“Dad?” she called, crossing the room toward his office that overlooked the front porch. “It’s me. Lily.”
“Huh? What?” He turned from the window to blink at her, and it was there, the bewilderment in his eyes as if he didn’t know her. It had happened a few times before on the occasions when he saw her. There would be seconds of doubt, of outright panic, while he searched his mind, because there was a part of him that realized he should know her. It pained him; she could see evidence of that, too, in his expression. She knew he must hate it, feeling so vulnerable. She was no less disconcerted. It was as if the ground, or perhaps it was something more like the seat of power, was shifting between them. But she couldn’t pause now to sort out all the ways in which they might be affected if he was losing his mental grip.
“It’s Lily, Dad,” she said gently.
“I know that,” he answered. “What are you doing here? You didn’t call,” he accused.
“I have some—news and wanted to tell you in person. Where is Winona?”
“Gone to Oaxaca.”
“What? When?”
“Last Thursday. Her mother died.”
“Why didn’t she call me?” Lily sat down hard in the club chair across from her father’s desk, nonplussed. She and Win had once talked almost daily about everything and nothing—a book they’d read, a recipe, what Erik and AJ were doing. Lately, though, on the rare occasions when they spoke on the phone, it was only about Lily’s dad. “I didn’t think Win was in touch with her mom, not for years. Since before Erik was born.”
“She wasn’t.”
“Did he go with her?” It seemed logical that Erik would accompany his mother, and it would explain why he wasn’t picking up his calls.
But her dad said, “No. He doesn’t know her people. Win wouldn’t have gone herself if she wasn’t such a good Catholic daughter.”
Lily held still, feeling the prick of annoyance. She wanted to know how Win could leave without a word when she was the one reminding Lily’s dad to change his shirt. But Lily couldn’t exactly ask her dad that, could she?
“Before you go off getting your knickers in a knot,” he said, seeming to read her mind, “I made her go. She tried convincing me it would be fine if she didn’t, but I know better. She wanted to make her peace. I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.”
“Dad?” Lily said after a moment, and then she stopped and looked at her hands, clenched in her lap.
“What’s the matter? I’m getting the idea you didn’t come here just to check up on your old man.” He sat at his desk, holding her gaze.
“I wish you didn’t have to know,” she said.
“Is it AJ? Has something happened to him?”
“Yes,” she said, and she went on, keeping it brief, fighting to be matter-of-fact.
At first he was visibly pale and seemed shaken, but a moment before she might have gone to him, he slapped his desktop with his open hand and said, “What the hell?” as if she’d left out the vital part, the one that would explain it.
Lily said, “I was certain he would be here. You haven’t seen him?”
“No. But you know it’s a lot of horseshit, right?”
“Paul’s worried they won’t let him off so easily this time.”
“He wasn’t let off last time, Lily. He was cleared. By the Dallas district attorney’s office. Because they had no evidence. You know as well as I do he tried to stop that guy, tried getting the gun from him. A witness testified to it,” her dad added.
“When did you last talk to him?”
“Last weekend. He and Erik came by, scouting a place to roast the pig for the rehearsal dinner.”
The Hawaiian theme had been AJ’s idea, conceived when he and Shea had decided to forgo a honeymoon in Kailua in favor of saving their money. If they were going to make their shared dream of opening a restaurant serving food they’d grown themselves come true, they would need every cent. The luau was going to be held in the north pasture nearest the house; they could move it into the barn if the weather was bad. Shea and AJ, along with Dru and Winona—and Lily had offered to help out, too—were cooking most of the food themselves. It seemed like an enormous undertaking to Lily. Paul called it total stupidity. The wedding was a lot of do-it-yourself crap, and their woo-woo restaurant plan was an amateur effort that would yield amateur results. They’ll be belly-up inside a year, he’d said. Lily knew he was miffed, even hurt, that AJ hadn’t asked his advice, hadn’t sought out his help. The prediction of AJ’s failure was a salve, a means to feed Paul’s need for vindication. He didn’t tolerate failure, not his own or his son’s.
“I guess you’ve tried calling AJ.” Her dad eyed Lily from under his brow.
“Dozens of times.”
“Did he know the dead girl?”
“She was a friend of Shea’s, a bridesmaid.”
“Not the little gal Erik’s engaged to—Kate, isn’t it?”
“No. Kate is Shea’s maid of honor. This girl—Becca was her name, Becca Westin. The police are saying she and AJ dated—” Lily’s phone sounded, and she bent over the chair’s arm, scrabbling for it inside her purse. But it wasn’t AJ, and straightening, she shook her head at her dad, mouthing, “Shea.”
“Mrs. Isley?”
“Yes, Shea, have you heard—”
“No, I was wondering if you—”
“—left message after message—can’t believe—”
“No, I can’t, either.”
They talked over each other, creating a disjointed hash of unfinished sentences that ended abruptly in an uneasy pause.
Lily broke it, saying she was at the xL. “I thought he might come here.” To be near Dad and Erik and you. The implication was plain if only to Lily—that AJ would choose the company of his grandfather, his best friend, and his fiancée over that of his mother. She ducked her glance to keep her father from seeing the hurt she knew was in her eyes.
“AJ didn’t do it, Mrs. Isley.”
Shea’s voice trembled, but it was the underlying note of her conviction that struck Lily, and she felt a rush of gratitude and relief—and a warm affection that surprised and disconcerted her. “No,” she agreed. “He didn’t.”
Shea said, “I’m supposed to call the police in Dallas, Sergeant Bushnell. I don’t know why he wants to talk to me, what to say. I don’t know anything.”
“He told—Sergeant Bushnell told Paul . . .” Lily hesitated, wondering if she should repeat it. What if Shea didn’t know? But this was no time for secrets. They would all come out now, she thought. Even her own might. “The sergeant told Paul that Becca and AJ dated.”
“Yes, but they broke up over a year ago. Becca introduced me to AJ. She was always taking credit for it, that she hooked us up.”
“AJ never mentioned—”
“Oh my God!” Shea interrupted. “Does Sergeant Bushnell suspect me? Is that it? He thinks I killed Becca because I was jealous?”
Lily considered it, the possibility that Shea could have a motive. Was it so far-fetched to presume Becca’s death was the result of some love triangle gone bad? Were the police investigating that idea?
“It’s ridiculous,” Shea said, unhappily.