“You don’t have to solve it tonight,” she said. “He’s safe. He’s healing. The rest can unfold.”
Peter nodded, though doubt still shadowed his eyes.
“Connor could come by the Summer House,” she added. “Anytime. No doctors. No schedules. Just beach and noise and Jonah cooking something ridiculous.”
He let out a small laugh. “To get him away from Holly?”
“To give him space to think.”
Peter’s shoulders eased and he smiled, stopping at her SUV. “Thank you, Viv. I’ll tell him.”
“You could come, too.”
His eyes shuttered. “Yeah, thanks. Really busy with the new job.”
“I understand.” She unlocked the door and opened it, pausing to look up at him and remember a time not so long ago when they would have kissed goodbye.
Why in God’s name had she sent him packing? She should just?—
“See ya, Viv.” With a nod, he walked away, leaving her standing there sad and wishing she could turn back time.
If not, then she needed to…let go.
“Someday, Vivien Lawson. Someday, you will be over that man.”
She watched him disappear around the corner and her heart ached.
Someday. But not today.
Maggie stepped into Barbara’s kitchen and stopped short, gasping at the table that looked like a low-budget crime lab.
Papers were everywhere. Sticky notes clung to the edge of the table. Jo Ellen’s laptop sat open in the center, screen glowing. Three pens, one highlighter, and a half-eaten blueberry muffin added to the chaos.
Jo Ellen looked up, eyes bright. “Good. You’re here. We’re in Phase Two.”
Oh, goodness. “Phase Two of what?”
“Our investigation.”
Maggie eyed the laptop screen. “Is that…Oscar?”
Jo Ellen nodded proudly, her love for the ridiculous AI program obvious. “Well, that book didn’t help us.” She tossed a dirty look to the bright yellowPrivate Investigations for Dummiestome on the table. “Please, with the triangles of infidelity and stakeout snacks. As if I’d spy without sustenance.”
“Not to mention the suggestion that we limp when we’re on someone’s trail.”
“Now that idea I don’t hate,” Jo Ellen said. “Anthony wouldn’t suspect it’s you or me if we’re limping.”
Snorting a dry laugh, Maggie walked to the coffeemaker, thanking tea-drinking Jo Ellen for making it as she poured. After adding cream and sugar, she turned and leaned against the counter.
Phase Two was probably absurd, but they had to dosomething.
“All right. What does Oscar say to do after all these nights of nothing but a man who comes home at seven, talks on the phone for five minutes, takes a shower, eats a sandwich, and goes to bed?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But what if the woman he’s talking to on the phone is not his wife?”
“It’s not. Remember, I called Crista once while he was on the phone and she picked up and mentioned she hadn’t heard from Anthony all day.”
“Then we don’t quit until we know,” Jo Ellen said.
