All In and Death by Patti Larsen

Author:Patti Larsen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Patti Larsen Books

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Chapter Seventeen

I naturally ended up at The Iris, not just because I had to pick up my dog, but because going home to an empty house and no one to talk to—Crew still out of town and my mind needing an opportunity to empty itself onto others—was about as far from appealing as I could get.

That meant I sat over a late dinner with Mom and Dad, pouring out what had happened, while my mother murmured her unhappiness in all the right places (I loved my mom) and my father grunted his stoic agreement before setting down his knife and fork and steepling his hands in front of him, elbows on the table, blue eyes on mine.

“It’s awful and frustrating,” he said, “and none of our business.”

He said what?

Dad went back to his dinner while Mom cast him a withering look before reaching over to pat my hand. “Your father doesn’t mean to make light of this, Fee,” she said, while he jumped with a little yip of surprise, reaching down to rub his leg where she’d obviously kicked him. “But he is right. You’re no longer employed in connection to the event and the death had nothing to do with you. You’ve been told to stay out of it, Fee.” Mom tossed her hands, looking at a loss for a moment before finishing with real regret. “I don’t know how else to say it, but this is one of those times we just have to admit defeat and let those we would prefer didn’t have control handle things they aren’t prepared to deal with.”

You know, my mother really was brilliant and practical and wonderful. And completely and utterly correct. That’s why it burned so much, made me wriggle on my stool, stab at the chunk of pork chop I’d just cut free, pushing it aggressively into the pile of mashed potatoes while picturing, instead, jabbing the tines into Robert’s ugly face.

“I talked to Kit Somersby,” I said, like Mom hadn’t just in the kindest and most loving terms informed me I should stand down. “She’s pretty sure she’s about to be replaced, some guy from Chicago.” I shot that directly at Dad. “Wouldn’t be an O’Shea connection, would he, you think?”

Dad chewed his food diligently, carefully carving another piece from his own meat, not making any comment, not looking up.

Feeding my anger all over again.

“Damn it, Dad,” I said, slamming my own utensils down while Mom meeped in protest, Petunia leaping to her feet with a chuffing growl, sensing my anger. My father looked up in his own surprise, blue eyes guarded. “When are you going to trust me enough to tell me what’s going on? Because this dog-and-pony extravaganza you pull out every time there’s a crisis? So freaking old, and I’m done with it.”

Dad carefully set aside his fork again, pushing back from his plate. “Thank you for dinner, Lucy,” he said, standing, reaching for his coat. “I’ll see you at home.” And left, just like that, Petunia whining softly as he did, licking her chops and looking up at me like this was my fault.

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