background checks.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Margaret—Margie Reilly is a widow. As you know, she’s co-owner of the Seaside and lives next door to the business.”
“Right.”
“Patrick Reilly is the interesting case. We’re pretty sure there is a juvenile criminal record, which is closed. Probably related to drugs, because a stint in drug rehab does come up on the adult record.”
She remained silent. Drug use among area teens was a terrible problem.
“What’s interesting is that Patrick is currently on home detention, wearing a court-ordered ankle bracelet.”
She sat up, shocked. Maybe this explained why John was on edge. Why he so carefully watched anyone who came into the family’s establishment.
“What’s the charge?”
“An assortment, all boiling down to possession of drugs.”
“Is he pre-or post-judgment?”
“He pled guilty, but his status is presentencing. The hearing is scheduled for June 5. The John Reilly you reported, the Marine veteran brother? Well, he’s on record as being a court-appointed sponsor. He’s signed a statement promising to supervise his brother as he’s allowed out of the family home to work in the business. Otherwise, Patrick can’t leave the two properties. There’s a notation about him working in the kitchen.”
Which would explain why, as a patron, she’d never seen him.
Then it occurred to her. “Should I investigate Patrick as potentially being involved with the burglaries?”
“Simon already did that. The bracelet tracking indicates he’s never been past the boundaries of the family home or restaurant. Evidently, the brother watches him like a hawk. He also has a court-appointed counselor who drops by to give drug tests unannounced. Patrick has never tested positive.”
“I understand.” Yes, this explained John’s protective behavior. “Tell me, Pete, is there anything I should do in relation to Patrick?”
“No. In general, keep your eyes and ears open, but don’t attract undue suspicion.”
“Right.” She glanced up as the rumble of an engine sounded, then snapped to attention. From her position facing the street, she saw Andy’s van head up the hill. Raising her hand, she waved, wondering if he knew the story about John’s brother. Probably. Andy knew everybody in town, it seemed.
He waved back. His son, AJ, sat in the front seat; their helper, Moon, followed in his pickup, the sides dirty. Both vehicles turned into the driveway next door.
“Okay, Pete, I need to go.”
“Has Kitty arrived?”
“No, she’s late. I hope she’s still coming to meet me.”
“Want me to check for you?”
“Not yet. I’ll call Karen if there’s a problem.”
“Keep me posted.”
She watched Andy’s team hop out of their vehicles. They were late for work, too. Maybe they had stopped at a building supply store, or maybe they were freshly come from the Seaside Bar and Grill, perhaps even quizzing John about just what she and he had been discussing inside her car.
Enough. Her future course was clear: no more lunches spent at John’s establishment. Not for the foreseeable future, not until the morning’s incident had passed from memory.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at our meeting point,” she said to Pete. They’d agreed on the market down the beach.
“Good luck with the congressman’s wife.”
“Not a problem.” She hung up.
Frowning, she kept her gaze forward, scanning the street, waiting for Kitty MacLaine’s vehicle. Lyndsay hadn’t mentioned the encounter with John to Pete because John’s concern made sense to her now. If she saw him again, she could handle him. Still, it really would be better to avoid the Seaside for a few days. Let John cool down. Let him think that he’d upset her, talking about Jason.
Her immediate mission was clear: convince Kitty that Lyndsay was a capable interior designer. In no way should people suspect otherwise.
I have to live here, she thought. Two weeks, while the MacLaines are on their transatlantic cruise.
Fourteen more days and nights—mornings and lunch breaks and evenings—working in the house beside Andy’s crew. They were going to wonder why she didn’t head to the Seaside with them for lunch. She needed an excuse. Maybe Kitty could give her one—if she showed up.
Her mobile phone trilled. Pete again. Connecting to the line, she said, “Yes, Pete.”
“I’m down the street from you, headed up the coast to meet with an insurance company. Thought you might like to know that the congressman’s wife just zoomed past. She almost hit me—the woman is a menace. My guess is that she’ll be at the house in no time.”
“Thank you.” She really was thankful that Pete was alert and looking out for her.
“No problem. Remember, Lyn, keep your cover.” The phone clicked off.
As he’d warned her, up the street roared what had to be Kitty MacLaine, driving a cherry-red Mercedes SUV. Kitty exceeded the speed limit by at least fifteen miles per hour—Lyndsay would’ve been hard-pressed not to issue her a ticket, had she been in uniform.
Kitty parked her vehicle in front of Lyndsay’s and hopped out with a saucy wave. Lyndsay felt the smile on her lips and waved back. Given the petite woman’s attitude, she surely would’ve talked Lyndsay into a warning instead of a ticket.
Kitty reminded her of a firecracker. Flaming red hair, a petite, straight-up-and-down boyish build and a manner of walking that fit about three quick steps into what Lyndsay usually took as one long stride.
With a blazing smile on her face, Kitty met her at her driver’s door. Lyndsay gathered her oversize purse from the seat beside her and stepped outside. The salty air felt sharp and fresh to her nostrils.
“Lyn Francis? Are you Lyn?” Kitty asked in a loud, clear voice. The words were fast and crisp and seemed to run on in sentences that made Lyndsay strain to keep up. “’Cuz I am so excited to get started today. I’m honored to have you here. I’ve been a huge fan of DesignSea, your firm, and I can’t believe that Paul commissioned you as a surprise for my birthday!”
“Oh, happy birthday, Mrs. MacLaine,” Lyndsay said, feigning innocence. In Lyndsay’s presence, Karen had conducted a phone call with Kitty’s husband on Saturday. The congressman had filled them in as to what he wanted to do for his wife.
“Call me Kitty. And I already checked you out online on the DesignSea website. What a beautiful portfolio you have.”
“Thank you, Kitty.” Lyndsay tried not to gulp. When Commander Harris had said
