I notice a sharp crease down the front of those jeans and extra starch in his shirt.I guess if it makes him happy, there’s no harm in it.But Evander, the attorney of the family, is the most eccentric of us by far.
He joins me at the fence, propping a boot on the bottom rail.“I got the background check started on Emma Clark.”
I nod, feeling a twinge of discomfort for siccing the big guns on her, but this is about Jasmine’s safety.The discomfort fades.
“We should have it back in a couple days.”
“Thanks,” I tell Evander.
“I did some preliminary poking around, though.She looks clean—maybe a little too clean.But no criminal record, no lawsuits, no marriages or divorces, not even a driver’s license.She rents.Her credit is basically nonexistent.She’s using a month-to-month plan for her cell phone.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Agreed.”
“But…” I straighten.“What do you mean by ‘too clean’?”
CHAPTER 17
Finn
Evander shrugs.“I just got the impression that she likes her privacy, is all.No social media presence to speak of, and that’s rare for a young woman these days.We’ll know more soon, but for now, she looks low risk.”
“I appreciate that, man.”
“Of course, but you could’ve done all this yourself.You’re the cyber genius.”
“You’re right.I could have.But I asked you to handle it so I can focus on other things.”
“Uh-huh.Other things like Emma Clark herself?Does she do something for you?”
“Actually, she does.”I back away from the fence and square off in front of my brother.“She does laundry.Dishes.She does scrubbing and tidying up and dusting, and she does a great job organizing Jasmine’s toys.”
“Sheee-it, bro.”Evander shakes his head.“I guess I touched a nerve.”He turns and walks back toward the compound.
Seriously?
You can’t even belch around this family without everyone discussing what you had for lunch.
A few minutes later, I make my way back, too.As I clear a stand of large cottonwoods, I catch a glimpse of Jasmine and my father in his garden.She’s wearing his old fishing hat that’s pinned with about thirty hooks and flies.She’s perched on the remnants of an old retaining wall, her feet swinging in front of her as she laughs.
Even from this distance, I can see that her face is caked in dirt and that Dad is in the middle of telling her a whopper.His big gestures—the forward lean, the long arms swinging, the wide eyes—it’s all a dead giveaway.
Many men can tell a tall tale.Only Jamie MacLaine can spin a yarn with this much conviction when heknowsit’s all a giant sack of horseshit.He can’t help himself.
I head their way, already catching a word here and there.It’s enough for me to know which story is on the menu today.It’s the one about the year of the unusually aggressive foot-long worms at Yosemite Ranch.The ones that were coming up through the toilets, bathtubs, and kitchen sink.
When my daughter lets go with an ear-splitting shriek, I take it as confirmation on the worm story.I shake my head and laugh.
True, the MacLaine boys have dug our share of earthworms to take fishing, but not around the house.Earthworm digging is best by the lake.
And I’ve never seen a foot-long worm.Not even in all my worldly travels have I witnessed such a freak of nature.I would have remembered.
Jabbing my hands down into my pockets, I walk over to them and realize that my mood has lifted.The “too clean” Emma might have introduced a complication into my life, but not a totally unwanted one.Who knows?I might get used to her company.I might enjoy living in a tidy environment.
Hell, I might even get her a gift.Maybe a new vacuum.
Or those pretty earrings I saw in town.
