It was late, about an hour after seeing our last party out the door, but I had a cold beer and sales reports to keep me company while my mind unwound the day. Mel had left with an empty threat about never returning and Chef had yelled at me in French for ten minutes between gulps of Bordeaux. I was this close to asking how his parents were doing back home on the ranch in Montana, where he was known as Bart and had grown up speaking English, but I’d chosen enough violence for the day.
There was a knock on the window and it took me a long second to swivel toward the sound. Sunny waved and motioned for me to join her on the covered deck ringing the restaurant on three sides.
I closed my laptop and grabbed the beer. If I was going another round with Sunny, I required fortification.
I stepped outside and immediately appreciated the fresh evening air. It was a perfect June night.
“I want to apologize,” she said, her words spoken as if she’d practiced them a hundred times. She dropped into a chair. Forced a smile. Reached in and twisted my stomach into a knot. “We didn’t expect such a huge turnout for the full moon ceremony, and we didn’t plan on it running so late.” She spread her hands over the table and I got the impression she was working hard at staying on-script. “I know it made things complicated for you tonight and I’m sorry. We’ll do better at communicating our evening events to you in advance.”
I sat across from her and sipped my beer. “Can I ask, respectfully, what the fuck a full moon ceremony is?”
She laughed and I’d swear the sound electrified the night. At the very least it electrified me. “It’s all about setting intentions and charging your crystals and burning your shit.”
I bobbed my head. “Right. Of course.”
She tucked some hair behind her ear and glanced away. “From what I hear, you burned some shit of your own tonight.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
She hit me with an indulgent smile as she propped her feet on the chair beside me. Her toenails were painted blue like the Caribbean. I wanted to scoop her up and shift her feet to my lap so I could run my hands up her legs. I also wanted to understand where the fuck those thoughts were coming from so I could attach them to a rocket and shoot them into outer space.
“You fired someone mid-service. Devon, was it?” When I nodded, she went on with a wide, knowing smile. “Good call.”
I watched her for a second until understanding cracked like an egg over my head. “He was the one who bothered you?”
She shrugged in a way that could mean anything. “Is there any chance you broke the lock on our dumpster this morning? Or late last night? Have you been playing with crowbars, Beckett?”
I was too tired to respond with any heat. “No, Sunny, I did not.”
“Yeah.” She hummed to herself. “I didn’t think so.”
“Could’ve been kids,” I said.
Nodding, she said, “Very possible. Or those notorious raccoons are wielding tools now.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the motion-sensitive alerts from last night. Save for a couple of coyotes and some of the large birds that nested around the cove, I didn’t see anything remarkable. I added a reminder to my running list about installing more surveillance cameras. The items above that readset up a meeting with Parker’s guidance counselor, schedule medical and dental visits for Parker, find Parker’s vaccination records, passport for Parker.
I was so fucking behind on everything. It was a wonder this kid was still alive. And that he had any teeth.
“So, what do you do for fun?” she asked.
I stared at her through a sip of my beer. “Why aren’t you yelling at me? Isn’t that how we do this dance? I don’t know what to do with you when you’re not yelling.”
She lifted a bare shoulder. It didn’t seem like she owned shirts with sleeves much in the way she didn’t seem to have any skirts cut above the ankle. Maddening. “You’re going to have to figure it out.”
“Is this some kind of cease-fire? I’d say surrender but I don’t get the impression you do much of that.”
“Ah. He’s learning.” That sadistic grin appeared. “Just answer the question.”
“Living in Singapore was pretty fun.”
“I’ll grant you some leeway there but I asked what youdofor fun.”
I studied the beer label. “I…I do fun things.”
She rolled her hand for me to elaborate. “For example?”
“At the moment, I’m managing an oyster bar, parenting a teenager—badly, I should note—and buying a criminal defense attorney several summer homes. If that’s not fun, I’m going to need a review of the definition.”
