“But Gina has layers, lots of layers,” Sawyer said. “She’s not always what she seems to be. Or maybe she ismorethan we see.”
“And you know this how?” Flick asked.
Sawyer shrugged again. “Gut instinct.”
In light of Gina’s strange request about the storage locker—which she had to execute as soon as possible—maybe Sawyer was onto something. What was Gina hiding? And why did it have to be such a state secret?
Sawyer’s mouth smiled but his eyes remained serious. Dammit, her friend had seen too much, done too much—none of which he spoke about—and his experiences in war had left him jaded and mistrusting. He’d always been such an open, sunny soul, and still acted like he was, but now she could see the shadows in his eyes.
“Anyway, we visit her most nights. Want to come with us?” Flick asked. “You can drive us in your new, shiny, expensive SUV. Or I can drive and you can ride shotgun.”
“Fat chance.” Sawyer dropped a kiss on her temple. “Send the First Lady my love.”
Chapter Three
KevTheFirefighter:Saw Flick attempting to run today. She bakes a mean blue velvet cupcake but let’s just hope that she never has to run from a burning building or for her life. Could get ugly . . .
Flick hated exercise but the two red velvet cupcakes she routinely had for breakfast went straight to her hips and thighs, so every couple of days she dragged on a pair of athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and her sneakers and hit the road for a run. Since she was up most mornings at four to get the bread, pastries, and muffins into the ovens for the breakfast crowd who rocked up on their doorstep at seven for their sugar and caffeine hit, she occasionally took a couple of hours after lunch to go for a jog. Or a half-jog. Okay, a walk.
Walking was still exercise so she dragged Rufus along because she figured that, like a naughty toddler, the more energy she got him to expend under her supervision, the less mischief he would get up to when she wasn’t there to keep a beady eye on him. Wrapping Ru’s leash around her fist, she glanced down into his laughing face and she had to grin.
He was a rogue, a chewer of shoes, an assaulter of the girl dogs in the neighborhood, and a digger-upper of flower beds, always newly planted. None of these traits endeared Flick to her new neighbors and she’d had several uncomfortable conversations regarding his behavior. He hogged the bed and drank out of the toilet bowl and thought the sun rose and set with her. Then again, she did rescue him after he’d been knocked down by a hit-and-run driver on a lonely, isolated stretch of road three hours south of Mercy three months ago.
“Can you try to not jerk my arm off today, Ru?” Flick asked as they ran away from Grandma’s house—her and Pip’s house now—towards the series of biking and running trails in the forest to the west side of town. In the mornings and evenings, the trails were packed with health nuts getting sweaty, but since she tended to walk more than run, and because people tended to freak when they encountered a dog the size of a Shetland pony, she preferred the empty trails in the early afternoon.
As she walked, Flick’s mind drifted to Aunt Gina. In the space of four days, her life had been flipped upside down and inside out and she needed to find a way to maneuver through the minefield that her darling aunt—and she was using darling in its most sarcastic form—had dropped her into. Before her visit to the hospital, her mind had been preoccupied with the memories of meeting Sexy But Dangerous but now all she could think about was the nightmare on Willow Street.
Her mind was chocka-block, to the rafters full of what she’d seen at Gina’s house. Which was an adequate description of exactly what the third-floor bedrooms of Gina’s house had looked like—chocka-block, to the rafters full.
Of crap.
Maybe that was unfair, Flick admitted. But the reality was that her aunt, the classy, immaculately stylish doyenne of Mercy, was a compulsive hoarder. In fairness, it wasn’t like the rooms and, she presumed, the lockers, were full of old brochures, empty takeout containers, and dead cats. They were full to bursting, sure, but her aunt had managed to bring class to her compulsive buying. There were mini mountains of clothing, most of the garments still had price tags attached, and piles of multi-colored shoes. Another room contained what she knew the antique trade referred to as “smalls”—knickknacks and oddities, old toys, dolls, and what she presumed was costume jewelry. The third room contained furniture. Lots of furniture. God knew what the storage lockers contained...art, books, Egyptian mummies?
Flick didn’t have a problem with her aunt purchasing anything she wanted to but the sheer volume was overwhelming and scary. She had more shoes than thirty fashionistas could wear in one lifetime, more winter coats than there were cold days in Siberia, and enough stock to provide the inventory for an antique shop.
She now understood why Gina wanted to keep it a secret. It wasn’t trash but it was still obsessive. Compulsive.
A little crazy.
Pippa, with her orderly and rational mindset, her minimalist lifestyle, and her conservative personality, was going to have a million fits. And when Pip’s accountant’s brain started to tally up the amount of money that was locked away in those rooms—not forgetting the three—three!—storage lockers . . . well, that brain just might explode.
Speaking of money...Flick pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. Her not-so-darling-at-the-moment aunt answered on the first ring.
“I really don’t feel up to another lecture from you, Felicity,” Gina said in lieu of a greeting.
“Not going to give you one,” Flick responded. “I just wanted to ask you a question...”
Gina’s silence indicated consent so Flick continued. “Why did you tell me?” she asked.
“Because Pippa found that receipt.”
“Yeah, she did. So you’re hoping that I am going to come up with a solution you can present to Pippa, and your boys, to lessen the shock?”
“You’re very good at seeing the bigger picture,” Gina said. “While my children have been touched by tragedy, you’ve been slapped by it and you realize that my little....issue isn’t the worst thing in the world. They’ll be shocked and hurt and confused, and a plan will help them deal with that.”
A planshewould have to conceive and execute. Flick pulled a face.
“Why Gina? Help me understand this.”