Chapter 37
A couple of chickens clucked next to McKenna’s feet later that afternoon as she read the most recent text message from Briella.
Hey Girly! Love the pictures! That B&B looks so cute even if it does need some updates. The goats are adorable. You should definitely include them in your portfolio. Let me know when you officially apply for the LA job. Praying for you!
“Thanks, friend,” McKenna whispered.
Even though she was already feeling more confident about her portfolio, she wasn’t anywhere close to feeling ready to submit. Still felt like something was missing. That edge. That pizzazz. That one final oomph.
Or maybe it was just the ring that was missing.
How could she make a play to move to Los Angeles without knowing for certain her baby sister would be taken care of in Nebraska? She couldn’t. Until that ring was on Bobbi’s finger, McKenna wasn’t hitting submit on anything.
Which made her think maybe it was time for another call to the airport.
McKenna tossed some seeds on the ground for the chickens, then pulled out her phone.
“Hiiiii,” McKenna said when the elevator-jazz-hold-music finally stopped playing after serenading her on hold for five minutes. “This is McKenna Boston. Hate to bother you, but—”
“Is that so?” said Vivi. McKenna recognized Vivi’s voice as well as her own at this point. “See, I have a real hard time believing that you hate to bother me considering how many times you’ve gone out of your way to bother me in the past forty-eight hours alone.”
Had it only been two days since she and Nate left the airport? Felt so much longer. Maybe because so much had already happened. Meetings. Minutes. Murder.
Magnetism?
No. McKenna shook that last thought away.
Silly. She and Nate weren’t attracted to each other.
Or at least he wasn’t attracted to her. She may’ve been a teensy-weensy bit attracted to him when he looked all concerned about her for that split second before he realized she was screaming about a dead chicken.
Or when he lifted his shirt and revealed a very nicely toned—
“Hello?” Vivi’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Right,” McKenna said, clearing her throat. Focus. “Just wondering if you had any update on the missing luggage.”
She wiped her palm against her jean shorts, then showed her empty hand to the chickens in case they needed proof she was out of food.
“The missing luggage you hate to bother me about,” said Vivi.
“That’s the one.”
“Well, guess what. I hate spiders. You think I go out of my way to bother spiders? No. I hate them. I go a mile out of my way to leave all the spiders alone. I don’t call them up on the telephone every hour of every day and say, Hiiii . . .”
“So no update on the missing luggage then?”
“Stop bothering me.”
“How about I check back in an hour or two?”
Vivi had already ended the call.
McKenna slid her phone inside her back pocket and tilted her face to the sky, hoping none of the chickens worked out their sorrow over the loss of Ms. Agnus by pecking at her toes. Probably shouldn’t wear Birkenstocks around grieving livestock.
“What am I doing?” she whispered to the sky. Other than wearing inappropriate footwear, harassing irritable airline workers, and fighting off a silly crush on a guy who made her want to punch him in the arm and kiss him at the same time.
No, not kiss him. Well . . . maybe kiss him?
No. She was here to help her sister land the perfect man while paving a path for herself to the perfect job in LA. She was not here to form any attachments. Especially to a guy whose life was in New York.
So what if the guy had a strange way of making her lower her guard?
What if he had a way of making her feel safe enough to act silly one moment, then dump out all the emotional baggage she typically never shared with anyone the next moment?
Guys like that were a dime a dozen, right? Probably? Maybe?
Dark-feathered chickens jabbed the ground around her for more scraps.
“Do you guys ever feel confused? Course not. Look at you. Maybe I should talk to the goats about this one. No offense, but I’ve heard they’re better listeners. Plus, you guys sort of freak me out with your pointy little beaks.”
Her phone rang in her pocket. “Shoo,” she said to a chicken eyeing her toes a little too hungrily. Then “Hello, Mr. Sullivan.”
Even if she hadn’t seen his name on her screen, she could have guessed it was him. He was pretty much on a one-to-one ratio with her calls to Vivi at the airport.
“B-but the triplets’ birthday photo shoot,” Mr. Sullivan’s warbled voice said after she broke the news that she hadn’t made any progress on finding the ring. “Bada bing, bada boom. That’s what you said. You already missed the Fultons’ anniversary shoot yesterday.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this trip to get so complicated. But listen, Kristi messaged me and said everything went fine. I think she’s more than ready to fill my shoes.”
“Nobody can fill your shoes.” She hoped he was speaking figuratively, but considering he’d asked her on more than one occasion Just how big a shoe size do you wear?
she couldn’t be sure. “Triplets, McKenna. Triplets. I need my assistant. Remember how long it took me to train you? I can’t go back to scratch when there’s three babies involved.
Please tell me you’ll be back for that.”
“I . . . probably won’t.”
“Oh,” he groaned.
“But you know you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know that. Nobody knows that.”
“Well, I do. You’ve been doing this job for ages. Three babies will be a snap. You can handle them in your sleep.”
“Nobody can handle three babies in their sleep. Nobody can handle three babies awake. I need you. Why are you still there? It can’t just be for a ring. Are you in danger? Blink twice if you’re in danger. Did you blink twice? You did, didn’t you?”
“I did not.”
“What about now? I hear a strange sound.”
“You’re probably just hearing the chickens.”
“Chickens? Now I’m blinking twice.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Not soon enough. You might think Kristi can handle a hundred children between the ages of newborn and twenty, but she can’t handle the bar mitzvah, we both know that much.”
The triplets could handle the bar mitzvah. “Mr. Sullivan, I need to go. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Oh, I hope something changes if it means you’re coming back sooner.”
That made one of them. Even if McKenna found the ring today, would she honestly want to hop on a plane straight back to Nebraska?
At least here she felt useful. Helping Nate out with the to-do list, helping his mom out with her website, even just taking minutes for random quirky meetings, filled a cup inside McKenna that she hadn’t known sat empty until now.
Once Mr. Sullivan ended their call, McKenna jogged back up the porch steps just as Gus opened the screen door. “Guess what!”
“I couldn’t even begin to.” If McKenna had learned anything, it was to never guess what anyone in this group had to say.
“We just talked Georgie into giving us another clue,” Gus said, dragging her by the elbow inside.
“It’s the last one I’m giving today,” Georgie shouted from the dining hall. “No more after this.”
“Wait for me,” Evie yelled from the bathroom behind the check-in desk.
“Hurry up,” Gus yelled back.
“Wouldn’t it be something if it was Sammy Davis Junior?” Barb said.
“Isn’t he dead?” said McKenna.
“That’s why it would be something,” said Barb. “I’m just thinking of all the dead celebrities whose names end with a y that it would really be something if they weren’t dead, you know?”
“Like Louis Armstrong?” Gus said.
“His name doesn’t end with a y,” said Barb.
“But he is dead,” said Gus. “Same for Louis Prima.”
“Louis Jordan,” Barb said back.
“Louie Louie,” said McKenna, naming that song nobody really understands the words to other than Louie Louie, which kind of seemed in line with whatever game Gus and Barb were currently playing.
“The celebrity’s name isn’t Louis,” said Georgie, stepping out of the dining hall with her folders and binders clutched in her arms. “I already told you his name ends with a y.”
“Wait,” Evie yelled from the bathroom over the sound of a flushing toilet.
“Don’t give the next clue yet,” she yelled over the sound of the sink running.
“Wait for me,” she said again, breathlessly waddling past the sign-in desk with her bag of knitting supplies on her shoulder and the bathroom hand towel clutched in her hands. “Okay, I’m ready. What’s the clue?”
Georgie pointed at the group forming a semicircle around her. “Just remember this is—”
“Top secret.”
“Mum’s the word.”
“Won’t tell a soul.”
They all talked over one another, pressing a finger to their lips.
“I don’t know,” Georgie said. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything yet.”
“Aw, c’mon, Georgie,” said McKenna. “We lost a very beloved chicken this morning. We need something happy to think about. Hit us with the clue.”
“Okay, just remember you can’t repeat this clue to anyone. I mean it. Nothing. Nada. Especially to Lottie.”
They all talked over each other again. “I know, I know, I know.”
“Nobody’s talking to Lottie.”
“You know I’ll forget the clue by tomorrow anyway.”
“Okay.” Georgie motioned everyone closer. “Next clue. I just hope it’s not too easy. I don’t want to completely give it away.”
“Oh, would you just give the clue already, so I can go home and take a nap,” said Barb.
“Don’t get your knitting in a knot. Here it is.” Georgie motioned everyone in even closer, her right eye squinting and her left eyebrow angling upward, which apparently was her secret clue-giving face. “He’ll know what it means.”
McKenna stared back at her pointy-eyebrowed squinty face. “Who, Gus?”
“No, that’s the clue,” said Georgie.
“What’s the clue?” said Evie.
“He’ll know what it means,” said Georgie.
Barb’s forehead wrinkled. “The celebrity will know what it means?”
“Think about it,” Georgie said to Barb.
“I am,” Barb said back, “and I don’t know what that means.”
“He’ll know what it means.”
“You can keep repeating it all you want, but nobody knows what you mean,” said Barb.
Georgie grinned. “You’re going to kick yourself later. It’s so obvious. I can’t believe you’re not getting it.”
“He’ll know what it means,” McKenna whispered.
“See?” Georgie slapped her thigh. “I knew I made it too obvious.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” McKenna said. “I’m just repeating the clue.”
“He’ll know what it means,” said Georgie.
“He’ll know what it means,” said Gus.
“He’ll know what it means,” said Evie.
“I’m taking a nap,” said Barb. “And hopefully you know what that means.”
“She gets cranky when she’s tired, doesn’t she?” murmured Evie as Barb clomped down the porch steps.
“She’s having a bad pepper season,” murmured Gus.
Honestly, a nap didn’t sound bad to McKenna. These past few days had been exhausting.
But first, maybe one more call to the airport.