Page 19 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

It’d been a huge undertaking, and he’d loved every minute of it. That was when he’d decided he wanted to be a general contractor, to restore dingy, ugly, and aged spaces and make them beautiful again. Sort of like what God had done in his heart when he’d trusted in Christ.

And like Dean and Deborah had done when they’d taken him in.

Dean patted him on the back. “Coke? Or we got some of those fruity, bubbly things you like. Some weird flavor.”

“Tangerine,” Deborah supplied. “I’ll get it. You have a seat.”

They were always like this, treating him like an honored guest, as if he’d done them a favor by coming by. As if he didn’t owe them everything.

Over dinner, they chatted and caught up. Deborah usually had an anecdote about the patrons and fellow employees at the library where she worked. The stories were amusing at the least, often downright hilarious. As usual, the three of them laughed their way through the meal.

When Garrett had eaten more than he should have, he started clearing the dishes. “The least I can do.”

Deborah settled back in her chair. “Not that I did anything but comment on the gravy, but I’ll let you.”

“You bought the groceries,” Dean said to her. “And worked all day.”

She shrugged. “Not as hard as Garrett, I’m sure. But he’s young and strong.”

“My day was easy,” Garrett said. “Met my new client and got her settled at the house.”

“How is the place?” Deborah asked.

“Could be worse. Furnace is barely keeping up, but the fireplace’ll keep it warm. Do you two still have that old kitchen table in the garage? The little one with the sides that fold down?”

“I think so.” Deborah turned to Dean.

“It’s behind a bunch of stuff, but it’s there.”

“Would you mind letting her borrow it? Except in the bedroom, she has no furniture.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “She can keep it.”

“And don’t we still have those old chairs?” Deborah asked. “You were going to refinish them.”

“Right. They’re ugly as sin, but she can have ’em. We’ll load them up before you leave.”

“You two are so generous. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

After Garrett finished the dishes,he and his uncle loaded the furniture in his truck, and Deborah excused herself to her room. Dean seemed ready to tell Garrett why he’d asked him to stop by.

He cleared his throat and nodded to the living area. “I heard you had lunch with your client today. The Kincaid girl, right?”

“Girl?” Garrett slid onto the soft cushions that’d been his spot since he was a teen. “She’s in her twenties.”

Dean set his glass of water on the table beside his recliner, sat, and lifted the footrest. “She’s thirty-one.”

Surprised by the detail, Garrett let his expression ask the question.

“I knew her mom pretty well.”

Garrett had decided he wasn’t going to drill his uncle for details about Aspen, but it seemed he was going to get some anyway.

“It’s a long story,” Dean said, “and not a particularly pretty one. Her mother… She was a little”—he tapped the side of his head—“mentally ill. Probably more than a little. Not that we realized that. She seemed perfectly normal when we first met her. But the older she got…”

When he didn’t finish the thought, Garrett asked, “How did you meet her?”

“Their family moved here Jane’s senior year. She graduated and went to Plymouth State, where your aunt and I went. I got to know her through Deborah, and even more when Jane started dating a friend of mine.”

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