Sufficient Evidence by Macy Al

Author:Macy, Al [Macy, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller, amazon
ISBN: 1697675999
Amazon: B07YQC39TW
Published: 2019-10-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

A good lawyer can read minds. Jen was interested in me romantically. I knew it. I’d invited her to one of our family dinners, and she’d accepted. Since Nicole was back at law school and Toby was off on his backpacking trip, Carly and I were the only family. The dinner was at my house.

Carly arrived first and sniffed the air. “Meatloaf again.” She had a twinkle in her eye. Actually, she seemed a little extra happy, although no one but a twin would have noticed.

“Tonight,” I said, “the chef has prepared minced shoulder of beef spiced with a robust blend of garlic and onions and blended with chopped bacon, grated Parmesan, and—”

“And Cheerios.” She used the sign for “cereal,” the index finger looking like an inchworm crawling in front of her mouth, but I knew what she meant.

“Of course.” It was our dad’s recipe.

She tilted her head toward the man beside her. “Bro, this is Zach.”

Zach was indeed muscle tough and undeniably sexy.

I shook his hand. “Thank you for flying out here, Zach.” I smiled. “Hold on. Shouldn’t you be checking out the house or something?”

“ASL only, please. Just a second.” He walked over to one of Toby’s framed photos, looked behind it, then came back. “All clear, sir.” His ASL was halting but not bad.

I gave my sister a private wink, and her eyes twinkled some more.

While Carly was giving Zach a tour of the house, Jen arrived. She wore what Nicole had taught me was called an LBD: Little Black Dress. She’d added a black choker or strap around her neck. Whatever you call it, it worked, and it wasn’t too formal for dinner. I told her she was dazzling.

“Wow, nice job on the living room.” She walked around, giving it the once-over.

Rejecting the strict Victorian look, the one the house had come with, I’d steamed off the red-and-black wallpaper and painted the walls pewter gray. The plush carpet was a darker gray, the couch and chairs, white. Tall bay windows had a view of the harbor when it wasn’t foggy.

The door to my work in progress, my man cave, had no doorknob, but I pushed it open and showed Jen how it was coming.

“Well, you’re turning into quite the handyman.”

“Yeah, I’m slow though.”

“No rush.”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

At dinner, I found myself on the ASL translator diet: My hands and mouth had a full-time job translating the brisk conversation—no time for eating. Jen was careful to look directly at Carly when speaking, giving her a chance to lip-read and me a chance to shovel in some meatloaf. After a dessert of home-baked, definitely-not-burnt Toll House cookies, Carly and Zach left.

Jen suggested we have a drink or two. I tried to read her intent on her face, but she wore her exasperatingly inscrutable expression. Sure, it was a stereotype that Asians were inscrutable, but perhaps the subtle facial cues of other races aren’t obvious unless you grew up experiencing them. Maybe if I’d grown up in China I’d think Westerners were inscrutable.

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