My stomach growls, but I ignore it and finish my set. When I’m done, I shower and dress, then head out of my cabin and up to the main house.
* * *
I’ll haveto plan to make it to breakfast a little earlier tomorrow. What’s left is not so great. Two carrot muffins and scrambled eggs that were probably delicious when they were fresh.
“Good morning, Mr. Sterling.” Louisa greets me with a smile when I walk in. I’ve yet to see her anything but friendly. Never rushed. Never put out by a request. “Let me get you some fresh coffee.”
“Please call me Brady,” I tell her, following her into the kitchen. The last time I was in here it was dark in the whole house, except for the overhead lights in the kitchen. I had the perfect view of Addison, seated at the island with her back to me. The shadows darkened her blonde hair, and I heard her mother ask about the current state of Addison’s heart.
Her mom’s question, and Addison’s dismissive response, told me I’m not alone in my search for solace.
Louisa moves about, replacing the old grounds from the coffeemaker with a fresh filter and new coffee.
“Sorry for the slim pickings out there,” she says, inclining her head toward the mostly empty platters on the buffet table in the dining room. “We have a new family who came in yesterday. Three teenage boys.” Her head shakes while she talks. “Those parents must need an extra income to feed them.”
“Rice,” I tell her, watching the coffee drip into the glass carafe. “A lot of rice-based casseroles. They fill stomachs for not much money.”
Louisa snaps her fingers. “Good idea. Is that something your mom did?”
“Oh. Uh, no. My best friend’s uncle made a lot of rice.” I can’t remember being at Finn’s place as a teenager and ever eating anything besides rice. It was usually mixed with something else. Sometimes chicken, and always a bag of frozen corn, peas, and carrots. My house though? Different story.
We weren’t lavish spenders, at least not in my opinion, although I guess that’s relative. We were very comfortable, and I wanted for nothing. Especially compared to Finn. And Lennon, to a degree. She was more fortunate than Finn, though. It gave him the chip he wore on his shoulder into adulthood. Oddly, what knocked the chip off his shoulder was that cabin he built up in northern Arizona. I think it had something to do with controlling a set of circumstances. We haven’t talked about it, but I think it’s the first time Finn has felt like he’s at home.
“Well, then, I guess your friend’s uncle knew how to get by on a little.” Louisa hands me a cup of coffee and offers me cream and sugar. I politely decline and blow across the top of my steaming coffee.
“Is Addison around?” I’m aiming for a casual tone, but I’m positive the curiosity in my voice betrays me.
Louisa smirks. “I saw her earlier but—”
The doorbell rings and Louisa’s sentence is cut off.
“Just a moment, Mr. Sterling.” She brings a cupped hand to her lips. “Brady,” she amends apologetically, as she hurries from the kitchen and through the living room to the front door.
I’m not trying to eavesdrop, just like I didn’t mean to overhear Addison on her phone call last night, but I can’t help but hear the conversation between Louisa and whoever is at the door.
A woman’s voice drips with honey as she speaks. “…Your property is a prime location and…”
“Thank you,” Louisa responds, her tone warily appreciative.
I take a seat at the table and pick my way through a carrot muffin. I can’t hear what the woman says next, but I hear Louisa say, “This property is not for sale.”
The woman must not have a working set of ears, because she pushes her agenda despite Louisa’s response. She says something else, and Louisa gasps.
I’m up from my chair in an instant, striding across the living room and joining Louisa at the door.
“What’s going on, Louisa?” I ask, taking in her stricken face.
She opens her mouth, but she can’t seem to get anything out. Her hand lifts to her chin and her pointer finger presses against the center of her lower lip, as if she just can’t fathom whatever this person has said.
I look to the woman standing on the welcome mat. She’s middle-aged, and she wears a navy skirt and ivory blouse. Her glasses are not a flattering shape for her face.
She peers at me, and I get the feeling she views my sudden presence as a nuisance. “I’m certain it’s no business of yours.” The sugary sweetness in her voice has evaporated.
I extend a hand across the threshold. “Hello, Ms.?” I fix my expression into one of polite interest.
“Campbell,” she answers, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She places her palm in mine and we shake.
I feel Louisa’s hand gently squeeze my shoulder, giving me permission to help. Smiling my smooth courtroom smile at the woman, I inform her of the position I’ve just appointed myself. “Ms. Campbell, it’s business of mine because I’m Ms. Craft’s attorney. My name is Brady Sterling.” I don’t look to Louisa to see how she interprets my pretend role. My eyes remain trained on the woman.
