French Roast (28 page)

Chapter 36

K
eith pushed around his macaroni and cheese, kicking the legs under the table like he was in soccer striker tryouts.

“Stop the kicking, please,” Peggy asked in her nicest voice.

Heading back to work had delighted her for all of five minutes until she saw the stack of new files on her desk and the hundreds of emails in her Inbox. She hated being behind. It would take days to dig herself out of the hole. Even worse, her red nose could still pass for Rudolf’s.

The doorbell rang. She jumped and frowned. God, she hoped it wasn’t Maven. She’d been waiting for him to track her down all day.

Keith swiveled in his chair.

“Stop right there. You can get up when you finish your dinner.”

“But mom,” he whined, inducing a shudder. The whining had started up full throttle as soon as he got the cast. She prayed it would go away when it came off.

“No buts. You know the rules.”

She winced when the mirror in the hallway produced the expected results. The only thing with color was her stupid nose. Well, it would serve him right.

Peggy opened the door. Jill stood there with crossed her arms.

She forced herself to meet her eyes. The tightness in Jill’s mouth made Peg’s conscience squirm. Hadn’t she been dreading this? “You’re early. Your grandfather’s not showing up to watch Keith until eight.”

“Yes, I thought we should
chat
beforehand.”

Jill’s outfit seemed utterly befitting for a party called PolarFest. Her boots had fake fur on the tops, reminding Peggy of sheep, a fleecy green cap made of squiggly yarn covered her head, and a cream scarf cinched her neck, tight as a garrote. A knee-length burgundy bubble coat completed the look.

“Look, you’re mad about my statement in the paper. Fine. I get that.” She crossed her arms too. “You know I don’t support the hotel.”

Jill tugged on her scarf. “Yes, but did you have to give them such a humdinger quote?”

“Jillie,” Keith called. “Come see me, pul-leeez.”

“Be right there,” she yelled, making Peggy wince. “What the hell do you think you have on him?”

“I’m only saying at the council meeting. Sorry, Jill, but we agreed to disagree.”

“Yeah, but you threw out a character assassination without any facts. Does that seem like fair play to you?”

She steeled herself. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

“He’s been nothing but nice to you. I didn’t know you could be so mean.”

Even though suspects had called her all sorts of bad names, this one stung. “I have to do what I think is right.”

Jill’s mouth pursed like she’d sucked sour lemons. “Fine, but since we’re still friends…the French chick is thinking of buying Morty’s shop. She wants to open a place with Brian in Dare.”

“Uh-oh. She must really want him back. This isn’t her scene. She’s like some exotic animal in a petting zoo.”

“Wow, that’s an image. And based on the six calls I’ve received from friends who are helping set up for the party, Pete apparently invited her to help with PolarFest. The asshole. She and Bryan have been cooking together. They’ve said it looks ‘intense.’ Whatever that means.”

Probably what you think it means, Peggy thought. She let out an undetectable breath of relief. By switching to a personal topic, Jill was showing her they were still friends—for now. She led her to the formal living room she never used so they could talk away from Keith.

“Start from the beginning.” She realized it was the same phrase she used with crime victims when they babbled.

Jill nodded and started in on the story. When she finished, she put her head in her hands. “I’m going crazy.”

“Hold on,” Peggy ordered when she saw Keith peek around the corner. “Back to the kitchen, young man.” So much for keeping little ears away.

“But I’m done with my dinner,” he protested, sticking out his cast—a new ploy for sympathy. “Jillie, why are you so sad?”

Peggy’s heart melted. She treasured the moments when her son showed he would grow up to be a good man, canceling out her ex’s asshole genes.

Jill held out her arms. Keith hobbled over and gave her a hug. “Oh, why can’t you grow up so I can marry you?” Jill asked.

“Because it takes like years to grow up,” Keith informed her. “Didn’t you learn that in science class, Jillie?” He rustled free. “Besides, you’re going to marry Brian.”

How did a seven-year-old know something like that? “What makes you think so?”

His right shoulder inched up. “‘Cause he makes you happy and act like a girl.”

“Who told you that?” Peggy asked.

“Uncle Tanner.”

Peggy wanted to roll her eyes, but it was impossible to diss Tanner in front of Keith. Blood would be spilled.

“Can I watch TV, mom?”

“Sure. Grandpa Hale will be here soon though.”

“Cool.” He left with a cheeky wave.

Jill sighed. “He’s right. Brian does make me happy—when he isn’t busy making me nuts with this whole French chick thing.” And she gestured to her clothes. “And he does make me act like a girl. Do you know how long it took me to choose something warm
and
cute?”

Peggy had a moment of panic when she thought about her own wardrobe. Her warmest jacket was police issue. Not exactly party gear. She shook herself. When in the hell did she ever obsess over what to wear? Must be catching—like a virus.

“And you know what,” Jill said. “I’m dying of heat.”

“Then take some of it off.”

With the bizarre cap, she could have auditioned for the Muppets. “It would take too long to put it back on. Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready?”

They walked to the foyer, and Peggy headed for the stairs. “Where’s Maven?” she asked before she thought to stop herself.

“He’s meeting us there.” Jill’s head swiveled. Her eyes narrowed. “See, you
do
have the hots for him, but you’re trying to deny it by using his last name—and throwing out humdingers in the paper.”

“I am not, and I do not like—”

“Peg and Mac sitting in a tree—”

“Oh, shut up,” Peggy interrupted. “He likes a challenge. He sees me as an obstacle, so he’s trying to sweet talk me into supporting his project, that’s all.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can think whatever you want. He’s a poker player. I’m a cop. Oil and water would be more compatible.”

“Brian tells me they make a good vinaigrette.”

“That’s oil and vinegar, you idiot.”

Jill crossed her arms. “How would you feel if you weren’t a cop, and he wasn’t a poker player?”

“That you’re a moron. I’m going to get ready.”

“You can run, but…” Jill’s voice faded when she disappeared from view.

Oh, she could hide all right. She’d been doing it for years. Still, Maven’s ruggedly handsome face kept popping into her mind, making her kick the staircase. She could all but hear her heart sigh. Pathetic, simply pathetic, especially given what she knew of him.

Still, her pulse sped up. She was going to see him. Her thoughts turned to her closet. What in the hell could she wear to this popsicle party that would make her look good?

When she realized she was thinking like a girl, she gave a little shriek and mouthed a really bad word.

***

“I hate parties,” Tanner muttered when they arrived at Pete’s house.

Surveying the scene, Jill rubbed her gloves together. “Welcome to PolarFest.”

About fifty people stood in the front yard, milling around the open garage, huddled together, drinking beer. More chili pepper light strings decorated the front door and the bushes. Someone had stolen a blinking leprechaun sign from Hairy’s and shoved it by the bay window. It looked better than she’d expected. Pete hadn’t half-assed it after all. Reluctantly, she gave him points.

Despite her beef with Pete, a shiver of anticipation ran through her. She had always loved PolarFest. The speakers were already blasting classic Bon Jovi, and it seemed like the whole town had shown up—the place was packed, inside and out. Jemma would have been proud.

“It’s three degrees out,” Meredith complained, leaning closer to Tanner.

Jill pulled out packets of hand warmers and shoved them at the trio. “Here, these will keep you warm. They work great in your bra. Adds a little stuffing too.”

“Please,” Tanner muttered, cursing under his breath.

“I’ll have to adjust my clothing. Tanner, block the view,” Meredith ordered. “Peg?”

“I don’t stuff—anything.”

Jill snickered. “Your loss.”

Spotting a keg station in the front yard. Jill trudged forward for a couple of beer maps. She traced the paper, remembering when Jemma came up with the idea a few years ago. Shaking off her sadness, she headed back over to the others.

“Here’s the setup,” she announced, passing one to Meredith. “Winter ale in the kitchen. Chocolate stout in the garage. White wheat on the deck. You can read the rest.”

“Okay, that’s cool,” Tanner commented, taking the paper from Meredith.

They all jumped when something cracked. Rainbow lights in the sky drew their attention.

“Oh, and sometimes the guys hoard fireworks from the Fourth and set them off.”

“That’s against city ordinance,” Peggy informed them, scanning the yard like she was looking for other signs of criminal activity.

“We’ve never gotten into trouble for it. Hell, it’s safer than in the summer. No danger of wild fires now. God, I hope Mac calls me when he gets here. I don’t know how I’m going to find him in this throng.”

“How are you even going to feel your phone vibrate dressed up like a puffer fish?” Meredith asked. “How many layers do you have on anyway? You’re going to roast inside.”

“Trust me, you’re going to wish you looked like this. You’re talking to a veteran of six PolarFests.” She puffed her cheeks out, mimicking the fish she resembled. “The wind chill is going to start dipping, making it feel like it’s ten below zero.”

“I’m sticking to the house then,” Meredith said with a shudder.

Jill waved her hand. “Trust me, you’re going to be driven outside. It gets way too crowded and hot in there. You’ll barely be able to move. Guys try to cop cheap feels, especially the old profs.”

“Wonderful.” Meredith grabbed the beer map from Tanner’s hand. “Well, if I’m going to get groped all night long, I’m going to need a drink.”

“No one’s groping you,” Tanner declared.

Hearing the tinkle of bells, Jill spun around. Down the lane, a horse tossed his head, his breath frosty white from the cold. “Oh, my God,” Jill cried. “It’s a sleigh.”

“Holy shit,” Tanner muttered.

“Hey, Jill,” Clark Terrence called from the buggy seat, reigns snug in his gloved hands. “I borrowed Old Man Jenkins’s sleigh in memory of Jemma so that I can give rides in the vacant pasture adjoining Pete’s property. Remember how much she wanted this last year? Damn, I miss that girl.”

Her tears nearly froze. “I remember, Clark,” she called out, her voice breaking. “She would have loved it.”

“You’ll have to come for a ride.”

“I will, Clark. Thanks.”

So Jemma had her legacy after all. It was all around them.

“Oh, shit, I’m going to bawl.” Jill sniffed and dug out a Kleenex.

“Unbelievable,” Meredith declared, pulling her in for a one-arm hug.

“I told you. It’s PolarFest.”

Memories overwhelmed her. The first year they’d held PolarFest was when they were both twenty-one. The scope and size of the party had continued to grow each year as they planned increasingly more unique events. One year they’d made an ice rink in the vacant pasture and played ice skating bingo. And now PolarFest had a sleigh.

“We missed you at setup, Jill,” someone called out. “Brian’s cooking a shitload of meat. Spit a whole flock of chickens. Jemma would have loved that.”

She waved in the general direction since she couldn’t see who was speaking. She hadn’t been prepared for how many people would talk about Jemma.

“You gonna be all right?” Meredith asked, rubbing her back.

She wiped her nose. “Yeah. Jemma would be happy about this. I need to find Brian.” And see for herself how things were between him and the French chick.

Peggy took Jill’s elbow. “No reason for delay, right?”

“Right,” Jill responded, leading them around the house.

White Chinese lanterns hung along the side of the house and dotted the trees, lending everything a magical glow.

The powerful smell of roasted meat reached her when the wind blew. She caught sight of a huge bonfire, emitting tons of smoke. She wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had been dancing in the middle. Jill spotted Brian basting a whole row of chickens with a kitchen mop. He was standing in the middle of a ring of fire with only a narrow path leading into the circle of four grills and an open pit. All he had on was a long-sleeved T-shirt, and he was sweating at the temples. When Brian cooked, he went all out.

She waved at a few people as they walked deeper into the back, but she kept her eyes peeled for the French chick. “Tell me that’s not the mop Pete and his boys use to clean their kitchen floor,” Jill commented as they reached Brian.

“Like those guys ever clean anything,” he replied with a shudder, dunking the mop back into the gallon bucket of basting sauce before dabbing the glistening birds again. “I’m getting slammed. Can you turn some brats for me?”

Clearly, he was in drill sergeant mode. When she didn’t answer right away, he turned toward her, the roaring fire illuminating the side of his face.

His eyes narrowed, and he pulled her to him, kissing her on the mouth. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been crying. You saw the sleigh, didn’t you?”

His comfort helped soothe the ache a little. “Yes.”

His finger stroked her cheek. “Jemma always did have great ideas.”

“Yeah,” she mused, picking up a meat fork the size of her grandpa’s cane.

“Hey guys,” Brian called out to her group of supporters, but even she could detect the tension in his voice. “Glad you came.”

“We’re trying to get into the spirit,” her sister responded.

Jill almost let out a sigh. Good. Everyone needed to put their recent interactions aside. Her family and Brian both meant the world to her, and they’d have to deal with each other.