They reached Tag and Ryan at the same moment their father did. Lilly came too, and so did Gigi. It wasn’t very subtle, the entire Callaghan family descending on the two Taggert men all at once. Dmitri changed direction, sensing a showdown, and came to stand off to the side. Emily wanted to shoo him away like one of his bees, but that would just draw more attention.
Mrs. Bostwick turned toward April Mahoney and said something—something unflattering, no doubt—and Delores Crenshaw adjusted her glasses as she leaned forward and nodded. There was a good chance Emily was imagining this, but there seemed to be clusters of onlookers . . . looking on. Either because they were still fascinated by her long-overdue visit . . . or because twenty bucks did not buy silence like it used to. Dmitri put on his beekeeping hat and pulled down the veil.
“Gentlemen, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Chief Callaghan. It looks as if you know my granddaughter.” Everything Harlan said sounded like an accusation, but the men appeared unruffled.
Chloe smiled up at Harlan and batted her lashes. “Yes, Grandpa. This is Ryan. He’s the one we rode in the taxi with because the plane was broken.”
“Ah yes, Emily mentioned something about that. Not sure why you wouldn’t have flown through Pellston, but I guess you’ll know better for next time.”
Ryan nodded and shook his hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you for that advice. This is my father, John Taggert.”
Tag didn’t flinch at all as he reached forward to shake Harlan’s hand. Very smooth. “Good to meet you, Chief Callaghan.”
“Good to meet you as well, Mr. Taggert.”
“Please call me Tag.”
Emily glanced toward Lilly, but her sister was wearing sunglasses and showed little expression.
Harlan clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a stance that Emily was all too familiar with. It was his I’m going to size you up stance, but both of the Mr. Taggerts seemed relaxed and unperturbed. Ryan reached up and ran a finger around the inside of his collar, though, and Emily saw his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. Tag flicked a tiny droplet of perspiration away from his temple. Hmm, maybe not so unperturbed after all.
“This is Aunt Brooke,” Chloe said, moving on with introductions, just as casual as any hostess introducing dinner guests to each other. “And this is my mom, and Aunt Lilly, and Gigi. There. That’s everybody.”
There were so many ways this could go wrong, but everyone just smiled politely at one another, nodding. There were a few innocuous comments about the amazing pleasantness of the weather and how delightful the island was. Brooke seemed to pick up on a bit of the tension and crooked an eyebrow at Emily, but Harlan didn’t appear to notice any of it. He didn’t seem to notice all the parishioners giving them sideways glances, either. So much for crack police work, if he couldn’t pick up on some fairly obvious body language.
Lilly’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and then she gave a weak little smile to Emily once she realized Emily was not about to spill her beans. As if Emily would. Their father was not above killing the messenger, and Emily had no intention of telling him anything about anything. Lilly was on her own here.
“Harlan!” A big, booming voice came from the left side of the churchyard, and Emily recognized it immediately as Judge Murphy. He was a short, stocky man who, rumor had it, once ate an entire raw fish, bones and all, just because someone said he couldn’t. “Harlan, I didn’t see you in church this morning. Where were you?”
The chief stared down at him for a minute. “Brian, I’ve sat in the same spot in that church my entire life, and you’re saying you didn’t see me?”
“No, I looked right in that spot, and I couldn’t see you. In fact, you’re a mite blurry now, come to think of it.”
“Do you think it’s possible that you’re wearing your wife’s glasses again instead of your own?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why, I never . . . wait a minute.” He took off his glasses and looked at them. “Well, I’ll be damned. No wonder Mary said she felt dizzy this morning. Poor woman probably can’t see a thing. Anyway, we need to change our poker game from my house to your house on Thursday. The missus went and scheduled a book club that night, as if she didn’t know it was my turn to host. As if my poker night hasn’t been the third Thursday of the month for fifteen years. Anyway, can we play at your house?”
Harlan nodded. “I don’t see why not.”
“Excellent. Thanks.” The judge squinted over at Tag and Ryan. “Forgive me. I don’t seem to have my glasses. Do I know you?”
Dmitri sidled closer. He lifted his glass of lemonade to take a drink and fumbled with his veil. Emily might have laughed at him, but at the moment, he held their fate in his hands.
“John Taggert. This is my son Ryan.”
“Brian Murphy.” They all shook hands, and the judge squinted. “You fellas staying on the island for long?”
Tag nodded. “For the summer. Maybe longer.”
Emily heard a little squeak come out of Lilly’s throat and saw a smile tilting at the corners of her mouth before her sister quickly looked down at the ground.
“Longer, huh?” Judge Murphy’s voice rang out louder than the church bell. “Well, in that case, do you play poker?”
“Yes, I do.” Tag nodded.
Emily was fairly certain she heard Dmitri chuckle. That dude needed to mind his own . . . beeswax. Her breath went shallow, and Lilly leaned against her just the least little bit, still staring at the ground, her smile fading.
“Good,” the judge said. “Never trust a man who doesn’t gamble. That’s what my daddy used to say. Anyhow, we play every Thursday, and you’re welcome to join us. You don’t mind if we add another old man to geezer-night poker, do you, Harlan?”
Another tiny noise from Lilly’s throat, this one more of an oh shit kind of gasp.
“Not at all.” Even if Harlan did mind, his face was as impassive as Stonehenge. Emily hoped hers was, too. She didn’t even dare look at Ryan or Tag. Lilly’s boyfriend playing poker with their father? Not good. Not good. Not good.
Chapter 10
“Oh, Gigi, this place is in much worse shape than I thought.”
Sunday afternoon, Emily stood in the center of a Victorian cottage that had not been updated since before women had the right to vote. She’d remembered it as being much nicer. The exterior footprint was large enough, and at least the place had a wonderful, if somewhat dilapidated wraparound front porch, but inside the rooms were tiny and dark with tarnished brass light fixtures that would never pass today’s inspection standards. The plumbing was questionably noisy, the kitchen seemed to have a slant that made all the cabinets hang open, and that moss growing on the roof was neither decorative nor harmless. She could practically hear it munching on the cedar shingles.
“I think this place has old-world charm. Like me,” Gigi answered.