Moments like these reminded Quinn of the fact that she might appear as unassuming as Spruce Creek and had this air of ditziness she liked to put on when talking to strangers, but she was still the wife of the head of the MacGregor “family.” It might not have been a mob or even a clan—although Robert had loved to call it a clan, he’d been big into their ancient Scottish heritage—but it was an empire in its own right, just a small one.
“Jimmy is too ambitious,” Quinn murmured.
“Yes.” Karen lifted off the dome covering some cupcakes on the cake stand that was probably older than Quinn, and picked two. She put them on plates and pushed one to Quinn. “I know you’ve been hanging with the big boys and I know you’d be perfect for the job.”
“But?” he asked again, picking up the red velvet cupcake she’d chosen for him—his favorite.
“You would have to go through my child to get there, and you don’t belong here anymore.” She poured the coffee. “You still take yours black?”
“Yup.”
Once she’d served them and sat down kitty corner from him, she sighed. “You were always meant for more than this,” she started, then held up her hand. “And no, I don’t mean whatever it is you’ve been doing in Chicago.”
He’d been in Chicago last, that much was true, but hearing that she knew a location made his skin crawl. There were things nobody here needed to know about his recent past with the gang he’d been in.
“What else do I have, Aunt Karen? Seriously? I was literally born to this, just like Jimmy.”
“You were the smart one, Quinn. You were supposed to leave town and go to college somewhere nice.” By that she meant somewhere with less crime. Her features tightened and she looked furious for a few seconds. “And then that father of yours fucked up three families at once.” She forced herself to take a sip of her coffee.
Quinn hadn’t thought about it like that, but it was obvious now. With Robert behind the bars, it was Ian who had been put in charge. “Uncle Ian was never meant to be the head of the clan,” he murmured.
“No, he wasn’t, and neither was Jimmy.”
“It was always meant to be me,” Quinn whispered.
“Yes. But your mother and I had a plan.” She put her hand on his and squeezed. “We wanted you to get out and then we would’ve found a way to keep you out. Jimmy, we would’ve tried, but you two are very different.”
Jimmy wasn’t into studying, whereas Quinn had always been a sponge for knowledge. It had served him well, even if things hadn’t turned out quite like his mom and Aunt Karen had planned.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, baby boy. Never, ever blame yourself for your father’s mistakes.”
But he did feel guilty. He still wondered if he could’ve done something different that night. If he was at least partially the reason for what had happened on Dead Bend, the dead-end road by the make out spot.
The subject changed to lighter ones. How the town was doing, who had left, and what kind of people had moved in. Who had divorced, married, remarried. Gossip. With Aunt Karen, it was less about fun and more about not talking shop. She might’ve not been the shopkeep, but she was there every day, watching from the sidelines. In essence, she was every bit as dangerous as the men of the family, if not more, because you’d never see her coming.
When Quinn eventually left after he’d had dinner with Karen and Ian, she caught up with him at the door.
“Quinn,” she said, her tone serious. “You should go have lunch at the diner tomorrow.” Her tone was so pointed, that he just nodded dumbly.
“Will do.” He had no idea why this was significant, but he’d go anyway. She was the person he could rely on the most in this town at the moment, and he didn’t think that would change anytime soon, if ever.
* * * *
He parked his car by the trailer and wondered if he should invest in some proper lighting. There was a bulb attached next to the trailer’s door, but it didn’t work. Buying a new bulb to test would be cheaper, but then if the wiring was faulty, he’d still have to get a new one or have the old one fixed.
He walked to the door and heard a rustle somewhere nearby. Immediately, the hair on the back of his neck rose and he casually moved his hand to the small of his back where his Glock was.
He eyed the surroundings but saw nothing. It wasn’t completely dark, not with some of his neighbors having lights on.
Suddenly something brushed against his leg and he bit back a yelp, barely.
“Meow?” A slinky black cat stared at him from the cement slab that served as the singular step to the trailer.
“Holy shit, kitty…” He relaxed and leaned down to scratch the thing behind the ears.
He could hear someone walking down the dirt road between the tiny lots and soon enough, the scent of tobacco drifted to him, making him crave the nicotine hit.
