“No argument from me. Or anyone on the police force, really.”
We jostled through the crowd until we were close to the front where we could see the Sloans gathered to the side of a podium with a microphone. A patch of bare earth had been roped off and a pristine shovel set aside for the formality of turning the first shovelful of dirt—and the photo op that would follow.
I waved to Brent. His wife, Shannon, stood closer to her brothers, but Brent was an arm’s length away if she needed his support. I could imagine him being that way with their son too, who’d just started to walk—giving both independence and a safety net at the same time.
Next to them was John’s sister, Sophie. She’d married into the family—she was Sophie Sloan now, married to Shannon’s brother Ryan. Spotting John, she turned on a beaming smile and . . .
“Damn. I think she gets bigger every time I see her,” John said, keeping his voice down.
Even with the low volume, I teased him. “You know that sensitivity merit badge you were worried about?” I held out my hand, palm up, and wiggled my fingers in a demand. “Hand it over, Winston.”
Though, I had to admit, when she stood in profile like that, Sophie’s belly was awe-inspiring.
My gaze drifted across the line of siblings and their significant others. These were my friends—finding love, creating homes together, and having babies.
Enabling my favorite hobby—aunting.
I was a most excellent aunt.
John exchanged waves with his sister, then undid the button at his collar, his only concession to the heat. Undone buttons looked damn good on him.
“Did you want to go up there with Sophie?” I asked, distracted by his off-center tie.
He looked at me, his eyes alight with surprise. “No. She’s with Ryan and the family.”
I wondered if he felt any of the same things I did, only more so, because Sophie was his little sister. The feeling of being on the outskirts of someplace busy and bustling, on the fringes of something special in this group of family and friends brought together by a connection that, once tragic, had finally come full circle.
“Are you ready to be Uncle John?” I asked, segueing back to Sophie’s unignorable belly.
He gave a snort. “‘Uncle John’ sounds like an old codger with cardigans and weird nose hair who swears he can forecast the weather with his bum knee.”
“I didn’t know you could predict the weather,” I said cheekily.
He scoffed. “That’s the part you home in on? The weather bit? You wound me, Gamble. Wound me.”
Laughing, I bumped him with my shoulder. “Can’t wait to see those cardigans. Wear one to the gym next time, will you?”
“Don’t tempt me. I just might now.”
I grinned. Someone tapped the microphone up front, and a hush fell over the crowd. A woman I didn’t know—maybe a PR person—introduced the mayor, who welcomed everyone and then introduced Michael, who would say a few words on behalf of the family.
Michael shook the mayor’s hand, his expression serious. He took his responsibility as the oldest Sloan sibling very seriously, and today was no different. He stepped up to the mic and began to speak, solemn but not grim. He seemed almost peaceful. As I looked at Shannon, Colin, and Ryan, that feeling seemed to be shared among them.
“Thank you all for coming. More than fifteen months ago, there was a building here. One with uncomfortable, even painful associations for many—not just me and my family. The people who ran that place left a trail of wreckage behind them, hurting far too many innocent families. They can’t hurt anyone now, and though the White Box club had been shut down for a while, it seemed nobody wanted it. But we did. My brothers and my sister and I bought that boarded-up property. We had no dreams of opening a restaurant or club. We thought it was time that building came down, and something that everyone could enjoy went up. Something that would bring peace, solace, and happiness to many. So, we donated the land to the city as the site of the future Thomas Paige Library. We hope this will be a place that will better lives and not tear them apart. Thank you.”
Sniffles abounded. Plenty of them. I handed a tissue to the woman to my left, my prep work coming in handy. But none of the sniffles were mine. I simply wasn’t a crier, but I was definitely a stiff upper lipper. While I hadn’t known Thomas Paige, I was glad to have played a part in finding and capturing everyone involved with his murder. Two important things stood out in the process: (1) justice had been served, and (2) life was short. So much shorter than it should be for some people.
“This was . . .” John trailed off as if he wasn’t sure what to say, and I didn’t know how to fill in the blank. Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic note of emotion in his voice that stumped me. The man was stoic, and with good reason. But right now, he seemed . . . not stoic as he said softly, “It’s good to have closure.”
As the lead detective on the Thomas Paige investigation, surely John needed the closure too, maybe in a different way than the Sloan family. In a way that gave him the drive to move on to solving the next crime.
I turned my focus back to Michael and the mayor as they went through the ceremony of breaking ground, Michael taking the shovel and spearing it into the earth and turning over a chunk of dirt. A bubble of tension popped, and the assembly broke into applause as the mayor shook Michael’s hand and they both smiled for the flashing cameras.
“I’m not sure it’s closure,” I said, picking up where John left off, “since it feels like this library might open doors for people.”
John regarded me sideways, as if deciding whether I was going for a pun or something deeper. “That was oddly profound for a Thursday morning.”
I shrugged. “It’s what I think.”
He nodded, standing with his hands in his pockets, still thoughtful. Then our eyes met. “So do I. I feel the same. It’s the kind of thing you hold on to so you can keep doing what you do, you know?”
I did know, and we both broke eye contact and turned, watching the people who had become as much family as they were friends pose for press photos, their smiles ranging from peaceful to bittersweet.
When we left, John walked me to my car, held the door open for me, and said goodbye. As I slid into the driver’s seat, his gaze seemed to linger for a little longer than usual.
“You know, I was going to . . .”
Intrigued, I waited for him to finish. But then he shook his head.
“What is it?” I prodded. He wasn’t seriously going to leave me wondering, was he?
“Nothing.” He shook his head again. The frown unknotted from between his brows. “I’ll see you at the gym.” He gave me a smile and pushed my car door closed before hopping into his LEAF.
As I drove away, one thought played over and over in my mind. What was it that he hadn’t allowed himself to say?
2
Mindy
The hostess didn’t bother giving Brent and me menus anymore. We’d been meeting at the restaurant in the Luxe for breakfast for years. Even the new staff was used to us—especially Brent, since he worked in the hotel.
Food was good. Friendship was better. Usually.
“All right,” Brent said, leaning back in the booth after the server had brought our drinks. “Tell me if I’m crazy, but did I detect a vibe between you and the detective yesterday?”