“Scolded pup?” I repeated. “Sir, I didn’t leave on Friday, I was dismissed by Director Shenker. Which was a good thing, given that you’d made my trigger finger awful goddamn itchy during that meeting.”
His lips twitched. “So noted. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Case-related? No.” I paused. “But as long as we’re in disclosure mode, you should know that as of last night Dawson’s eleven-year-old son, Lex, is living with us.”
“For how long?”
“I’m pretty sure for good.”
“Huh.” He eyed me over his cup of coffee. “You up for the challenge of parenthood, Mama Mercy?”
That sounded weird. “Hell if I know.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Not really. I hadn’t been totally up front with Mason. It’d feel like betraying him if I confessed to Shay that I wasn’t sure how this situation with Lex would work out. A happy outcome mattered to Dawson, but it gave our relationship, which was still new, a different dynamic. As much as I claimed I wouldn’t be the boy’s mother, in effect, I would have a part in raising him. Didn’t that define parenting?
Shay gathered the papers he’d spread over the desk.
“Can I have those to make copies? Since I won’t be back in this office the rest of the week?”
“Sure.” He handed me the stack. “You really think you’ll find correlating cases, or events that should’ve been designated federal cases that have been overlooked?”
“I don’t know. But I’m on this assignment until Director Shenker releases me.” I could tell Turnbull wasn’t happy. He also knew he had only himself to blame. “Have a good week, Shay.”
I’d made it to the door when he said, “Mercy. Wait.”
I didn’t turn around.
“If you need something this week, just call me. I can be there in an hour and a half.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I almost relented and asked if he wanted to come to the party tonight, but I bit my tongue and went to make copies.
7
I wasn’t sure how this dinner party stuff was supposed to work. Since it was at my house, was I expected to act as the hostess? Would I be in the kitchen while other folks mingled?
Someone had parked in my spot at the ranch. But I shoved that annoyance aside and watched Lex playing fetch with the dogs. I wandered over to the old barn. Shoonga raced circles around me, but Butch had his eye on the prize.
Lex let the ball fly, and Butch was off like a shot. Shoonga gave chase.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Hey, Lex. How was school today?”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“How do you like your teacher?” Lame, Mercy.
“She’s all right.”
“That’s good to hear. Do you have homework?” Lamer yet. Why don’t you just put him on the spot and ask if he made any new friends today?
“I already did it.”
“Great. So you up for this par-tay?”
He whipped the ball after Butch dropped it at his feet. “I guess. One of the kids in my class is coming. Doug… I don’t know his last name.”
“Illingsworth. He’s my friend Geneva’s son.”
“So you really don’t got any kids?”
“Nope, I’m not able to have children.”
Lex’s eyebrows lifted. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Huh. So you and my dad won’t have more kids?”
I hadn’t considered that might concern him. The displaced-by-a-new-baby issue that Levi had struggled with after he found out his mom was pregnant. “Guess it’s just you.”
I thought I heard him mutter “No pressure” as he whizzed the tennis ball again.
A beat passed before he faced me. “So who’s the teenage kid in the pictures around the house?”
That sense of loss punched me in the gut. “My nephew, Levi. He was Hope and Jake’s son.”
“Was?” He blinked. “Oh, wow. He’s dead?”
I nodded. “Last year.”
“How’d he die?”
How did I know he’d ask that? “He was murdered.”
His cheeks paled. “Really?”
“Yeah. So you can imagine it’s hard for us to talk about, but if you hear us mention him, at least you’ll know who we mean.” I offered him a wan smile. “Shoonga was Levi’s dog. But we all sort of share him.”
Lex didn’t say anything else, so I took a deep breath and entered the Gunderson/Dawson party zone.
Not as much chaos as I expected in the kitchen. Sophie stirred a pot on the stove. Her daughter Penny arranged sliced veggies on a silver platter. Hope organized disposable plates, cups, and silverware on the table with Joy cocked on her hip. I said a quick hello and went to my bedroom to ditch my gun before Hope had a meltdown.
I really needed thirty minutes to myself, either pounding the gravel as I ran, or working out the day’s stress on my yoga mat. But mind-clearing exercise wasn’t a possibility, so I donned party duds-my rhinestone encrusted Miss Me jeans, a long-sleeved Rockies blouse the color of lilacs, a Nocona belt dotted with silver conches, and my Justin clogs.
Dawson and I passed each other in the hallway. He gave me a quick kiss and vanished into our room to stash his gun.
Some women might have an issue with other women taking over their kitchen. Not me. Mostly because the kitchen had always been Sophie’s domain. So no one gave me a strange look when I asked, “What can I do?”
“Keep an eye on Joy, now that you’re unarmed,” Hope sniffed, shoving the squirmy baby at me.
I checked out her party clothes. The little jeans I’d bought her with butterflies on the butt, and a pink sweater with a carousel horse and GIDDY-UP! emblazoned on the front. I kissed her chubby cheek and whispered, “Lookin’ good, Poopy.” Then I just happened to glance over at Sophie’s daughter, Penny.
Holy crap. She was not looking good. Not at all. Thin to the point of emaciated, she wore a burgundy bandana to hide her bald head. Her brown eyes held that expression of chronic pain, an expression I’d heard my father wore during the last month of his life.
She caught me staring at her. “Thanks for invitin’ me to the party, hey. I doan seem to get out much these days, ’cept for goin’ to the doctor and stuff.”
I sat across from her. “I’m happy you’re here. Now I’ve got a witness to back up how much your mom picks on me.”
The air behind me moved as Sophie flapped her dish towel at my head. “Shee. I ain’t started to pick on you yet. Lucky thing you’re holdin’ that sweet baby, or I’d start right now.”
Penny smiled at Joy.
Joy fisted her tiny hands in the tablecloth and yanked with a happy shriek. “Hey, troublemaker, you’re not quite up to Criss Angel’s level with the old pull-the-tablecloth-off-the-table trick yet.” I stood before she did any real damage.
“I love babies. I would’ve liked to’ve had grandkids.”
John-John, being gay, wouldn’t ever have kidlets. And his sister, Penny’s daughter Christina, had died in a car accident before Sophie came to work for us. My fleeting thought that such tragedy just seemed to befall some families was squashed when I realized most folks in Eagle River County thought the same thing about the Gundersons.
Devlin Pretty Horses, Sophie’s freeloading son, swooped in and grabbed a handful of veggies. “Grandkids ain’t all they’re cracked up to be, trust me.”
I’d never liked Devlin. A guy pushing sixty, who’d always lived with his mother? Pathetic. It’d be one thing if Devlin ever did a damn thing except sit on his ass and watch TV. Sophie made excuses for his lazy ways-excuses I’d stopped listening to when I was in high school. I slapped on a polite smile. “Devlin, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Been keeping an eye on the score. I got money ridin’ on this game.”