“Island standards?” Dad’s brows pinch together in confusion.
“That’s what he calls Ireland.” My tone is flat and almost terse. Glancing at Jamie, I finally manage a real smile, albeit a small one. “Americans would never refer to Ireland that way. When we say island standards, we’re thinking of tropical islands, like the ones in the Caribbean.”
“Ah. Fair play.”
While we let the pastry dough chill and the steak marinate, Jamie asks my dad about his travels, saying I’d mentioned he was traveling over the Thanksgiving holiday.
Dad leans against the counter. “Yes, a trip to San Diego to meet with some clients. I’d been hoping to extend my trip but we had the family emergency.”
“Right, terrible. Very sorry about your son.”
Dad nods. “It’s hard to believe. Sometimes I forget he’s gone.”
“In the beginning, it doesn’t seem real.” Jamie draws in a breath, watchful.
“You lost someone close to you?”
Jamie’s thinking about Jude, of course, but it’s not what he says. “Grandparents. A while back.”
This is starting to feel like a horrible cat-and-mouse game.
My dad takes a long swig of wine. “Luckily, it gets easier with time.”
Jamie’s head cocks, looking ready to deny that. Instead, he turns his attention back to food prep. Though he says nothing more, I picture the way he looked as he hung his head over the sink talking to his brother. The pain radiating from him in that moment is something I can never un-feel.
For the third time today, I feel like retching.
49
JAMIE
While my left hand sprinkles a crushed sleeping pill from Allendale’s room into his food, my right hand pours mushroom gravy over the top to dissolve the powder.
All three of us will be eating off holiday china with Christmas trees around the edge, but the man’s made it easy to identify his drugged portion because he’s said no to baked apples with black walnuts, which both Sawyer and I are having.
I set Allendale’s dish next to the full wine glass he’s just refilled. I’ve been careful not to consume anything Allendale’s handled. Working for my cousin’s Crue has made me paranoid, as has the conversation of the past two hours where Allendale seemed determined to hear about the dead younger brother I haven’t admitted I have.
Sawyer fills water glasses, and we join Allendale at the table. I’m craving a pint but need a clear head, so I resist when Allendale indicates again that I can help myself to any bottles on the bar cart.
His flushed face is puffy from alcohol and salty appetizers, making the hollows below his eyes more pronounced. He’s lumbering through middle age. Something my brother will never get to do. A flash of Jude’s small coffin fills my mind.
Just a little farther, Jude. This part is almost done.
Sawyer doesn’t eat much and is noticeably on edge. Setting a hand between her shoulder blades, I massage her tight muscles as a subtle reminder to keep her game face on.
“If you’re tired, Sawyer, why don’t you lie down?” her dad says.
“I think I will. I’ve got a headache.”
“I’ll get you some medication,” Allendale says, rising.
My eyes narrow, and I stand as well. She’s not consuming anything from his hand. “You don’t need meds, do you?”
Her head turns toward me sharply. Following my lead, she says, “No, just sleep.”
Once she’s set her dish on the counter and disappears upstairs, Allendale leans back in his chair.
“The food is delicious.” Despite saying so, he’s only eaten half a portion. Combined with the wine, it should still be enough to knock him out long enough for me to get into the cabinet he’s keeping locked tight. I’d bet my last quid his dirty secrets are in there.
