“Asshole’s dumb enough to shoot a cop, he’s dumb enough to leave prints somewhere,” I predicted.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He was moving his legs restlessly under the thin white blanket. “Heard Liza has a few new guests.”
I nodded. “Naomi’s parents. Showed up this morning. Guess they’re anxious to meet their granddaughter.”
“Heard that too. Also heard that you made quite the impression coming downstairs in your birthday suit.”
“Your grapevine needs some pruning. I was wearing underwear.”
“Bet her dad loved that.”
“He handled it.”
“Wonder how you stack up against the ex-fiancé?” he mused.
“Her parents weren’t fans of the ex,” I said. Though I wasn’t sure how I compared in Naomi’s eyes.
I peered down at Nash’s untouched lunch tray. Broth and ginger ale. “How the hell are you supposed to survive on clear liquids?”
My brother made a face. “Something about not taxing the system. I’d kill for a burger and fries. The boys are too scared of the nurses to sneak in any contraband.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised. “Gotta head out. Some shit to take care of before the big family dinner tonight celebrating Way’s first day and Naomi’s parents coming to town.”
“I hate you,” Nash said. But there was no real heat to his words.
“Let this be a lesson to you, little brother. You gotta make your moves faster or else someone else’ll make ’em for you.”
I started for the door.
“Tell Way to let me know if anyone at school messes with her,” Nash called.
“Will do.”
“Tell Naomi she’s welcome to swing by any time.”
“Not happening.”
Liza J’s house no longer smelled like a mothball museum. It might have had something to do with someone opening the door to let four dogs in or out every five minutes.
Then again, it probably had more to do with the fact that rooms that hadn’t been touched in fifteen years were getting Naomi’s floor-to-ceiling treatment. Dusty drapes and the windows behind them opened wide.
The lights were on in the den, a room that hadn’t been used since the house had welcomed paying guests. I spied Stef behind the desk on the phone, staring at the laptop in front of him.
There was music coming from the kitchen, and I could hear the sounds of people socializing in the backyard.
Maybe not all change was bad.
I knelt to give the pack of dogs their rubs. Naomi’s parents’ dog, Beeper, was standing on one of Waylon’s ears.
“Fuck yeah!”
The exclamation came from the den. Stef closed his laptop triumphantly and stood behind the desk, arms overhead in a V.
The dogs, excited by his excitement, charged the doors and barreled into the room.
“Okay, no. Everyone out,” Stef said. “These are very expensive Gucci loafers you’re destroying with your doggy toenails.”
“Good news?” I asked as he exited the den. The dogs took off toward the kitchen, moving as one clumsy organism of slobber and barks.