“We can make that happen,” Reed said, holding open the door for me as we stepped out onto Bay Street.
Three hours later, the pen wobbled on the table, shaking as Reed opened the home’s front door and then closed it. I did my best to tilt my head and only see him from the corner of my eye. He’d be less likely to notice me ogling him that way.
“Have a good run?” I asked as he removed white earbuds and stuck them in the case.
A ribbon of sweat beaded down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. It wasn’t that hot in Savannah yet, so the run must have been…exhilarating. He took off his shirt, and I bit my bottom lip. I did my best not to drool as he stretched out along the row of windows, putting his back on full display. It’s not like I could look away. I didn’t have the willpower. “A band is performing in the grassy area by those new condos. That has to annoy the residents.”
I laughed, except to my horror, it sounded more like a snort.
“Did you find anything good in James’s theory?” he asked, leaning over the table to stare at the notes I had stacked and sorted over the open spaces.
“Not really.” I tapped the paperwork from James with the tip of my blue pen. “Basically, he says her son Casey wanted money, but he is an only child and was going to get everything, anyway.”
His theory seemed flimsy. Even if it took him forty-two pages to make his point.
Casey refused to participate in a research interview for the podcast, but Delaney said that was pretty normal. Especially for a death as recently as the last year. He’d never have rented the place out for the week if he knew why we were really here. I absolutely needed to talk to him. But how?
Being sneaky wasn’t exactly my forte. I also sucked at lying. The one time I told my mother I was going to a friend’s house but actually snuck out with a boy, I confessed first thing the next morning. I hadn’t been able to sleep with the lie hanging over my head.
“You’ll figure it out, eventually,” Reed said, cutting into my random thoughts of the ex-boyfriend who dumped me before senior prom. “My buddy wants to meet for pizza. Are you up for taking a break?”
I dropped the pen on the table and pushed back my chair. “Sure.”
“Let me grab a quick shower and we’ll get an Uber,” he said, already walking toward the main bathroom.
The buzz of my phone pulled me away from watching the way his back muscles moved as he walked.
MOM: You didn’t tell me there were so many boxes, Elenore.
4
Another text came through immediately.
MOM: I don’t think they’re all going to fit in the garage. Where will we park?
I took a deep breath before unlocking the phone to respond. It seemed the movers with the boxes from my apartment had arrived. I was not excited about moving back home, and my mother seemed even less excited to have me.
ME: If you want me to get a storage unit, I can have it arranged once I get home.
I originally planned to have everything delivered to storage, but my mother went on and on about “why waste the money” and how she had plenty of room. She hadn’t parked her car in the garage in at least five years—after once backing into the door during a late morning.
MOM: No, it’s fine. I’ll make it work somehow.
If I’d been there in person, I’d have the movers pack everything back up and find a storage area without a second thought, but I couldn’t do much while in Savannah.
ME: Just have them toss the boxes in and I’ll take care of everything next week.
It was hopeless, but I had to try. Her lack of response confirmed it. She was more than likely waist deep in a kitchen box, taking notes to scold me about the condition of my pans.
“Everything okay?” Reed asked as he walked out of the bathroom freshly showered and, sadly, clothed.
I pushed back my chair and stood. “Yeah, just dealing with my mother’s obsession with cookware. Do you want to grab an Uber to the restaurant?”
“I already scheduled,” he said, holding up his phone.
We met our Uber at the curb outside the Airbnb and spent the quick drive discussing my recent move to my mother’s home and the plethora of boxes to keep her prying hands busy while I was in Savannah.
“Why didn’t you get a storage unit rather than use her garage?” he asked as our Uber pulled to a stop at the curb in front of a restaurant with a black-and-white striped awning.
