Emily felt herself filling up with gratitude, but also filling up with caution. “Oh, Gigi, that is so generous. It really is, but I can’t let you support me that way. I need to be supporting Chloe and myself . . . by myself.”
“You will be doing it by yourself. I’d be hiring you, not offering charity. You think I could get anyone else I trusted and who would put so much blood, sweat, and tears into one of my places? You’ve been doing a wonderful job at that cottage over the past month, and so far, you’re doing it fast and on budget. I have to be honest, kid. I had my doubts, but now I’m sure you can handle the job.”
“You didn’t think I could do it?”
“Nope, but I’m always willing to bet on you.”
There was a compliment in there someplace. Maybe. “Well, don’t go counting those chickens, Gigi. The place isn’t finished yet.”
“I am not the least bit worried, and listen, Delores Crenshaw was looking a little frail at church last week, too, and her cottage is right next door to the place you’re working on now. You know, it occurs to me that I could be your business partner. I won’t do any actual work, of course, but I can tell you who seems likely to die next so we can be first in line with an offer.”
“Wow. That’s morbid yet clever,” Emily said, standing up. “You guys have given me a lot to think about, but right now I have to get over to the cottage and see how my crew is doing. Yesterday, they wasted an hour trying to get a faucet to work before realizing Horsey had turned off the water supply to the house to do some plumbing upstairs.”
Gigi’s confidence might be misplaced. There was still plenty to do on that cottage renovation. And Chloe’s desire to move here was most certainly influenced by the fact that she’d been on vacation for the past several weeks. She might change her tune when the harsh weather hit and she was back in school. Still, it was worth considering.
Wasn’t it?
Chapter 26
“Will we be witnessing your skills with the greased pole, Mr. Taggert?”
It was Independence Day on Trillium Bay, and Vera VonMeisterburger was in charge of fun and games. A fact which Ryan found ironic because nothing about her said fun, and nothing about her said games. Except maybe the Hunger Games. She seemed like the type who would thrive in a dystopian society pitting little children against each other.
“Here is a sign-up sheet,” she said, waving a clipboard at him. “There are also contests for watermelon seed spitting, hot dog eating, and pie eating as well. Or if you fancy carnival-type games, we have several, as you can see.” She gestured toward Trillium Pointe, which was full of striped tents, kites flying, banners waving, and so much red, white, and blue that there was no mistaking what day it was.
Ryan looked around, hoping to spot Emily. His chest whumped at the thought of her, and after their last few romantic encounters, he was getting suspiciously close to understanding how his father felt about Lilly. Something about those Callaghan women was simply irresistible. They’d found a few stolen moments over the past few days and had made the most of every one of them, and damn, if he didn’t start thinking about something else soon, he’d be pitching a tent of his own.
Off toward the library, Ryan saw the beekeeper playing an accordion next to a man playing the banjo. A patriotic little dog sitting next to them had been dyed with red and blue stripes, and all around him were kids running and playing, adults smiling and laughing. It was a slice of pure Americana.
“The greased pole, Mr. Taggert,” Mrs. VonMeisterburger said again, tapping his forearm with the clipboard. “I’m sure we’d all very much enjoy seeing you scale that mighty rod.”
“What? Oh, no. Sorry, no pole climbing for me today.” He walked toward a hot dog stand and saw Brooke and Gigi sitting at a picnic table. They smiled and waved. There was Yoga Matt, throwing softballs at a target while half a dozen young women cheered him on. June Mahoney and her sisters walked by and pretended not to know him, while old Bridget O’Malley sat on a bench wearing wraparound sunglasses that were as big as ski goggles.
Fifteen minutes of wandering around and still no Emily, but he did finally find his dad. They said their hellos, and Ryan couldn’t help but notice his dad looked fatigued.
“You feeling good, Dad? You look a little tired.” He rested a hand on Tag’s shoulder.
Tag shook his head. “Just up late with Lilly.”
“Oh, got it. No specifics, please.”
“No, it’s not that. We had a fight. She still doesn’t want to tell her father about us because Emily has her so convinced that Harlan is never going to speak to her again. I think the longer we wait, the worse it will seem. It’s not as if we’re doing anything wrong.”
Ryan felt his face scrunch a bit. “Well . . .”
Tag frowned. “Okay, ageism aside, Lilly and I are two responsible, single adults. All this sneaking around is ridiculous, and I don’t like keeping secrets from people. It’s just not in my nature.”
“I know it’s not, Dad, and if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think it’s much of a secret. My impression here is that everyone knows except Harlan.”
“They do? Well, that does it then. I’m telling Harlan today.”
“Today? With all these explosives around? You might want to rethink that.” Ryan looked around, counting how many nearby items Harlan could use as a weapon of Tag destruction.
“No.” Tag’s tone was adamant. “I don’t want to rethink it. We’ve tried it Lilly’s way, and all it’s done is make me feel deceitful and a little foolish. You know, I’ve played poker now for three weeks in a row with Harlan, and I can’t mislead him anymore. I have too much integrity for that. Plus, I like him.”
“You like him?” Ryan looked back at his father.
“Yes.”
“Harlan Callaghan?”
“Yes.”
“Chief of Police Harlan Callaghan?”
“Yes. Stop it. I know who I’m talking about.”
“Okay then.” Ryan shook his head. “I hope you like him well enough to be his son-in-law because there is a good possibility he’s going to want you to do right by his daughter. This is where I feel compelled to remind you he has a gun.”
“I know he has one, but he never carries it.”
“That works in your favor then. It’ll give you time to get away when he goes to load it.”
Tag did not seem to appreciate his humor. “You’re obnoxious. Have I ever told you that?”
“Yes, but I think I’m also right this time. Go ahead and tell him if you want to, but maybe don’t do it when he’s trying to monitor all the Fourth of July stuff and all the extra tourists. He’s pretty busy today, and I think that might be kind of a sit-down-over-cigars-and-whiskey kind of conversation.”
Tag looked frustrated, but Ryan could see him working through the various scenarios. “I suppose you’re right,” he finally said. “It’s gone on this long. I guess a few more days won’t matter.”
“Right, and in the meantime, we can spit some watermelon seeds. Doesn’t that sound fun?”