Page 32

The Argyroses still lived in the same little house, but they were not only keeping up with the Joneses, they seemed to be doing considerably better. For sure, better than any of them had been doing twenty years ago.

Gone was the patchy lawn, the sagging porch, the sun-bleached plastic geraniums in cheap pots.

The stucco was fresh, the trim recently painted a sharp navy blue.

A well-maintained silver Camry sat in the driveway.

The lawn was green, the flower beds were neat, edged with stone, and the porch had been redone in composite decking.

Maybe the good folks of Steeple Hill had finally developed a taste for Greek food?

I raised my hand to lift the cute brass shell-shaped knocker, then lowered it again and wiped my palms on my jeans. I tried again, knocking briskly on the blue surface.

My heart was hammering as I waited. Seconds passed and then the door suddenly opened.

Mrs. Argyros was smaller and grayer, but I’d have known her anywhere. Not least because she was wearing the same long yellow cardigan and dubious expression.

I opened my mouth, but she put her hands up waving me away. “No thank you! We have everything we need!”

It did look that way.

I said quickly, “Hello, Mrs. Argyros. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Keiran Chandler. I was a friend of Milo’s in high school.”

She stopped waving and squinted at me. I was sure she didn’t recognize me. Then her face lit with a flicker of polite surprise.

“Oh! Yes—Milo’s friend. Sheriff Chandler’s boy. You studied together sometimes, right? Government, was it? Milo had trouble with government. That teacher! Or was it history?”

“English,” I said. “And theater. Occasionally.”

I had a vivid memory of walking down that little hallway behind her, closing the bedroom door behind us, so we could “run lines.”

“I heard your father passed. It was a shame what happened to him,” Mrs. Argyros said. “He was a good man. A good sheriff. Such a shame he lost his job like that.”

I murmured something vague. But the only shame was that it had taken the powers that be so long to notice that he was drinking on the job.

Mrs. Argyros stepped back and waved me in. “Well, come in, dear. I remember now. You were going to be a writer.”

“It didn’t quite work out that way.”

“No, of course not. It’s very hard to be a writer. It takes a special kind of person.”

Which I clearly had not been. I smiled faintly, stepping inside.

Inside, the house was warm, clean, and faintly scented with something citrusy and expensive—the kind of candle you didn’t find at the grocery store.

The carpet had been replaced with polished hardwood, and the kitchen in the background gleamed with brushed steel appliances and a countertop espresso machine that looked like it required a barista’s license to operate.

It was a far cry from the cluttered kitchen and hand-me-down furniture I could still recall.

The walls were still covered in a gallery of family photos, though.

Mostly of Milo. Milo had been the youngest of five, a surprise baby.

There were pictures of him with his dog Ditto, Milo in football pads, Milo in detective costume complete with fedora.

Photos of Milo right up until the age of eighteen—and then only blank walls.

She indicated a blue sofa near the window and I sat down.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Argyros.”

She sure did. And that familiar yellow cardigan? This edition was lambswool, not rayon.

She took the chair opposite and looked around the living room. She smiled a well-satisfied smile. “I do. I’ve been very blessed. I’ve got eleven grandchildren now.”

“Whoa,” I said. “ Eleven .”

She chuckled. “And another on the way. Though I expect it’ll be a while before I get to hold that one.”

“Congratulations.”

“And how are you? You moved back East, didn’t you? Went to live with your mother’s family while you went to school?”

Was that the story? I’d wondered what my father told people. Assuming he bothered to tell them anything.

Mrs. Argyros was still talking—she’d always used to run on in an almost stream-of-consciousness fashion, and it seemed that hadn’t changed.

“I would never have recognized you! Such a tall, gangly boy. I told Milo once that you looked like a hungry scarecrow, and he said, ‘ Ma! Don’t you ever say that to him! ’ But you were such a sweetheart.

Always so polite.” She leaned forward and studied me intently.

“If I didn’t know, I’d think you were French now! ”

Huh?

“French now?” I asked cautiously. Did she think I’d moved to France?

“You know how French people take such nice care of themselves. Their hair and their hands are always just so. Such nice skin.”

I deduced that French was a compliment. “Thank you,” I said. “How’s Mr. Argyros these days?”

Her face fell. “Constantine passed away four years ago. He’s in heaven with our grand-baby Andrew now.”

In heaven with the grandbaby? Not with Milo? She didn’t think Milo went to heaven or she didn’t think he was dead? But then, dead would be hard to accept for any mother.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. He was a real force.”

Kind of a bull in a china shop, to be honest. He and Milo had argued furiously and constantly.

“Yes. His heart. It was sudden. That’s the best way, I think. Now my boy Georgi runs the restaurant with his sisters. Still the only Greek food in Steeple Hill!”

“Certainly, the best Greek food.” I smiled.

She gave a merry little laugh. “Yes! We have wonderful food.”

I didn’t want to waste time talking about the restaurant, given that Finn was already over there checking things out.

I said gently, “Seeing that I was in town, I thought I’d stop by. I was wondering if you’d ever heard from him. From Milo.”

Mrs. Argyros’s shiny dark gaze fell. Her smile tightened. She reached for a tissue from the square floral box on the living room table and pressed it to the corner of her eyes.

“No,” she said softly. “Not since he left. Nothing. Not a word.”

I nodded slowly, studying her. She dabbed her eyes again, but I couldn’t see any trace of wetness. Her voice didn’t waver. Her fingers were steady. The tissue didn’t tremble.

Granted, she wasn’t crying over Constantine, either. Milo had been gone a couple of decades. Maybe she’d finally made peace with his disappearance?

Could you ever really make peace with something like that?

Maybe she was lying.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m always hoping I’m going to hear some good news one day.”

She nodded absently, dabbed her dry eyes again. “I have to think wherever he is, he’s in a better place.”

“That’s probably a good way to look at it.” I rose. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. I know you must have things to do. I just wanted to check in.”

She rose immediately—I couldn’t help thinking in relief—and led the way back to the front door. “You always had nice manners, Kevin. Your father raised you right.”

I caught a glimpse of my expression in the hall mirror and almost laughed.

On the front steps, I said, “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. Look after yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t have many worries. My boys take good care of me!” she assured me gaily.

I smiled and headed back to Finn’s car. I was not smiling as I climbed behind the steering wheel.

I spotted Finn sitting on the cinderblock wall on the far side of the laundromat parking lot next to Constantine’s, and I felt an unexpected surge of…

Hard to explain. Relief, for sure, but also the certainty that here was someone who was not going to lie to me, not try to use me, not attempt to trick or manipulate me.

Despite everything, despite his earlier doubts, Finn was on my side.

I knew that. Whatever else he had been or would be, he was a true friend.

That would not change. It was something—he was someone—I could genuinely count on. Rely on.

Trust.

After leaving that house, driving through these streets that would live forever in my dreams, it meant a lot to have someone in my life I could completely trust.

I pulled neatly between the parking lines and got out, going round to the passenger seat.

“How’d it go?” Finn got into the driver’s seat of the convertible.

I shook my head. “I think you might be right.”

I could feel his gaze on my face. “You think Milo’s alive?”

“I think it’s possible.” I glanced at him. “Which, if true, I’m obviously relieved about. But.”

“But it’s a godawful thing to have done to you.” His eyes were the shade of wintergreen.

I nodded. Just for a moment, remembering, I couldn’t speak.

“I’m so sorry, Keir.” Finn rested his hand on my shoulder, his thumb tracing my collarbone.

I nodded again, drew a sharp breath. “I know. Thanks. I mean, I don’t know for a fact that he’s alive.

But his mom slipped at the end and said, ‘ My boys take good care of me’ .

She only ever had two sons. Although maybe she means Geo and her grandsons.

I don’t have any proof. The absence of tears is not proof.

But if Milo is alive, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

He knows what happened. He’s the one who made it happen.

He can’t accuse me without being dragged into it himself.

What would he have to gain? He can’t have anything to do with this.

He could be alive and not have anything to do with this, right? ”

Finn didn’t answer. I realized we hadn’t moved from the parking space in front of the laundromat. “Are we waiting for something?”

“There’s a vintage Cadillac DeVille sitting in the back of the restaurant parking lot.

I’m going to pull around the block so you can take a look at it.

I know you didn’t get the license plate of the car that stopped after the blowout, but if this one doesn’t match your memory, if it’s the wrong color or make, it would be helpful to eliminate it. ”

I stared at him in disbelief, snapped, “Of course, it’s the same car! What are the chances that a different Cadillac just happens to be sitting in parking lot behind the Argyros family restaurant? We both know it’s the right car. What the hell is going on ?”

“I don’t know,” Finn said calmly. “Let’s see if we can verify if it’s the right car.”

I closed my eyes. “Yes. Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

I nodded. Finn put the Mercedes into gear and we slowly circled the block. For several long seconds I had a perfect view of a 1969 deep green Cadillac DeVille.

“It’s the same car,” I said wearily. “Same make. Same model.”

“You described the car you saw as black.”

“It looked black at night and in the gas station lights. I see now it’s dark green.” I looked at him. “I know it’s the same car, Finn.”

Finn said nothing. He turned down the next street and we wound through the town, leisurely making our way back toward the main highway.

He let me deal with it for a couple minutes and then he said, “According to the DMV, that particular Cadillac is registered to the Devlin Family Trust. Do you know what that is?”

“I’ve heard of it. I’m trying to remember in what context. I don’t remember a Devlin family in Steeple Hill.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to do a little more digging. Coincidences happen, but it’s hard to believe that particular car is sitting in the Argyros family’s restaurant parking lot, but it has no connection to the events of the last couple of days.”

I said bitterly, “I’ll say it’s hard to believe.”

We didn’t talk a lot on the drive back to Monterey.

I couldn’t help feeling like I’d traveled lightyears since that morning. Things I had believed to be absolute truth for half my life were now revealed to be something entirely different.

I had made life-altering decisions based on faulty understanding. On lies and deception. I still wasn’t sure what was the truth.

The worn road hugged the cliffs, sun-warmed asphalt unwinding south as the afternoon light turned molten gold.

To our right, the Pacific stretched wide and glittering blue, the waves catching fire where the sunlight hit them, rolling in slow, endless rhythm against the bronze rocks far below.

The salty air held traces of wild fennel and eucalyptus.

High overhead, black specks wheeled, their cries lost in the whoosh of wind and the muted growl of the engine.

Finn didn’t speak, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near—but not quite touching—my knee. I leaned my head back against the seat, eyes half-closed against the glare.

Somewhere inland, the hills rose in soft, sun-drenched folds, the grass turning silver in the breeze. Ahead, the road dipped and curved again, the ocean a constant pulse at the edge of the world. For a moment, it almost felt like a dream—too bright, too beautiful to be real.

Milo might be alive.

That wasn’t the bright beautiful part, though it would be a relief.

Finally, I shook off my funk, checked my cell, and swore. “ Shit . I forgot to cancel with Mindy!”

“Uh-oh,” Finn said, although he didn’t sound particularly excited.

I raked a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe it. What the hell is the matter with me?”

“You’ve got a few things on your mind.”

“I never do stuff like that!”

“Exactly,” he said calmly. “You never do stuff like that. You’re allowed the occasional slip.”

“Not with her, I’m not. Not right now, I’m not. Vaughn and Lila already wanted to have one of their impromptu get-togethers this afternoon. God knows what that’s about.”

I listened to the agitated echo of my words in the loud silence that followed.

Finally, Finn said, “Keir, you missed a meeting. Personally, I think it’s a meeting you can afford to do without. But if it’s going to keep you up tonight, send her flowers and an apology. Send her a box of chocolates or a bottle of wine.”

But for the love of God, shut up about it.

He didn’t say that, of course.

“Am I wearing you out?” I asked wryly.

“Nope. You’re wearing yourself out. Which worries me. You don’t have to be your best self twenty-four-seven. You don’t have to be everything to everyone at every moment.”

I opened my mouth to object to that characterization, but Finn kept talking in that calm, untroubled way.

“I know you take a lot of pride in that juggling act, and it’s impressive the way you keep all those shiny balls spinning in the air.

But the world isn’t going to end if you drop the occasional ball.

I would rather have an imperfect you around for the next fifty years than a perfect you spontaneously combusting in the next five.

I’d like to have you in my life for a long, long time. ”

I stared at him in surprise.

Finn glanced at me, added, “Since you’re asking.”

“Hm.” I turned my head to stare out my side of the car. After a moment, I realized I was smiling.