Chapter 44
To Do:
- Safety tips for California
- Buy Christmas presents
- Hide wine in every room-vases?
Luke’s housesmelled like turkey, stuffing, and despite Claire’s best efforts, burnt gravy on Thanksgiving Day.
“Goddammit, Martha Stewart, how do I carve this bird?” she screeched at her phone. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead, and her hair was getting more frazzled by the second. She picked up a knife and stabbed it into the twenty-five-pound golden brown turkey in front of her. After quickly surveying the room, she pulled a hidden bottle of wine out of the dishwasher and took a hefty swig.
The house was teeming with an eclectic mix of people. Against her better judgment, she had decided to celebrate making it through the worst year of her life by inviting all of her and Luke’s families from both sides. Her Thanksgiving binder and food preparation timing spreadsheet lay abandoned on the breakfast nook, covered in flour and breadcrumbs. She had dismissed him from the kitchen half an hour before to corral his relatives.
Luke walked in now, wearing his tool belt and carrying a hammer. Rosie sprinted in after him, looking jaunty in her turkey-themed bandana.
“Everything smells amazing,” he said.
Claire pouted. “Your green beans look way better than anything I made.”
Luke wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. She relaxed a millimeter.
“Just so you know, your mom is offering tarot readings in the ballroom right now.” The warmth of his breath on her neck nearly distracted her from the gravity of his words.
She swore. “Please tell me she’s reading George’s cards and predicting an untimely demise?”
Since arriving an hour ago, Luke’s brother had loudly berated everything from Luke’s home décor to Rosie’s bandana.
“He’s probably about to plummet face-first into an Olympic pool full of cash.”
“Oh, hi, George,” Claire said as he opened the front door and walked into the foyer. Speak of the devil. “What were you doing outside?”
He slapped a legal pad on the kitchen island with zero regard for Claire’s ever-shrinking counter space. “Listen, Luke. We’ve gotta talk about your pool. In the lawyer community, we call that an ‘attractive nuisance.’ All you need is one neighbor kid hopping over that fence and drowning and you’re screwed. That fence has to be at least six inches taller, and you need a couple of signs.”
“I just remembered there’s a piece of molding in the ballroom that was never fully secured to the wall. I wouldn’t want Sophia to get hurt,” Luke said, walking straight back down the hallway. George’s five-year-old daughter, Sophia, had seemingly inherited nothing from her father. She was sweet and well-mannered and loved to help her mother, Stella, bake. George trailed after Luke, still talking about the pool. He was so not invited to Christmas Eve.
Damn it. The turkey was still whole, and everything else was done. With every second that ticked by, the side dishes were cooling down. At this rate, she’d give everyone food poisoning.
She had half a mind to storm into the basement and pull her stepdad off his ladder. She had witnessed him carve the turkey at Thanksgiving last year. He wasn’t a big fan of tense family gatherings and had excused himself to install dimmer bulbs in Luke’s theater room while Claire’s nephew, Ryan, played video games. When she had last checked on them, Claire’s sister, Charlotte, was assisting, holding a flashlight in one hand and a very large wineglass in the other. She was less than thrilled about the prospect of sharing the same roof as Jack.
The doorbell rang. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Claire said to no one.
Rachel, Luke’s mother and Barney’s attorney, stood at the door. Her posture was so erect that it looked like she had had a pole surgically attached to her spine. Claire let out a long, slow breath. They hadn’t seen each other since Claire’s visit to the prison. If she was going to kill anyone at this family function, it was going to be Rachel. But Luke had requested they try to make amends. She was the only parent he had left.
“Hello, Claire.” At least she had gotten her name right today.
“Please come in.” Claire briefly considered sprinting out the front door before closing it behind them.
“Where should I put the salad?” Rachel brandished an expensive-looking wooden bowl.
“There’s a couple of banquet tables set up in the ballroom,” Claire said, returning to the turkey and gesturing with the carving knife. “Thank you for coming. George and Stella are in the ballroom with Luke. Sophia was looking for you earlier,” she added. Even though she desperately needed help carving this turkey, she would rather shut her head in the oven than ask Rachel.
“She’s a dear little thing.” Rachel moved past Claire to set two bottles of wine on the counter. She didn’t make eye contact and instead spoke to the refrigerator. “You should know I am no longer representing Mr. Windsor. I recused myself. He admitted he only hired me because Luke is my son, and he knew it would drive you crazy.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Claire said, furiously whisking the gravy. She could only imagine what Rachel would have to say if there were lumps in it.
Rachel continued to avoid eye contact. “Things have been hard since the divorce and George’s death. Work was all that I had left. I really thought Mr. Windsor’s case would be the defining case of my career. I didn’t think about what it would cost. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. No wonder she had been such a nosey nightmare. Although Rachel was essentially still a vial of nitroglycerin coated in acid and porcupine quills, burying herself in work to avoid personal problems was something Claire was an expert at. It wasn’t excusable, but it was understandable.
“I’d like to offer my services, if you ever need them, for your business or personally. Free of charge, of course.”
“I did assault a couple of Barney’s friends in July, so I may need to take you up on that. Thank you, Rachel.”
As Rachel disappeared, Claire’s heart rate settled like a ticking bomb had just been removed. That was probably the longest conversation she and Rachel had ever had without threatening or belittling each other. Claire reached back into the dishwasher and took another swig of secret wine before turning back to the turkey.
The front door opened. If that was George coming back in with another complaint, she was going to drown him in the gravy.
Mindy rushed into the room, looking a little worse for the wear. Her raven hair was drawn back in a messy ponytail, and there were bags under her eyes.
“Hey, Min,” Claire said, putting everything down to give her friend a massive hug. “Did you finish hanging up all your art last night?”
“I did.” Mindy yawned. “By the way, you left your bar cart in the apartment.”
Claire stepped back to the turkey and resumed staring at it. “That was a housewarming gift for you.”
“Thank you. And thank you for subletting to me. I know what that place means to you.”
Claire shrugged. “I’m glad it’s going to someone who will carry on the shenanigans. Plus, everyone in that apartment complex saw me naked. It was time for me to go.”
Mindy giggled. “Ooh, top shelf,” she said as she pried open a bottle of the wine Rachel had brought. She poured a generous serving into a long-stemmed wineglass.
“I can’t wait to see it all re-decorated. How are you doing?” Claire asked with genuine concern.
“I’m fine. It was good to get out of that place. Too many memories of Gavin there.”
Claire reached over and squeezed her hand. It had been months since the incident, but Mindy was still struggling. Gavin, as it turned out, had used his connection to Mindy to feed information about Claire to ESA.
“Love you,” Claire said, smiling sadly at her friend. “Any chance you know how to carve a turkey?”
“Give me that.” Mindy grabbed the knife. “I need to stab something.”
Claire began moving side dishes to a bar cart that she had repurposed.
The doorbell rang again. “For fuck’s sake!” She dropped a foil-wrapped tub of mashed potatoes onto the cart and whirled around.
Jack and Tanya stood on the porch. Claire let them in, and Tanya immediately began babbling.
“Brianna couldn’t make it, sweetheart. She has to be on set tomorrow for Private Sarah,” Tanya said, rushing in and kissing Claire on both cheeks. “We made a tofurkey for anyone else with dietary restrictions,” she added, brandishing it proudly.
“Thank you so much. Could you set it on the cart? And then you can go straight back the hall, double doors at the end. We’re almost ready to eat.”
“Of course, sweetheart. What a beautiful home. The energy is wonderful in here, except at the front door. You might want to grab a bundle of white sage. Are these floors original? The stonework out front is just breathtaking,” Tanya rattled off in one breath, not even waiting for a reply. She walked down the hallway, inexplicably knocking on the walls every few feet and pausing to listen.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jack had not followed Tanya.
“A quick minute,” Claire said, setting another dish on the tray as Mindy hacked at the turkey.
“What’s up?” she said when they had made their way to the front porch.
“A professor from Venor has been declared missing.”
“Who?”
“Dr. William Taylor.”
Claire gasped. Dr. Taylor was a notoriously difficult business professor. She and her freshman roommate, Courtney, had taken one of his classes. He had been so upset about a group of test scores that he had thrown them from his fourth-floor office window and told the class they could collect their exams from the courtyard below. Courtney had almost failed the class but had scored a passing grade after the final.
“Do you think—was he?—”
Jack nodded. “He was listed as the faculty advisor for the fraternity. The FBI reached out for questioning at the beginning of the fall semester, and he kept postponing. He disappeared right before Thanksgiving break.”
A realization struck Claire. “I think he slept with Courtney Stevens. She said she had slept with a professor for a passing grade. She was so close to failing that business class, and she was going to need it to continue her major. It had to be him.”
“Every federal agent in the country is looking for him. He can’t stay on the run forever.”
“And we still don’t know how many members of ESA exist?” She didn’t really want the answer to this question. Things had been quiet since July, but the fear of retaliation had never quite left.
“We’re working on it,” Jack said. “And one more thing.”
Good Lord. What now?
“The office of Internal Affairs conducted an investigation of your case. A West Haven cop has been fired for leaking information to the press.”
“What? Which one? Is that how they knew about the notes?”
Jack nodded. “Officer Jordan. He was looking to support his gambling habit.”
Claire sighed. “Well, at least he wasn’t secretly in ESA. Thanks for the update. Could you help Mindy with the turkey? I really need to get everything on the table.”
“Sure thing.” They walked back inside. He took the knife and meat fork from Mindy and began expertly carving the turkey.
Mindy grabbed Claire’s elbow and dragged her into the living room behind a wall, out of view of the kitchen. She handed her a flask.
Claire guzzled from it and handed it back. What was that? Rum? Tequila? It was so metallic she couldn’t even tell. “Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to invite all these people?”
“Because you have a big, beautiful heart,” Mindy said and elbowed her in the ribs. “Plus, we’re celebrating four whole months with no nonsense from ESA.”
“Thank god for that,” Claire said, stepping back into the kitchen and loading the last of the food onto the cart. “Ready to do this thing?”
The doorbell rang. Claire froze. They weren’t expecting anyone else.
Deciding that there were enough people in her house to take on any enemies who may be at the door, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to the front door for the millionth time that day. She froze mid-step.
Wendy and Jason stood outside and appeared to be arguing. If they were here to serve her papers for the kidnapping, this would officially go down as the worst Thanksgiving ever. Strictly speaking, Wendy still had an open lawsuit against her. She had postponed their follow-up mediation appointment a total of eight times, which was really throwing a cramp in Claire’s schedule.
Claire opened the door. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi, Claire. Could we come in for a second?” Wendy asked. For once, she wasn’t wearing anything cleavage-revealing or skintight. There wasn’t a single sequin on the sweater dress that hung from her thin frame.
“Okay,” Claire said slowly, pulling the door open wide. What in the hell was going on? Had she not suffered enough?
“Oh, you have a lot of company,” Jason said, gesturing to all the cars in the driveway and voices coming from the ballroom. “Maybe we should come back later.”
“No, I need to do this now,” Wendy said, a strained smile on her face. She took a reusable grocery bag from Jason and handed it to Claire.
Claire cautiously opened it and peered inside. She pulled out a teardrop-shaped glass award. The Planner of the Year award. What the hell?
“I don’t understand,” Claire said.
Wendy looked incredibly constipated. “It should have been yours. I cheated to get it anyway. You saved me from those idiots. I would probably be dead if it wasn’t for you. Today is supposed to be a day of giving thanks, so I wanted to give my thanks to you. Even though you kidnapped me and forced me to eat lemon yogurt.”
“Well, thank you,” Claire said, setting the award on the table and fighting the urge to plunge it and her hands into a pot of boiling water.
“And one other thing.” Jason nudged Wendy.
“Right,” she said. “I’m dropping the lawsuit.”
Claire blinked. “You’re what?”
“Yeah, I called the mediator this morning. It’s over. It was stupid in the first place.”
The crushing weight of potential financial ruin that had stubbornly clung to Claire’s back for the past six months lifted. “Thank you,” she said and gripped the bar cart for strength. “I appreciate it. Well, thank you for stopping by. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, yeah. We’ll, uh, see you later,” Jason said, grabbing Wendy’s elbow and half-dragging her toward the door.
“Bye, Claire.”
“Bye,” Claire said, waving at the woman who had tried to ruin her personal and professional life more times than she could count.
Wendy and Jason paused just outside the door and appeared to be arguing again. Jason looked at his phone and shrugged animatedly.
Oh no. Don’t do it, you idiot. Cursing herself, Claire opened the door again.
“Do you guys want to stay for dinner?” With any luck, they would create such rampant chaos that Rachel wouldn’t be able to find anything about Claire’s dinner to complain about.
“We would love to.” Wendy dragged Jason back into the house.
“You can follow me,” Claire said as she pushed the cart back to the ballroom.
“Luke, can you set two more places at the table?”
The next morning,Claire awoke feeling fantastic despite the absurd amount of carbs she had scarfed the night before. She hadn’t sleepwalked since moving in with Luke the previous month. She quickly showered, applied makeup, and found a dress that wasn’t covered in dog hair.
She tiptoed downstairs, stopping in the small room across from Luke’s office that she had decided to claim as her own. She opened her laptop and pressed send on the email draft she had agonized over for the past month.
Then she went into Luke’s office and found a ring light, boom microphone, and an expensive-looking camera. She arranged them as best as she could and dragged a bar stool into the middle of the living room.
There were footsteps on the stairs. “What the hell are you doing?” Luke asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he entered the living room. “It’s like seven a.m.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m making big changes. I emailed a business consultant on how to expand my business in the United States and maybe break into the international market for proposals in Europe. Maybe.”
He stopped mid-step and blinked. “You did? I thought you said you weren’t ready.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, there may be something to this whole therapy thing after all.” Claire smoothed a strand of hair back into her bun. She had been seeing Sawyer’s mother, Dr. Goulding, for the past three months.
“Okay, but you said?—”
“And—sorry, I know we’re working on our communication. But this is important. I’m ready for you to interview me,” she said, gesturing to the camera. “It’s time to put this behind me.”
“Claire, I don’t want to interview you. I don’t want you to have to relive that, ever.”
“Shut up and get behind the camera,” she said. “I love you, and I want to do this for you. I know it’ll make every difference in your documentary. I’m ready. And, you know, it might help to talk about it,” she said, parroting his words back at him.
“What did you say?” He was smiling.
“It might help to talk about it,” she mocked again.
“No, the other part.”
“Oh. I love you,” she said, butterflies in her stomach the same as the day they had met. The words had been on the tip of her tongue since Luke had said it in the hospital parking lot, and she had been planning on saying them for the first time in a dramatic way, possibly with fireworks or a musical group or at the very least a cheese fountain. And now they had tumbled out without her even realizing.
“You admitted it now, you can’t take it back,” he said with a laugh, drawing her into him. His kiss was passionate, tender, and it filled her to the brim with liquid light.
“Never,” she said, looking into the eyes of the man who had changed her life. They were calm this morning, more sea than storm. Sure, he drove her crazy seventy percent of the time. And he was sort of responsible for her plunging into the Seine River. And he had lied to her about a number of important things. But they had grown a lot in the past four months, both as a couple and as individuals. Luke had vowed to tell her the truth even if it was scary or uncomfortable, and Claire had kept her promise to never again hide from him any knowledge about murderous cults.
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a binder. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” Claire said. And for the first time, she meant it.
What kind of Christmas gift does notorious grump Luke Islestorm give? Check out this sweet and steamy bonus scene to find out.