Chapter 8
“I know I shouldn’t say this, but I love drunk Krystal.
I mean, I love you all the time, but this is fun.
” It was freezing out, but Berkley had grabbed an old family quilt, a couple bottles of prosecco and a bunch of mini desserts and cheeses from the grocery store.
Now, two hours later, they were sitting at a deserted park on the merry-go-round stuffing their faces.
“I’m not drunk.” Krystal sniffed once before she downed her prosecco. Then she picked up a petit four and popped it whole in her mouth. “Just tipsy.”
“It’s sexy when you talk with your food showing.”
Krystal rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Whatever. I’m not even mad anymore. Just…” She let out a short scream. “Look, I get it. Mike is busy with his new job. I’m busy too, and I thought we were partners. Part of me thinks…”
Berkley straightened. “Is he cheating on you?”
“What! No. Oh my god, I don’t think so. That would never even…” She trailed off, frowning as she took another sip of her bubbly.
“No, of course he’s not. You just paused so I panicked.
Mike would never cheat. He loves you too much.
” Berkley’s ex had cheated and she’d been pretty blind to it—in the beginning.
It was impossible to imagine solid, stoic Mike cheating though.
Or Krystal not picking up on it. “How many times has he texted you?”
“Seventeen last I looked.” Her tone was dry. “I think he’s given up.”
“Micah sent me some pictures of the house. Everything looks good if you want to head home and see everyone.” She couldn’t get a read on her sister though.
“I’d like to run away, but since that’s not an option…” She stood, wavered on her feet once, then straightened. “Are you good to drive?”
“I had one glass two hours ago. I’m more than good. Though you better save some of that gouda for me.”
“My birthday, I’ll eat it all.” She popped another cheese cube in her mouth before she started to help clean everything up.
But Berkley shooed her away. “I’ve got this. Just chill. This is your day and you’re not doing anything else.”
Her phone buzzed again, the insistent sound getting on her last nerve.
“Oh my god, who keeps texting you?” Krystal asked as they trekked back to her car.
“Oh…I don’t know. Probably Nick Storm,” she said, wincing a little.
“Why…oh. The job with Clover. What happened with that? I thought you were meeting up with her…oh, today.”
“Yeah, earlier this morning. I’m not sure it’s going to work out. And we don’t need to talk about it now anyway.” She didn’t want to burden Krystal with all the details, not when she had enough on her plate.
“I’d rather talk about that than complain about myself anymore. Please, distract me.”
“Fine.” She filled her sister in on how that morning had gone on the short drive back to Krystal’s house—which had ridiculously huge balloons outside, spelling out happy birthday.
Inside was more of the same. It was probably over-the-top—as it should be—but her boys were being so sweet and Krystal was actually laughing, so bring it on.
Krystal was much more forgiving than Berkley would have been.
Or maybe she was just covering up her hurt and burying it down deep.
Because that’s what Berkley liked to do with her own feelings. Suuuuper healthy.
“You look a little murdery,” Berkley murmured to her brother Apollo as she approached him next to the food buffet on the island.
He was angrily popping meatballs onto his plate. “Probably because I’m contemplating making Krystal a widow.”
“It’s fine, they’re going to work it out. Besides, you’ve all made her cry on her birthday before. Except me.” Berkley knew that if she didn’t keep Apollo distracted, he was likely to go off on Mike.
Which would just ruin everything.
“Wait, what?” He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
She smirked. “Yep. Every single one of you has made her cry on her birthday at some point,” she whispered, realizing she probably shouldn’t feel smug, but also not caring.
Because her siblings all had their shit together and this was the one thing she’d done better than them.
Damn, my bar is really low. Pathetic. She shook her head. Whatever.
“You’re full of shit.”
She shrugged. “I mean, sometimes, but not with this.”
Apollo eyed her, then nodded at Micah. “You hear this?”
She steered them out onto the back patio where there were more decorations and a little dessert tower, to be joined by their brother Cormac as well. Cormac shoved a mini pink velvet cupcake in his mouth as she crowed about her victory of not making Krystal cry.
“You look so smug,” Apollo muttered as he finally accepted that she was right.
“You’re just lucky I’m not wearing my sash saying so. I didn’t want to make the boys feel bad,” she added. “But I have one, and next get-together, I’m wearing it. Might even make myself a matching crown.”
Her three brothers stared at her.
Cormac was the first to blink. “There’s something wrong with you.”
“There’s something wrong with all of us.” She patted his arm and headed back inside because she wanted some of those meatballs, and to check on her sister.
Luckily things were normal enough and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves for the next couple hours.
Though she had no doubt that Krystal and Mike needed to talk things out. Because the smile Krystal was putting on for Mike, oh that was super fake. Maybe she wasn’t burying her emotions the same way Berkley did. Hell, hopefully she wasn’t.
***
“Is everything really okay with them?” Micah asked Berkley as he walked her out to her car later. “I can’t believe Mike actually forgot her birthday.”
“They’re fine.” She had no idea if they actually were, but wasn’t going to say otherwise. “He dropped the ball because of his new job.” Again, she had no idea, but now wasn’t the time to speculate.
“Okay good.” He shoved out a sigh. “So…”
“You found something?” She glanced at the front porch, was very aware of the doorbell camera.
In response he got into her passenger seat, so she slid in behind the wheel and started the heater going full blast.
“I’m still digging through his files, but I can tell you that Reed had a lot of gambling debts. He was about to go into business with Storm Construction. A gut and reno job on a few condo buildings, from the contract I found.”
That lined up with what Krystal had said about talking to Nick Storm about the dead guy. The dead guy she was trying not to obsess over, or think of by name.
“How was he going to pay for the renovations?” Because that kind of job wasn’t cheap.
“That’s the thing. In the last week before he died, he paid off his car and then made a couple-thousand-dollar deposits into his business account. Nothing huge to draw flags, but I can’t figure out where the money came from.”
“Does he have… Oh my god, like a bookie? We could talk to Myron.” Krystal’s long-ago ex who was sort of a jerk, but weirdly charming.
Micah gave her a dry look. “If either of us talks to him, you know he’ll tell Krystal.”
“Damn it, yeah.” The guy might be shady as hell, but he would definitely tell their sister if they stopped by to ask about a dead guy she was investigating. So that was off the table.
“And you don’t need to be worrying about this,” Micah added.
“Are you kidding me? It’s all I’ve been doing.
” The knowledge that she’d woken up in a dead guy’s house with no clue how she’d gotten there was like this constant buzz at the back of her skull.
It never shut off. She alternated between thinking of that and…
thinking about Nick Storm and his stupid, handsome face.
Gah! She really had to get over it. It wasn’t like they’d ever shared anything anyway.
Except that morning at the coffee shop had been so…fun. And she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, to hope for something better than her past. Maybe that was what was hanging her up so bad about him. She’d allowed herself to feel hope. Man, she really did need to get over him.
“I get that, but you can’t go investigating this because Krystal will find out. I swear I’m on top of it. I’ve got some feelers out to see who else this guy was in debt to. And Krystal and her partner are on the job. It wasn’t you, so they’ll figure out who killed him.”
“I guess.” Or more like she hoped.
“No, no guessing. You have to live your life like normal.”
“I am.” Even if it felt weird. It wasn’t like she’d even known the guy, but still. “But there’s still someone out there who dumped me at his place. Unless it was him, but that makes no sense since he was murdered.”
“I know.” Micah’s expression was grim. “I’m trying to figure that out too. You’re being careful everywhere you go, right?”
She sniffed indignantly. “Of course.” Technically she hadn’t been paying attention to anything today because she’d been so worried about Krystal, but she kept that to herself.
He watched her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ve got my phone on me. Call me if you feel tempted to do something stupid.”
She just rolled her eyes, but nodded as he got out. And then instead of heading home, she surprised herself by calling Nick.
Not because she wanted to talk to him—a lie she told herself. Fine, whatever, she liked the sound of his voice. Even if she wanted to simultaneously punch and kiss him at the same time. She bet he’d be a good kisser, all intense and eager. Or maybe she was just projecting.
“Berkley.” He answered on the first ring, sounding slightly out of breath.
And she hated that she wondered what he’d been up to. She didn’t need to think about him at all. “Hey. Just returning your call.” There, she sounded polite and professional. And maybe a little disinterested.
“I know it’s Sunday, but would you have a few minutes to meet up? Ah, I’m at the office but I was heading out to grab a bite at Pasta Paradise… Dinner will be on me.”
She paused because she loved that place—who wouldn’t love a place called Pasta Paradise—and even if the thought of having dinner with him rattled her for more than one reason, she wanted to hear what he had to say.
Because he wouldn’t be asking her out to talk unless he and Clover had discussed the job.
And she was weak—she desperately wanted the chance to go through the Queen Anne mansion—aka the Carmine Mansion.
It was historical and the kind of thing she’d been dreaming of since she started her business.
Bessie Carmine, a famous jazz singer, had bought it in the fifties, and had been collecting things of interest for the last seventy years.
Rumor had it that the original owner had been a bootlegger in the thirties, then it passed hands a few times before Bessie snapped it up and held on to it.
When she’d died, he and Clover had managed to buy it quietly before it even went on the market.
But Berkley couldn’t let him know how much she wanted it, so she had to sound casual. “Ah, okay, I guess I could. I’m about fifteen minutes from there. Will that give you enough time to be there?” She was going to stuff her face on his dime and just maybe salvage this contract.
“Yep. I’ll see you then.”
She hated the little flip in her stomach at his words. This was business, pure and simple. Nothing more. So what if she found him mildly attractive? God, she couldn’t even lie to herself with a straight face.
But she was a professional.
And maybe if she repeated it enough, she’d start to believe herself.