Jackson lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbed his brow. "Following up on Nate is much easier than building a house. The process is—I can't even explain how complicated and exhausting the damn thing is. And the ground is frozen, so there's nothing we can do until spring, but since we have that time to kill, we might as well change the plans seven or eight hundred times."
"Don't forget about the wedding," I added.
"I don't know whether I should be concerned or relieved that Annette has prioritized the house." He continued rubbing his brow. "I figure she wouldn't be driving herself nutty over closets and cabinets if she didn't intend to stick around." He glanced up at me, a look of pure dread on his face. "She wants us to visit a home design studio in Portland this weekend."
"Isn't that what you do best, sheriff? Escorting Annette and Brooke up and down the coast while they shop and brunch and whatever else it is they do?"
It was such a lame attempt at drawing information about Brooke out of him that I wanted to kick my own ass.
"We haven't seen much of Brooke lately. She has a lot on her plate." He frowned, glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Last I heard, she isn't available to compare bathroom flooring samples this weekend."
I drummed my fingers on the desk, considering my options while the sheriff and I stared at each other. They weren't good options. Everywhere I turned, I boxed myself into a new corner. I couldn't ask about Brooke and whether she needed some help without tipping my hand hard in that direction. I couldn't ask whether her father's condition was deteriorating because it was possible Jackson didn't know about it.
"Annette's baked a number of banana cream pies for Judge Markham these past few weeks," Jackson continued. "I'm told it's his favorite, but Brooke hates them. Can't stand the smell of bananas. The conversations Brooke and Annette have about those pies are, well, they're entertaining."
"It's always fun to be the target of Brooke's simultaneous love and hate."
Jackson pushed to his feet and opened the door, hooking a glance at me over his shoulder. "You would know, wouldn't you?"
And that was how I realized Jackson Lau was better at his job than I thought.
Chapter Twelve
Brooke
Prime Rate: the interest rate at which banks lend to their best customers.
February
Annette:Jackson just sent a million roses to the shop to celebrate six months of cohabitation.
Brooke:That sweet boy. Someone taught him right.
Annette:That's the truth.
Brooke:As you know, I love you dearly.
Annette:Yep.
Brooke:Do you think you could share with me some of the downsides of that cohabitation? Because I love you and don't want to hate you for having unlimited access to good dick and someone to take out the trash.
Annette:I wouldn't say it's unlimited access. He does work.
Brooke:And you've had sex in his office enough times to count on both hands, so let's not split hairs on that point.
Annette:Here's one. He prefers to store leftovers on plates covered in plastic wrap. He doesn't see why anyone would move food to a storage container when it's on a perfectly good plate.
Brooke:What a savage. Pyrex is life.
Brooke:Keep going.
Annette:He doesn't believe in expiration dates.
Brooke:What's that now?
Annette:Yeah, I bought a bunch of ricotta cheese in November. Two quarts. I wanted to try a new cheesecake recipe, but I never got around to it. It has since passed its expiration date, however, Jackson won't let me toss it because he believes it's still good. So, we have two quarts of aging cheese in the back corner of the fridge.
Brooke:That's an interesting belief system.
