Chapter Twenty-eight

Driving home from his mother’s house in Exton, Parrott’s thoughts were weighted with the ironies of his life. The car windows were down, and the breeze created in the summer darkness lifted strands of Tonya’s hair from her pensive face. Who would ever have dreamed that he and Tonya would be able to buy an almost-two-million-dollar house? Or that they would disagree on the practicality of such a purchase? Or that his mother’s boyfriend would jump in the middle of that?

Perhaps the most fascinating irony was the fact that Herman had a connection to Brock Thornton, Claire Whitman’s elusive financial planner, whose name kept cropping up in the meth explosion case. This was not the first time Parrott’s personal and professional lives had collided, but it was chilling, nonetheless.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tonya said, shifting in her seat and placing her hand on her husband’s knee. “You were right.”

Parrott grasped her hand. “About what?”

“About giving Herman a chance.”

“Changed your opinion of him, have you?” Parrott startled at his wife’s sudden shift. Tonya was anything but naïve, and he couldn’t see where Herman had said or done anything to earn her trust.

“Yeah, sort of. And I know what you’re thinking. It’s not just because he approved of us buying the house in Malvern.”

Parrott’s gut flipped at yet another irony. Herman’s blessing of their house-hunting was Parrott’s least favorite part of the evening. “What, then?”

“He seems genuinely fond of your mother, for one thing. I thought he might be a gold digger, but his proposition to invest his own money with hers and ours makes him seem more legit.”

“Ah, and I thought you were going to say you were impressed by his culinary talents. That cake was superb.” Parrott didn’t want to get too deeply involved in a discussion about Herman now. Some ideas for exploring Herman’s connections to the Brandywine financial planner were brewing in his mind.

“I agree. I wonder if he shares recipes.” Tonya picked at a fingernail. “Ollie, I’ve been thinking about the Malvern house. I don’t think we should pursue it.”

Bubbly waves of surprise flowed through Parrott’s thoughts, and he pulled the car onto a promontory about a mile from home, where he could focus on what Tonya was saying. The chirping of insects and the brilliance of the stars in the black velvet sky offered a perfect backdrop for their conversation. “Where is this coming from? I thought you loved the house.”

“I did. I mean I do. But something bothers me about Faith Hightower’s snobbishness. What if all the people in that neighborhood are as snooty as she is?” She picked at a spot on the knee of her pants. “And truthfully, what do we need with all that space, just two of us and Horace?”

Parrott thought he had mentioned that earlier, but hearing this argument from Tonya’s lips was fresh honey from the hive. He reached over and cupped her chin in his hand. “What about having a bigger kitchen, and a pool and all that?”

“What really convinced me was your mother’s house. She has spacious rooms and a fabulous kitchen. I’ll bet there are homes with pools and basement gyms in Exton, and we wouldn’t have to mess with all those over-the-top issues. Besides, I don’t want to be cleaning almost six thousand square feet of house.”

Parrott could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Okay, then. I’ll call Ms. Hightower tomorrow and see if she has any leads on houses in Exton.”

Tonya dropped his hand and gave his arm a slap. “Oh, no you don’t. I’ll take care of Ms. Hightower. I’ve decided I’m in the market for a male real estate agent from here on out.”

“Fine with me,” Parrott said, “but I do have one request.”

“What’s that, my love?”

“Let’s not share any of this with Ma or Herman. Let them continue to think we’re interested in the Malvern house for now.”

“Can I ask why?” Tonya asked. “I doubt they’d be surprised or upset.”

Parrott started the motor and turned to wink at Tonya. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”