“Everything looks delicious,” she says. “Y’all have outdone yourself.”
I cut a small piece of steak and bring it to my mouth, chewing it slowly.“We love to entertain,” I say, glancing at Ryan. He gives me that smirk, since we’re both thinking of the two weeks it took him to convince me to host our last dinner party.
“How much longer are y’all in town?” Ryan asks.
She looks at James as if she doesn’t know the answer.
“Maybe another couple of weeks,” he says. “As soon as Dad can get around a little better on his own, I’ll feel better about leaving.”
“It’s good you could take off this much time from work,” Ryan says, then takes a swig of beer. This is something he mentioned earlier this afternoon: his worry about why James was really back in town. If James had gotten his life together and was holding down a job like he said, it begged the question: how had he managed to get this much time off?
“The beauty of working from a laptop,” he says with a laugh. “Can work anywhere.”
“What is it that you do, James?” I ask.
He looks at the woman as if she’s the only one who knows the answer. She looks back at him with an expression that can only be described as hopeful that he doesn’t completely screw up this answer.
Finally, he turns back to us. “Lucca actually got me a job at her company. I’m working for her.”
He could have sold it better if he didn’t sound so glum. Instead of us thinking they are equals at work, he sounds like a charity case.
Ryan was not thrilled I had invited them to dinner. He banged around in the garage for a good hour then spent the rest of the afternoon hiding some of the obvious—and easily movable—valuables in the house, including my jewelry and any prescription meds he had in the medicine cabinet. The girls had mentioned James stole from Ryan the last time he was in town, but Ryan never admitted that to me. And you can’t tellif there’s beef between them by the way they are acting around each other now.
Preparing for this evening was the most strained things have been between us.
Regardless of what Ryan’s fears and James’s motives are, I’m only concerned with her.
The rest of the dinner is consumed by small talk. Ryan matches James beer for beer until they’re both pretty tipsy. She and I clear the plates while James and Ryan throw an old football around in the mostly dark backyard, both of them missing more than they are catching.
She follows me inside and we work through the dirty dishes and put away the leftovers. Mr. Smith told me why she’s here, but she’s too good an asset to waste as a reminder. And now that she riffled through my stuff, I know she’s got an active role; she’s not just one who observes. I decide to go on the offensive.
“Have you gotten your next set of instructions or are you still checking your mailbox every day?” My tone is conversational, and from the way the plate slips through her fingers into the sink, I know I’ve caught her off guard.
But she recovers quickly. Confusion plays across her face when she says, “Instructions?”
“I don’t expect you to answer. But I do expect you to pass along that I’m here to do my job and I don’t appreciate any interference.” Her body language tells me she’s genuinely surprised by my words, so I’m guessing she didn’t know we share a boss. I lean a little closer. “We have more in common than you know.”
The disbelief on her face is still there, but it’s more controlled now. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Sheetz on North Van Buren in Eden—what’s the name of the side street?”
Her mouth opens slightly but no words come out.
“It’s East Stadium Drive. Same road that takes you to the high school. A road anyone in Eden would know without thinking about it,” I say. “Did you already send him a picture of what you found upstairs or will you do it when you get back to the Bernards’?”
She flinches at the tone in my voice. “I don’t know—”
I lean in closer. “Can we get to the part where you just answer my question?”
It’s a tense minute and then she says, “I already sent him a picture of it.”
There would be no way for her to know that what she found was useless, only that it didn’t belong in my dresser drawer and looked suspicious. That’s all it would take for her to pass it back to Mr. Smith.
And I couldn’t resist the opportunity to let him know how I feel about her presence here. He knows I would never keep anything sensitive in this house. So I created a spreadsheet entitled Opera Guild Association Fundraiser with a list of fake names and credit card numbers to symbolize the one I would have gotten from that auction at the country club if I hadn’t gotten busted that night. It was enough to catch her attention, and Mr. Smith will know I set her up to find it. I don’t appreciate him sending someone into my space.
She starts to move away then hesitates a second. “How did you know?”
“I was expecting you to search through my things and I left it for you to find. But if I wasn’t expecting it, I wouldn’t have known.” I’m not sure why I felt compelled to give her that little bit of praise, since we’re not on the same side.
