The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Six

My first stop on the figure out what the ladies didn’t want me to know tour was the baking annex. I walked in, expecting to see Gram and Celia cleaning up. My plan was to pretend I was on an icing-tasting run then fire questions at them while their defenses were down.

The low rumble of voices didn’t register until I opened the door and found Celia and Harlan, Jackson’s dad, standing in the middle of the main room, locked in what looked like a top-secret conversation. Between Celia shaking her head and Harlan’s nonstop talking, I couldn’t figure out if I’d walked in too early or a step too late.

I also couldn’t just back out of the room again without it being weird, so . . . “Hello.”

Harlan smiled. Not a real smile. One of his fake lobbyist smiles. The kind that promised a ton of bullshit waited on the horizon.

He had what Gram called presence. He stood there, unmoving, and still seemed to take up most of the room. A man with a law degree and other academic accolades to his credit. He threw around his family’s reputation and his place in the community every time he walked out the door. Successful and well-dressed. Wealthy and fit. Confident and handsome in a chiseled and chilly sort of way.

His actual business title was political strategist. He made a living getting other people elected to office. He schmoozed and told stories. He made deals and lured in big-money donors. He worked on state campaigns for local politicians and on national campaigns for politicians who needed votes and influence in North Carolina.

He was successful and, if his eight-bedroom house was any indication, loaded. Celia told me during one of our calls that after some big transaction Harlan had bought a ninety-thousand-dollar car with cash—one of four cars he kept in those big garages on his property. The expense sounded so absurd I dug around for more info about him.

The words “advising,”

“polling,” “researching,” and “financing” were all over the “About Us” section of his company’s website. That and photos of Harlan with important figures. Athletes. Businesspeople. Politicians.

I could see hints of Jackson in Harlan’s face. Jackson had his dad’s nose and eyes. The same hair color though Harlan’s carried a touch of gray. Both checked the objectively good-looking box but the similarities ended there. Harlan was always “on”

and Jackson showed no interest in playing that game.

“Kasey. Welcome home. I heard you were in town.”

He nodded in the direction of the door. “Mags is in the house.”

His voice sounded all shiny and charming. No way was that real.

“Did you need something, hon?”

Celia asked.

I’d known Celia long enough to recognize her fake smile. The one she wore when talking with a particular lady from church who frequently took verbal shots that included the words if you had children you’d understand. With Harlan, Celia made an effort, which seemed like a waste of energy.

My gaze bounced from Celia to Harlan. Neither of them moved.

Harlan jumped in before I could come up with a good question to ask. “Is this a short visit to town or something else?”

The rumor network moved with amazing speed in this town. “Jackson told you I was here?”

“No.”

Uh, okay. Not sure how to interpret the quick response. “I needed to speak with Celia.”

“Of course.”

Harlan nodded but didn’t leave.

I didn’t think it was possible to find him more annoying and in-the-way than I already did. I was wrong. “I’m sure you’re almost done. I can wait.”

“You were in and out at Christmas.”

He nodded as if agreeing with his own comment. “We didn’t get a chance to visit, but I know you’re busy back in DC.”

He didn’t overtly attack. He’d perfected the art of looking and sounding engaged and interested. Still, I couldn’t kick the sensation of being assessed and measured.

Before I could respond, Celia cleared her throat but didn’t say anything else.

A warning. Be nice. Got it.

Be respectful and understanding even if the person you’re talking to is a complete asshat. Celia hammered that basic rule into my head from the time I got into that fight with Taylor whatever-her-last-name-was when she tried to cut the line at the climbing wall. Being seven, a tactful approach wasn’t my go-to response, but Celia told me to appease, not fight. Talk, not yell.

When it came to dealing with unpleasant people, Gram went with the more direct tell the bastards to go to hell reaction. I sided with Gram on this topic.

“I’ll be here for at least another week. Visiting.”

There. Neutral. Not bitchy. Somewhat respectful.

Harlan kept on nodding. “Interesting.”

Was it?

He finally stopped staring at me and turned to Celia. He shot her a huge smile that wasn’t one bit more genuine than the ones he’d delivered up until now. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Of course.”

Celia followed Harlan to the door, as if she wanted to make sure he actually left.

I fought the urge to run behind him and lock him out. Something about him annoyed the crap out of me. Maybe I still blamed him for his treatment of Jackson’s mom fifteen years ago. Maybe it was because Harlan possessed an I’m barely tolerating you vibe. Maybe it was because we’d never had a conversation of more than three sentences. Could be any of those or a combination of a few.

“What was that about?”

Because if he was bugging Celia, I would not hold back.

Celia busied herself with the dirty baking dishes. Moving them around. Stacking them on the counter. “We meet now and then. Usually not here because Mags isn’t his biggest fan, but he was my brother-in-law. So, I make the time.”

Should that be past tense? He still was her brother-in-law . . . sort of. “Don’t you find him a little—”

“Condescending? Fake? Annoying? Yes.”

She picked up a bowl that had cake batter remnants up the sides. “He usually keeps talking until I give in and agree out of exhaustion. I guess that’s what makes him successful at work.”

“He would fit in back in DC with that move. Not that I want him there.”

I rushed to add that last part. “He should stay here, taking people out for drinks or whatever he does.”

“He thrives on power. Craves the attention and wants to be right in the middle of the action so he can take credit for it.”

That was more than Celia usually said about Harlan. For the most part, she tried not to talk about him at all. “It’s all an illusion.”

“He’s not good at his job?”

That sounded like cosmic justice.

“Oh, he is.”

Celia’s smile came and went. “He’s also a very limited man who thinks he’s a great man.”

That matched how I viewed him. “So, delusional.”

“He’s tried to convince me more than once that he’s misunderstood.”

Celia rolled her eyes as she said the words. “He’s also explained why he was a saint for staying with Savannah as long as he did. Other men would have left because no man signs up to play nursemaid to a sick wife.” Celia mimicked Harlan’s speaking style. “And that’s probably all I need to say on that.”

Celia and Harlan had a longtime prickly relationship. He was the guy who cheated on her baby sister then counted down the minutes until she died so he could move on. “Isn’t it tough to be near him without kicking him?”

“Of course.”

Celia sighed. “I keep the peace with Harlan because it’s easier for Jackson.”

Harlan didn’t strike me as a man who would be supportive of Celia and her relationship with Gram. That was my biggest problem with him, but I picked an easier topic. “Isn’t Jackson a little old to worry about what his daddy thinks?”

Celia hummed, as if contemplating the question, which meant she was about to make a point that would defeat my argument. “Are you too old to worry about what Mags thinks?”

Yep. Just as expected. Score one for Celia. “No.”

She shrugged. “There you go.”

After handing me a spatula covered in leftover cupcake batter, she headed for the sink. I could smell the sugary vanilla goodness and thought about sticking the whole thing in my mouth but held off. For now.

I leaned against the sink, facing her. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Her focus stayed on washing the bowl. “In what way?”

More roadblocks. “You and Gram sounded unenthusiastic when I asked you about helping out around here. Now I wander in here looking to lick a mixing bowl or two and find Harlan lurking around.”

“Visiting, not lurking.”

“I prefer my description.”

Celia set down the bowl and wiped her hands on the nearest towel. “He does throw business our way.”

All I could do was snort. And lick the spatula. From my experience, Harlan operated on a quid pro quo basis. He likely stepped in here so Celia and Gram would owe him something.

“Let’s just say there’s a game I need to play to keep Harlan happy. I’m willing to play it because the returns are worth it. After a meeting with him I shut him out and return to the business and to my life with Mags.”

I loved hearing that. Loved how her face lit up when she talked about Gram even after all the years together. But I was here for another reason. Icing leftovers, sure, but the image of that locked cabinet wouldn’t leave my head.

“Back to my question about being okay. The reason I asked is because things seem a little weird around here.”

Celia stiffened. “How so?”

“Unless there’s a sprinkles thief on the loose I don’t know why you’re keeping them locked up in the pantry.”

“Ah, yes. We have equipment and supplies spread over the pantry, kitchen, and annex. We’re trying to rearrange and organize.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Things are getting moved around.”

Did that answer my question? “And the lock?”

Celia hesitated. “We had some spices and things that might have expired. We put them in there until we had time to check.”

Huh. She acted like it took a long time to look at a date and throw something in the trash. No, not buying it.

“I could help—”

“It’s taken care of.”

Sure, it was. “Right.”

She smiled in a way that reminded me of Harlan. “More icing?”

I took the second spatula. There was no reason to be rude, but I now had more questions than I did when I walked in the annex. I needed answers and I had less than two weeks to find them.

Time for a new strategy.