Page 53 of The Usual Family Mayhem

I wondered how fast I could get his shirt off.

“On the work front, think about what you need to say to explain what happened. We’ll pick a time and talk to them together. Consider me your backup.”

My head shot up. It missed knocking into his chin by a fraction. “Really? You’ll be there for support?”

“Of course.”

He finally stepped back and I hated it. Touching him was so much better than not touching him.

He picked up his container of unharmed cupcakes. “One other thing.”

Jackson, no. He could still ruin the moment.

“My emotions are just fine.”

It took me a second to figure out what he was saying. It wasn’t a struggle since he went ahead and filled me in.

“When it comes to you I know exactly what I think and feel. And I’m sure as hell not going to wait another ten years to kiss you again.” His smile came roaring back as he stepped out of the gazebo. “Sweet dreams, Kasey.”

When he winked I doubted I’d ever sleep again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning did not go well. It started with calls from Micah. He tried twice before eight. Either he didn’t own a watch or he didn’t care about my sleep schedule. Brock then texted to say he was back in town and:We need to talk today.

In addition to destroying my post-kiss buzz, the warning also started an alarm clock bonging in my head. The time for avoidance and denial had run out. I was being called in to explain. An unavoidable and, frankly, deserved ultimatum hovered on the horizon.

I’d had plenty of warning and time. From Brock. From Jackson. From that little voice in my head that recognized when I was on the cusp of tripping over my own feet. But knowing an explosion waited behind the closed door didn’t keep me from running headfirst into it. Unfortunately.

Confronting the mess days ago would have been the wise and mature thing to do. At every opportunity I’d chosen a different path.

In a feeble attempt to prolong my Brock-free time and inevitable firing, I left the house. If I couldn’t save my job, I could at least try to save Gram and Celia from a potential prison term. Not that I had a definitive answer about the poison, but I had a pile of things that seemed not quite right, a fewthat’s never happened beforeevents, and a load of suspicion fueling my imagination.

That was the point of this errand. Gather intel.

With that special column in the business’s ledger gone, I lost the ability to link stars with the town’s recently dead husbands. That meant backing into the evidence by determining how many men had died unexpectedly in the area so far this year then cross-referencing to see if their wives or girlfriends ordered from Mags’ Desserts around that time.

Sounded simple, but no. How many local men over the age of thirty—an age I randomly picked—died? So many for so many different reasons.

A smart-thinking person might have stopped there. Not me. I dove into a new round of bad planning, which explained how I ended up standing in the bushes on the side of Abigail Burns’s house. An oversized SUV sat in the driveway, probably Austin’s, but he never showed his jackass face. If Abigail was in there she had some pretty stealthy skills because I didn’t see her either.

It’s amazing how much attention sneaking around draws. A woman chased me away by asking fifty questions about who I was because I looked familiar and “Do I have to call the police on you, young lady?” The neighborhood watch was alive and well in Winston-Salem, which was a good thing but not helpful for my informal investigation.

My next step... a scone. Possibly a cupcake after the scone because I’d walked to and from Abigail’s house. Not miles but I’d racked up far more than my usual zero steps of morning exercise. I was a treadmill-after-work kind of gal. Any machine that allowed me to burn calories and watch television at the same time was my favorite.

With exercise checked off for the day my sole focus became working out a time to meet with Jackson and unload the twisted truth on my unsuspecting Gram and Celia.

Talking to Jackson. That part made me ridiculously happy and a little jumpy, two things I never was. Putting off the inevitablelet me tell you about my work pitchtalk with Gram might prolong my time with Jackson, but I could accidentally make an even bigger mess. Increasing mess size had been my greatest skill for several years now and I needed to break the habit.

I heard voices as soon as I walked into Gram’s kitchen. Gram and Celia and someone else. Another female. I shuddered to a halt when I saw who—Abigail Burns. I recognized her from my hours of online research. The starred pie lady stood right there next to a plate of blueberry muffins.

Blame Jackson. That kiss kept me up late. Reading about poison and information on the Burns family eventually helped me to sleep, but it took longer than expected.

Cash’s death, or murder, depending on who you talked to, had set off an explosion of press. News articles touted his intellect and business prowess. A few mentioned his son’s shady background. Austin liked to drink and drive, and why wasn’t that a surprise? A big-time jackass move performed by a big ole jackass.

Abigail and Cash married right after she graduated from college. He was older and had already launched business ventures, thanks to Daddy’s checkbook and a family loan he liked to pretend never happened. That made Abigail forty-something, but she looked more like a teenager. Petite with perfectly styled blond hair that landed just above her shoulders. She came off as fragile in a floral-print dress that fell past her knees.

“You’re back.” Gram could not have sounded less excited about my return.

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