Chapter 18
18
Sloane
The weirdest part of having a bodyguard is how much I appreciate it.
And how much I’m disappointed that Davis isn’t my bodyguard.
Which I need to not be disappointed about.
I fell asleep on him.
I fell asleep on him .
I didn’t even bother offering to help him take care of his hard-on. Just fell asleep. After he ate me out.
We probably need to talk about that.
But not now. Because now, I get to pretend everything is normal while I go to work.
With a bodyguard.
Doc doesn’t blink when I tell him I need Giselle to hang out in the records room all day. He tells me to take the day off if I need to. Apparently he thinks planning a wedding the same week that my house is destroyed is a lot.
I don’t take the day off—working is easier than figuring out what I’m going to say to Davis when I go back to get my cat—but I do ask for a long lunch hour.
And that’s when I take advantage of having a security person with me.
Or try to, anyway.
Because there’s definitely a second-weirdest part, and that part is that I actually need a few minutes alone somewhere.
I haven’t spent a large portion of my adult years catching up on movies like Pirates of the Caribbean and Jumanji and The Lost City to not realize that I made a tactical error in not getting Thorny Rock’s actual journal for Davis.
What’s written on the pages sometimes isn’t enough.
Sometimes, you have to see how the pages fit together or if there’s something secret hidden in the cover or if there’s a page missing.
“What are your boundaries?” I ask Giselle over lunch as she drives me downtown to pick up a gyro before going to the next place on my list.
She slides me a look. “Repeat the question with more details.”
“Do your clients ever have to commit small, petty crimes that you know about but can’t talk about because of confidentiality and because you know that the crime will be fixed and everything will be put right again before it’s actually a problem?”
“Once again, repeat the question with more details.”
“If there were, say, a historical artifact that should be on display at a museum, and someone who’s like a museum curator were to…quietly and temporarily acquire that historical artifact for the greater good of the world…”
“Let Davis steal Thorny Rock’s journal on his own. Keep your nose clean. Especially while the sheriff’s still investigating what happened with your house last night.”
Welp, that does answer my question. “Why would you think Davis wants Thorny Rock’s journal?”
“It’s my job to know.”
“So he talks to his friends about what he’s up to?”
No answer.
“So he doesn’t talk to his friends about what he’s up to, but they send spies for updates?”
No answer again.
“You think he’s a bad influence on Levi?”
That earns me a dark smile, but just like Davis, once more, she doesn’t answer.
I snort softly and sink back into my seat.
Nice car. The leather’s buttery soft, the engine’s quiet, and the windows are tinted so that no one can see inside.
And I’m in it because there are people in this world doing nice things for me when they barely even know me.
Guilt that I can’t repay them starts to well up in my chest, and I order it away.
Be grateful, not guilty , I chant in my head.
“Thank you for being here with me today,” I say to Giselle. “It’s nice to feel less afraid than I was expecting to after last night.”
She nods.
“Can you please tell Levi thank you too?”
She nods again.
I don’t know if he intended his security agent to watch me or to watch Davis—I could honestly see the intentions going either way—but I’m grateful nonetheless.
Also, I suppose it’s possible there are other bodyguards out there watching Davis.
Like Cash and Aspen’s security team.
I noticed them hovering while all of us had eggs and pancakes and sausages over the campfire before I left to shower fast at Tillie Jean’s house and head to work.
“Have you heard any more about Patrick?” I ask.
“No.”
Giselle and I take out gyros for lunch at Yiannis’s deli, and she drives me to the museum, parking in the one spot on the street marked with a giant No Parking sign.
I slide her a look.
I didn’t ask to come to the museum to eat. I asked to go see Tillie Jean.
So is Tillie Jean at the museum?
She ignores my look—curiosity, I swear, I’m not being judgy about how very kind people see fit to take care of me—and hustles me to the back door, where she hits the right security codes to let me in the building.
“We change those codes every day ,” I say.
“My job to know them.”
Jealousy bites me in the ass.
She’s just like Davis.
They’d make a great pair.
Whereas I’m not dating. Ever again.
No matter how much my lady parts are still chilling in satisfaction after—nope.
Not thinking about that.
That memory goes in the to be dealt with a lot later if we actually have to box.
Inside the workroom, there’s no Tillie Jean.
But there is an Annika.
She’s sitting at the worktable with her mom and her mom’s long-term boyfriend, Roger. All three of them have sandwiches that look like they came from Crusty Nut.
My heart is beating overtime in anticipation.
So I do get to do some detective work today.
Except— “Where are the maps?”
“Safely tucked away.” Annika points to the large filing cabinet with extra-wide drawers. “We didn’t want to get food on them when they’re not the important part.”
“Is that Sloane?” her mom says.
Maria Williams went unexpectedly blind several years back, right as she was opening her own bakery over in Sarcasm, which is what led to Annika coming home and reuniting with Grady.
“It’s the pretty nurse lady with the red hair who put all this work into the shitheads’ ancestor’s museum,” Roger says to her.
Maria’s in dark sunglasses, as always, so I only see her smile touch her mouth and not her full face. “Oh, I didn’t know she had red hair. Copper or carrot?”
“Copper,” Annika supplies.
“Is she alone, or did that mysterious boy band guy come with her?”
“Hi, Maria,” I say. “I’m alone. Except for Giselle. She’s my bodyguard for the day.”
“Close protection specialist,” Giselle corrects.
“I love the word bodyguard in my romance audiobooks, but I’ll honor your title wishes,” Maria says. “Nice to meet you, Giselle. Do you have any loyalty to Shipwreck, or would you like one of the donuts from my shop over in Sarcasm? As much as I love my son-in-law, his donuts can’t touch my donuts. I smuggled some into town. Roger, please offer Giselle a superior donut.”
Annika’s smiling so brightly that her brown eyes are twinkling. “How about we save the trash talk for after we tell Sloane what you both know?”
Roger eyes Giselle. “She gonna tell those boy band guys?”
“I’ll be in the museum.” Giselle pins me with a no-nonsense, do not fuck with me look. “Don’t leave this building without me, or I will quit, and you’ll have to explain that to Ingrid.”
I nod. I’ve met Ingrid, Levi’s wife, and she’s every bit as awesome as Sarah Ryder. “Understood.”
Giselle lets herself into the public part of the museum, but she leaves the door cracked.
Maria tilts her ear toward the door. “Are we alone now?”
“Yes, Mama,” Annika says. “It’s safe to talk now.”
“Good. Sloane, how are you? I heard about your house.”
I suppress a shiver. “Better than expected, but I haven’t had to look at it yet today. The sheriff’s still documenting the scene, and Doc made me take a break this morning to call my insurance company to get that paperwork rolling.”
“Ew. Paperwork.”
“Agreed. Almost the worst part.”
It’s not, but no one calls me on the lie.
“Annika told me you stayed with that mysterious boy band guy last night.”
“I did.”
“Did you see him naked?”
“ Mama .” Annika pinches her lips together, but you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “They’re getting married on Saturday. I’m sure she’s seen him naked.”
She also shoots me a look like she, too, wants the answer to that question.
And I do my best not to blush.
I felt him, but I didn’t see him.
Whereas he saw pretty much all of me.
My toes curl inside my shoes while Annika’s look gets lookier.
Like she knows there’s a story I’m not sharing.
Thank goodness for Roger. He’s missing all of the undertones as he squints at me. “That one’s Davis, right? Too hairy. You probably couldn’t see him through all that hair even if he was naked.”
Annika laughs, then cringes. “Dammit.”
“Pee break?” I ask.
“Why is it always like this?”
“Do you want the real medical answer, or do you just want me to tell you that nature hates us?”
“Nature hates us works for me.” She rises and heads toward the public area of the museum too. “Don’t spill the good gossip without me.”
Roger snorts softly. “We’re not letting her within a mile of this gossip,” he mutters to Maria.
Maria nods back. “I know my girl’s strong and capable, but I agree. What we’re about to tell you stays with us and only us. Understand?”
Forget the gyro.
I want the tea. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you gonna tell that boy bander?” Roger growls at me.
Maria clucks her tongue. “Roger. He probably already knows.”
“But he might not.”
“But he probably does. Annika said he just knows things.”
“Doesn’t mean we have to hand him even a single word that he might not know. And if she’s marrying him…”
Maria turns her face in my direction. Her dark brown hair is tied up in a loose bun that I honestly suspect Roger did for her.
Annika talks about him all the time.
He’s the boyfriend we all wish we could have, and he makes me believe there are still good men out there.
“Sloane,” Maria says, “we need you to promise that anything you hear in this room stays in this room, and we need to get on with it before Annika gets back.”
“You’re worried that I’m going to give secrets to a guy who didn’t even want me to know what brand of toothpaste he used this morning?” I say.
Which isn’t a promise.
But also, he did go into the bathroom and move something around in there before I got in to use the toilet after his friends and Giselle scared the crap out of us this morning.
So it’s the truth.
Nowhere near the whole truth, clearly.
But in the light of the day, I can almost say that orgasms aren’t enough to talk secrets out of me.
Almost.
“You’re marrying a man who keeps his toothpaste preferences from you?” Maria asks.
Dammit . “Yes. It keeps the spark of excitement alive. Just like me not telling him what I know about the treasure hunt will.”
Maria keeps her face aimed at mine and drops her voice to a whisper. “Okay, then. That’s good enough for me. Now, we don’t know this for one hundred percent certain?—”
“But we know it close enough to certain to believe it’s the truth,” Roger finishes, also in a whisper.
“We weren’t sure we should tell you at all.”
“But if people are searching your house because they think you have clues to the treasure, then you need to know so you can protect yourself.”
I shake my head. “Why does everyone think that someone ransacked my house looking for things related to the treasure?”
Clearly, they did. But how does everyone else know it?
“Because of what happened at the museum during Cooper’s wedding,” Maria replies. “The actual audacity, to do that in broad daylight while a wedding was going on just outside.”
Oh.
That makes sense.
“Adrenaline junkies.” Roger snorts. “I hate people who’re that bold. But to answer your question, there’s been people over in Sarcasm asking things they shouldn’t be asking.”
“Things about things that Roger didn’t even know until about six months ago himself.” Maria reaches for him.
Roger finds her hand with his meaty paw and squeezes it. “Loyalty to Annika is the only reason we’re not telling the world. She’s happy here. That matters most.”
“This sounds ominous,” I murmur.
Maria leans further over the table. “The treasure isn’t in Shipwreck.”
I make a noise between a croak and a gasp. “You think it’s real too?”
Crap crap crap . That was loud.
I drop my voice to a whisper again and repeat myself. “You think it’s real?”
“Oh, it’s real,” Roger says. “Been real forever. And the reason nobody’s ever found it is because it’s not here.”
“How do you know that?”
He smirks at me. His dark beard has turned nearly pure white since I first met him several years ago, and his balding forehead reaches almost all the way back to the nape of his neck, whereas he had a little more hair on top a few years ago.
But that smirk—that smirk says I might be getting old, but I’m not getting dumb .
“You didn’t think I’d give you everything I had for a museum here , did you?” he says.
I shake my head. “Of course not. Not with the history between?—”
I cut myself off with a gasp.
He tilts his head toward me, a now you’re getting it if I’ve ever seen one.
“The treasure is the real reason why the towns fight?” I’m having to fight myself to remember to keep my voice low. “ Oh my god . Is the treasure in Sarcasm?”
His chair creaks as he shifts in it.
“We don’t know for sure, but we think so,” Maria says. “When Bailey comes home from college for Thanksgiving in a few weeks, the three of us are going to figure it out.”
My brain is spinning.
The treasure not being in Shipwreck would explain why it’s never been found, which, duh .
That’s something all of the Rocks said to me recently too. If it exists, it’s not here .
But to think it could’ve been somewhere in or near Sarcasm this whole time…
“Annika says Bailey’s loving college life,” I say while I mull over their suspicions and think back to what I know about the history of the two towns.
“There’s not a thing either one of my girls can’t do,” Maria declares. “She’s killing it.”
Maria’s two daughters are pretty far apart in age, but watching their relationship has made me wish I had a sister.
My brother’s wife isn’t quite it.
Lovely woman. We just have different outlooks and goals for life, and she doesn’t always appreciate that about me, and I don’t appreciate her judging me for not wanting to be just like her.
Grandma loves her.
Naturally.
She loved Patrick too, which I was thrilled about at the time, but now— ew .
Just ew .
“Now, what we need to know,” Roger says, “is if you’re willing to be Team Sarcasm to help us find the treasure. And since people seem to think you know where it is…”
I spread my hands in exasperation. “Until this week, I haven’t had the barest belief that it even exists. Why am I going to know where it is if we switch the town name where it’s buried?”
“You’ve lived in this museum for the past year,” Maria says. “You know more than you think you do, and everyone around you but you knows it.”
Davis said more or less the same thing.
But how am I supposed to know what I don’t even know that I know?
“Sarcasm was founded by Thorny Rock’s first mate,” Roger says. “Thorny Rock tried to poison him.”
Right.
Right .
It’s well-documented that Thorny Rock tried to poison Walter Bombeck, the founder of Sarcasm.
I’ve seen enough old letters referencing it to believe it’s true.
Probably.
Gossip is as old as time, and all it takes is one person in authority to say something for people to believe it’s true, apparently even without evidence.
“But why would Thorny Rock poison the one person who knew where the treasure was?” I ask.
Maria faces me. “Exactly that. Because he knew where the treasure was. We think Thorny was afraid Walter was going to go after it. Even back then, relations weren’t great between the two towns.”
“Because Thorny refused to let Walter have the better land when they split up,” Roger adds.
“That’s a pirate captain for you,” Maria sniffs.
Roger nods. “Only looking out for himself when his crew is the whole reason he made any pirate coin in the first place. Couldn’t have done it without them.”
I need time to think about this and figure out what it all means. “Do you have any idea approximately where in Sarcasm it might be?”
“That’s where you come in.” Roger claps me on the shoulder. “We think Thorny Rock kept a diary, and we think Grady’s shithead grandfather’s hiding it.”
I wasn’t allowed to cuss when I was growing up—it was unladylike and would send you to hell to boot—but there’s once again a long string of fuck s going through my head right now.
“If you can get your hands on it—” Maria starts, but she freezes.
Roger whips his head to the door.
I look too.
Nothing.
I open my mouth, but Roger holds up a thick hand, and a moment later, Annika pops through the door to the front of the museum.
Maria must’ve caught the noise of her shoes squeaking before Roger and I did.
“My grandmother had another map, but it burned up in a fire at her morgue about thirty years back,” Roger says to me.
“We think it was the real original map of Shipwreck,” Maria adds.
Yep.
More fuck s.
Because now I don’t know if they’re serious or talking in code.
I do know one thing though—my gyro is getting cold.
Annika slides a look at them. “That’s it?” she says. “There was a fire in Sarcasm and all you’re going to say about it is that the original map of Shipwreck was lost in it? That’s the whole secret you wanted to talk to Sloane about?”
“What else is there to say?” Maria asks her.
That a Shipwreck shithead set it.
That’s what else there is to say.
Annika’s eyes narrow and her mouth goes flat. “What did you tell Sloane while I was in the bathroom?”
Yay, my gyro tastes like sawdust and my stomach feels like its walls are lined with broadswords and it’s having a sword fight without my approval.
“We were asking about if she’s had any more famous patients at the office, and she was refusing to tell us. Can you imagine?”
Annika looks at me.
“What?” I say around a mouthful of food. “You know I can’t tell you either.”
“Don’t make me tell Grady to only make licorice-flavored cookies for your wedding.”
Giselle pokes her head in the door. “Don’t threaten my client or your husband won’t be baking anything at all. Sloane, what time do you have to be back at work?”
I look at my watch, and my body goes into both relief mode and fuuuuuccck mode at the same time. “About four minutes ago.”
“Hurry up, buttercup.”
Yeah.
I see why Davis loves her.
I definitely do too.
“Next time you’re in Sarcasm, you stop by my house, and I’ll see if I have anything else in the basement,” Roger says to me.
I shove another bite in my mouth and nod.
The people around me are losing their minds.
And I’m starting to buy into the thing where this treasure might be real. I might actually know things I don’t know I know.
And Davis knows more than he’s telling me.
Which begs the question?—
Is he taking care of me because it’s the nice thing to do, or is he taking care of me so that I’ll be on his side whenever I start to figure out what I know that I don’t realize I know?
The question turns my stomach.
But given my history of taste in men…I can’t trust the answer that I want to believe.