“What color is this song, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked from across the table.
Remi shifted away from Brick yet again. Usually he sat as far away from her as possible. But since she was furious with him, the chances of her flirting with him were nil. She was still dangerous, but it was a safer kind of danger.
Remi cleared her throat as she looked up from the moat of mashed potatoes she’d been poking with her spoon. “It’s all bright yellows and oranges with little explosions of red,” she told her niece.
She didn’t sit in chairs like a normal adult. There was no straight-backed posture for Remi. She hugged one knee into her chest, her other foot swinging as if she couldn’t tolerate stillness for even one meal.
“So, Remi Honey,” Darlene said, changing the subject. “How long are you renting Red Gate?”
Remi didn’t look up from her plate. “Just a couple of weeks. Agnes doesn’t have a reservation until spring.”
“A couple of weeks?” Kimber’s eyebrows shot up. “That can’t be cheap even in the dead of winter. Where’d you come up with that kind of cash?”
Brick listened raptly as he hefted a fork of turkey to his mouth.
Remi shrugged. “Pretty sure she gave me a ‘practically family’ deal. I forgot how cute that place is on the inside. She had the kitchen redone a year or two ago with new cabinets and appliances. And between the furnace and the fireplace, it’s downright toasty.”
There was her trademark misdirection. Enthusiastic info dumps that dazzled the listener into forgetting what the original question was.
“Can we come see the cottage, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked.
“You better come visit, or I’ll be deeply offended and not buy you any Christmas presents for two years,” she teased.
“How’s your asthma? Have you been taking your prescriptions?” Darlene asked.
Remi shifted in her chair. Her gaze stayed fixed on her plate. “It’s been good,” she said. “I thought I’d have more problems last spring with all the pollen and the air quality alerts. But I really didn’t.”
The lies that came out of this woman’s mouth.
Brick marveled at her ability to spin a tale without batting an eyelash. If he hadn’t seen the EMT’s report, even he might not have picked up on the lie. It had been a while since his Remington Bullshit Detector had a workout.
“That’s wonderful,” Gilbert said. “I’d always said you’d probably outgrow it.”
“Fingers crossed,” Remi said with a smile that wavered around the edges.
“Aunt Remi, how’d you hurt your arm?” Ian asked, eyeing her cast as he dropped a piece of turkey in his lap.
Without missing a beat, Kimber handed her son a napkin.
Remi wrinkled her nose. “I was in a very small car accident.”
“Like a Matchbox car?” Ian asked.
“Not that small. The accident was small. The car was normal-sized,” she assured her nephew.
“In your car?” Darlene asked.
Remi drove a Chevy Suburban, and Brick still wasn’t certain it was big enough to keep her safe.
She shook her head. “No. My friend was driving.”
The hand that reached for her drink was shaking. And all he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her out of the room, and interrogate her.
“A boy friend or a girl friend?” Hadley wanted to know. Brick’s grip tightened reflexively on the knife in his hand.
“Girl,” she said, managing a smile for her niece. But he watched as she curled in on herself even tighter.
Operating on instinct, he spread his legs wide enough that his left knee pressed against hers. Remi didn’t move away from the touch, and he wondered just what the hell that meant.
“Like girl friend or girlfriend?” Hadley pressed.
Remi choked on her Manhattan and managed a laugh. “Are you asking if I’m a lesbian?”
“Or bi.”
“Pansexual,” Ian added.
Kimber coughed into her napkin. “I let them watch Schitt’s Creek,” she admitted.
“Oh, I love that show,” Gilbert said, his enthusiasm heightened by his third Manhattan.
“So, are you?” Hadley asked.
Remi’s smile was genuine this time. “I seem to be straight. Just boys for me so far.”
“My friend Alicia? Her older sister Megan is bi,” Hadley announced.
“Uncle Brick, do you like boys or girls?” Ian asked as if he were conducting a prime-time interview.
Brick felt the harsh burn of an invisible spotlight. “I, uh. Girls?”
“You don’t sound very sure about that,” Kimber teased.
“Girls,” he said again, more forcefully.
“Mom and Grandma say it’s a shame you haven’t dated anyone since your divorce,” Hadley recited to the table.
Remi snorted into the bottom of her drink then coughed. “Excuse me. I think I need a refill.”
“Remind me never to say anything in front of your big ears again, traitor,” Kimber said, feigning a glare at her daughter.
“Sorry, Uncle Brick,” Hadley said with a small smile.
“It’s. Uh. Fine. So what about you? Girls or boys?” he asked.
She shrugged daintily. “I’m not sure. I haven’t met the right one of either yet.”
“Take your time,” Darlene advised with a sage poke of her fork in her granddaughter’s direction. “There’s no rush. Your Aunt Remi was boy-crazy when she was a teenager.”
Remi had just reappeared in the dining room door with a full glass in time to hear her mom’s comment. “Nope. Not enough alcohol,” she muttered under her breath and disappeared again.
She returned a minute later with a full glass and the cocktail shaker.
Her hip brushed his arm when she sat. He ignored the lick of fire that blazed through him at the contact. But he couldn’t ignore the peek of stomach he saw just below the hem of her sweatshirt. Brick’s mouth went dry.
She pulled both knees into her chest and took a long sip of her fresh drink.
“Remi, for Pete’s sake, can’t you eat one meal with both feet on the floor?” Darlene said in exasperation. “You’re setting a bad example.”
On cue, Ian put his socked feet on the table.
“Ian Gilbert,” Kimber said in her most threatening mom voice.
“Aunt Remi started it,” Ian said, all innocence.
“Remington Honeysuckle,” Kimber said sternly.
The sisters exchanged quick grins, and Remi put her feet on the floor, her knee brushing his beneath the table.
While Gilbert and Darlene quizzed Kimber about her latest home renovation project, Brick leaned in as close as he dared to Remi. “What caused the accident?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
She looked at him sideways.
“The roads were icy. Another car accidentally hit us from behind and pushed us into a guard rail. Can you pass the gravy, please?”
He handed her the gravy boat and watched her bobble it with her left hand. Taking it back from her, he poured it over the turkey she’d barely touched. “Must have been going pretty fast if the impact broke your arm,” he observed.
“Actually,” she said, leveling him with a guileless stare. “I fell getting out of the car, but it sounds cooler to say it was the accident.”
She was definitely lying.
“What’s your friend’s name?” he pressed.
He watched several emotions flit over her face, one after the other, before she lowered her chin. “Leave it alone, Brick.”
“Why?”
“A girl might think you cared if you take too much interest in her,” she shot back.
It was a direct hit.
“Are you two fighting?” Hadley asked, breaking their stare down.
Kimber snorted. “They’re always fighting.”
“We never fight,” Remi insisted.
“You look like you’re fighting,” Hadley pointed out.
Ian shook his head. “Aunt Remi hasn’t slugged him yet. That’s when they’re fighting.”
“Aunt Remi and Uncle Brick have a strained relationship,” Gilbert offered from the head of the table.
“Why?” Hadley asked.
“Yeah. Why?” Kimber asked, adding her own curiosity to her daughter’s.
Remi gave up on the pretense of eating and crossed her arms over her chest. “Uncle Brick hurt my feelings a long time ago and never apologized, and so much time has gone by that there isn’t an apology big enough for me to not be mad at him anymore.”
Brick stiffened. This was fucking news to him.
“What if he got you flowers?” Ian asked. “That’s what Dad used to do for Mom.”
Remi’s gaze flitted to her sister’s face at the “used to.” “Um. No. Flowers definitely wouldn’t do it.”
“How about a public serenade in a soccer stadium?” Hadley suggested.
“We also watched 10 Things I Hate About You,” Kimber interjected.
“Heath Ledger,” Remi said, raising her glass at her sister. Kimber mimicked the toast from across the table.
“Aunt Remi is really good at holding a grudge,” Darlene explained with a wink at her grandkids.
“This is true,” Remi agreed. Her foot began to jiggle under the table.
Brick cleared his throat. He felt the weight of everyone’s attention. That was the problem with not being much of a talker. When you did speak, people paid entirely too much attention. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, frantically searching for a topic. “The welfare checks the department does.”
“What about them?” Darlene asked, scooping up a bite of equal parts, turkey, corn, stuffing, and potatoes.
Yeah. What about them, dumbass?
“What if we did something different?” This is why he didn’t talk much. Because when he did, he sounded like an idiot.
Darlene thoughtfully chewed her way through a bite.
“Welfare checks?” Kimber asked.
“The department checks in on some of our older residents. Keeps an eye on anyone we know who lives alone or has been sick or going through a tough time,” Darlene explained.
“If it was neighbors checking in on them, it might seem more like a social call,” Remi mused.
“Yeah. I was thinking something like that,” Brick said, grateful for the inadvertent lifeline she’d thrown.
“That’s a great idea, Brick.” Gil gesticulated with his glass, spilling a healthy portion of bourbon on the tablecloth. Unlike both of his daughters, Gilbert Ford was a lightweight.
“Actually it was Remi—”
“You’d be keeping a closer eye on the vulnerable,” Kimber added, cutting him off. “Freeing up your department for other work. And people might be willing to talk more frankly to neighbors about how they’re feeling than someone in uniform.”
Darlene steepled her fingers over her plate and nodded slowly. “Why don’t the three of you spearhead it? See what you can come up with in terms of volunteers and a schedule.”
“The three of who?” Remi asked, choking on her drink.
“Brick will spearhead and, Kimber, you and Remi can help.”
Brick wasn’t sure which one of them was more appalled by the suggestion.
“Oh,” Kimber said.
Remi looked a little wild-eyed. “Uh.”
Brick knew better than to hedge. Chief Ford always got her way.
“Sure. Fine,” he said.
“Great idea, Brick,” Gil said, raising his glass.
