid the police would find out something even worse. Just one more thing in the Drake dynamic that made no sense.
“Okay. I’ll go talk to him. Okay. Oh, my God, I’m so . . . I’m wearing— Okay. No time to— Okay.” She looked down at her T-shirt and leggings and swallowed a groan (the Horde must not find out about her crush). “Okay. He’s in the kitchen? Okay.”
“You’re not having a stroke, are you?”
“No . . . no. No, definitely not. Probably not. Okay.”
“Hey, it’s not all bad. He liked our weird doorbell.”
“He likes ‘Chick Habit’?” She was already half running down the hall. “Okay.”
TWENTY-ONE
She found Jason examining the papers all over the fridge and humming under his breath. Other families put up their kids’ artwork. The Drakes left each other various ransom notes
Mitchell, you fuck, you can have your Cokes back when you return my Little Debbies.
death threats
When I find out who filched my baby spinach, I will END THEM. I WILL END THEM.
and various to-do lists in progress
Grocery list: Eye of newt. Unicorn horn. Skim milk. Arsenic. Toilet paper.
He turned at once when he heard her come in the kitchen, looking bemused, nodded politely, then his gaze flicked over her shirt. She was fully aware she needed a shower and hadn’t run a brush through her hair for hours.
“That shirt,” he said, “is just one big mixed message.”
Said the sober-looking fellow in the black suit with the dimple and the crazy-ass socks. “Yes, it’s an oldie but a goldie.” Black T-shirt, large yellow smiley face, bright white lettering: I HATE YOU. “What can I do for you, Jason? Detective Chambers, I mean?” Jason, I mean. Long, tall stud in a black suit, I mean. Take me away from all the weird, I mean.
He smiled. “You were right the first time. I apologize for the pop-in, but I was reviewing the case with my captain a few hours ago—”
“Really?” In less than a month, Chambers had done more than Kline in the last five years. That’s not quite fair. Kline was CCD, Jason’s not. Oh, fuck fair. “That’s great!”
He shook his head. “Not really. I had nothing for her. I wanted to stop by to warn you—”
“Cheese it, le flics.”
“Detective Jason, this is my brother Paul.”
“Did you just call him ‘Detective Jason’?”
“And the guy next to him is my cousin Mitchell.”
“Gentlemen.”
“No,” Mitchell said, shaking Jason’s hand. “Not at all.” He turned to his cousin. “I told you I heard ‘Chick Habit’!”
“Can we assume you’re here to tell us our dead uncle is still dead?”
She sighed. “And this is—”
“Your cousin Jordan.”
She blinked at the detective, surprised. He not only knew Jordan’s name, but he knew Jordan was a cousin, not a sibling. Dennis Drake had fathered three children out of wedlock with two different women, one of them a product of a one-night stand whom the family never met. After the trial, the cousins had to live with Emma, Angela, and her brothers. There hadn’t been any real choice—the cousins were basically orphans at that point. Thus, the Horde was born (all villains deserve a backstory). “Yes, that’s—”
Jordan was sizing up the sober man in the black suit. “Nice to meet you. But you’ve only met with Angela. How d’you even know who I am?”
The detective looked surprised by the question. “I read your father’s file. I, uh, memorized it. Accidentally.”
“Since you like memorizing reams of files, I guess you’re in the right job.”
“Yes.”
“Impressive.”
“No. Just my job.”
Angela was thrilled/mortified Jason was there, but that last comment was puzzling. The Drake case wasn’t his job; it had been closed years ago.
“What can we do for you?” she asked again. “And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘I’ because, I promise, the rest of them will bring nothing but chaos.”
“And brownies,” Jack pointed out. Angela smiled at him, she couldn’t help it, her smallest, sweetest brother/cousin.
“Yes. And brownies.”
“Brownies?”
Angela realized Jason hadn’t meant to say that out loud, because he immediately flushed. The smile she’d given Jack she now turned on him. “Skipped lunch, huh?”
“Paperwork.”
“Siddown,” Jack ordered, already tying on his Darth Vader apron.* “We have so much food, what with all the adolescents still growing and the adult male who thinks he’s still growing.”
A yelp from Paul: “Hey!”
“Won’t take two minutes to heat something up for you. Five if you want it fresh.”
“I’m aware that’s my social cue to say something like ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly’ or ‘I don’t want to impose,’ but your kitchen smells wonderful. Your whole house does. And I can linger. I went off shift an hour ago. If—if I’m invited.” Jason immediately sat at the turtle table. “I may have skipped breakfast as well.”
Jack looked delighted at the prospect of someone new on whom to practice his culinary wizardry and got to work. Paul gave Angela an inquiring look. “D’you need us?” and she shook her head so hard the room spun for a few seconds. No. God no. Go away and let me gaze dreamily at Jason Chambers. I’ll save you the leftovers from the leftovers. “You want us back in, just holler.” But they were already turning away, knowing the look of a cop who had no updates. Mitchell lingered long enough to lean over and murmur, “If Mom wakes up, I’ll try to keep her out of here.”
“Thank you very much,” she replied, then turned to Jason. “Drink? We have milk, chocolate milk, iced tea, pop . . .”
“Chocolate milk would be great.”
Gah, he likes chocolate milk. That is ADORABLE.
She brought two large glasses and sat across from him. Chocolate mustache, here I come. Because as awful as I look right now, I can always look worse.
“Sorry about the Horde. They tend to descend, create chaos, abruptly lose interest, and then vanish, emerging periodically to feed or do laundry.”
“Looks like a fun group.”
She snorted. “Let me guess: only child, right?” She’d heard such mythical, blessed creatures existed.
“No. Well, now I am. My brother was murdered when I was in high school.”
Shocked, she instinctively reached out, then remembered herself and yanked back her traitorous exploratory hand. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful. Is still awful, I imagine.”
He nodded. “Twelve years last month.”
“Is that why you became a cop?”
“No, I entered the academy because I lost a bet.”
She blinked. Weird. “Oh.”
He quirked a small smile. “Kidding. Yes, that’s why I became a cop. And your father’s death was why you became a paralegal.”
“Well, that and my obsessive love for files and piles of paper and legal jargon and briefs . . . Jason, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”