Page 58 of Over the Edge

“Is she qualified to run the business?”

“I have no idea.”

“If she plays as rough as her husband did, I’m not going to be happy.” Nolan’s voice hardened. “We may have to get aggressive in our efforts to dissuade her.”

A wave of nausea rolled through Eric, and he tightened his grip on the burner phone. “I don’t have the stomach for those kinds of games.”

“It’s a little late for second thoughts. You’re already in this one. Here’s what I want you to do. Find an excuse to talk to the wife on her next visit. Size her up and report back. In the meantime, I’ll work my law enforcement connections, see if I can get more details about what the murder witness saw or heard. Let’s hope she wasn’t there during my phoneconversation with Robertson ... or doesn’t start to remember details if she was. Otherwise, she could be a problem. Thanks to the wife, I’m already on the cops’ radar. I don’t want any more hassles—or anyone breathing down my neck and watching my every move.”

A bead of moisture trickled down Eric’s back, between his shoulder blades. The Sunday temperature was warm, but fear, not heat, had activated his sweat glands.

“I need my money, Nolan.”

“Do your job, and you’ll get it. The simple solution is to convince the wife the strip mall isn’t a smart deal. One more thing. In the future, let’s use texts. No chance of anyone overhearing that kind of conversation.”

Nolan ended the call, and Eric slipped the cell into his pocket, fingers quivering.

He wasn’t cut out for subterfuge.

But there was only one way to end this nightmare.

Get the man what he wanted.

Best case, James Robertson’s wife would be easier to work with than her husband had been, Nolan would get his coveted strip mall, and the witness to the murder wouldn’t know or remember anything that could come back to haunt them.

Worst case?

He wasn’t even ready to think about that.

“WHAT HAPPENEDto the chicken cordon bleu?”

“Change in plans.” Jack responded to Bri’s question as he peeled back the foil from the pan of lasagna. “I had to work this morning.”

“Bummer. Your lasagna is amazing, but I was all geared up for chicken.” Cara peeked into the other oven in the double set. “However, if that’s Mom’s green bean casserole, you’re vindicated.”

“It is.”

She offered him a melancholy smile. “I love when you make that. It’s almost like Mom is still with us.”

The very reason his menus often included the casserole that had been a staple at family dinners until Mom died a year ago.

“I wish shewasstill with us. Dad too.” Bri dipped her chin and adjusted a fork that was slightly askew in one of the place settings.

Jack dished up the first generous serving of lasagna and handed the plate to her. “They are.”

“It’s not the same.” Bri sniffed.

His throat tightened, and he resorted to the wisecrack strategy he employed whenever his emotions got unruly. “Hey. No crying in my lasagna. It has plenty of salt already.”

Bri made a face at him. “Ha-ha.”

“At least you have someone new in your life.” Cara directed that comment to their sister, then focused on him. “You want me to put the green beans on the table?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“There’s someone out there for you too.” Bri took the second plate he held out.

“Maybe.”

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