Michael turned to Conley after the boss had left the building. “Should my feelings be hurt that she doesn’t want to celebrate with me?”
“I don’t think it’s you she’s avoiding. It’s me. Sibling rivalry, plus I think she’s got some personal stuff going on.”
Michael nodded. “You mean like the reason she’s sleeping in her office every night?”
“You figured that out, huh?”
“I came in early one morning a couple of weeks ago and caught her sacked out on the sofa in there. She made up some kinda lame excuse about how she’d stayed late working. But it wasn’t the first time. Kinda weird, though, that she wouldn’t tell her own sister if she’s having issues.”
“You obviously don’t have any sisters,” Conley said, laughing.
“I’ve got a couple of brothers, but they’re way older than I am,” Michael said.
“Grayson and I are not what you’d call close,” Conley admitted. “Part of the issue is that my grandmother pretty much forced her to hire me. She’s pissed about that, but she’s also pissed because she knows I’m only working here temporarily.”
“So you’re really actively job hunting, huh?”
Conley sighed. “Yeah. I made it clear from the start that this was just a temporary gig. And Grayson made it clear she didn’t want me to work here. It was our grandmother’s idea. She thought Grayson would welcome the help and that once I got settled, I’d want to stay. But I’m too old to live with my grandmother, and I can’t make a living working at the Beacon.”
Michael started gathering papers into his backpack. “Damn. Well, selfishly, I wish you’d stay. Today was great. Awesome! But I get it. I’m sure it’s a huge step down for you after working at a big-city daily paper, working at your family’s crummy little weekly.”
She smiled wistfully. “You know what? Just now, working on this Robinette story, writing a mile a minute, the adrenaline pumping? That wasn’t crummy. It reminded me of why I got into the business.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “Guess I’ll go home, grab a beer, and watch the ball game. See you tomorrow?”
“Maybe I’ll head out myself and take a long walk on the beach. Maybe I’ll even fix myself a drink and watch the sunset. But I’ll be here in the morning. Bright and early,” she promised.
But she didn’t head for the beach. Not right away. Something was definitely going on with her sister. She’d been elated, effusive—for Grayson, anyway—but then, suddenly, her mood shifted and she was once again distant and evasive.
Grayson and Tony lived in a two-story colonial revival white frame house in a subdivision called Bay Manor. All the 1960s-era houses were variations on the same theme: bleached brick or wood frame, colonial-revival style with impressive doorways with leaded-glass sidelights and bay windows, two-car garages, and small but immaculate lawns.
Conley cruised slowly past Grayson’s house on Jasmine Way. Kids were riding bikes on the sidewalks, dodging the sprinklers, women were gathering in a neighbor’s driveway, gossiping and sipping from plastic cocktail cups. A father and son were playing catch in the front yard at the house across the street from Tony and Grayson’s.
But there was no sign of life at their house. On a normal day, both Tony’s Lexus and Grayson’s BMW would have been parked in the driveway because the garage was too narrow to fit their cars. Tonight, the driveway was empty, both garage doors closed. No lights burned from behind the windows. More important, the grass was overgrown, and the shrubs were ragged.
Definitely something was off. Tony was famously anal-retentive about his yard, mowing and blowing and pruning and planting every weekend. No stray leaf was ever safe for long on Tony Willingham’s lawn.
It was clear to Conley that her brother-in-law was gone. It was true he traveled for work all the time, but no matter how frequent his business trips, it was a point of pride for Tony that he’d won the subdivision’s Yard of the Month plaque so often, his neighbors had officially declared him out of contention.
Which still didn’t explain why Grayson was sleeping in her office.
She thought back to Kennedy McFall’s chance remark about seeing Grayson at the bar at the country club—the Wrinkle Room, she’d called it.
Conley steered the Subaru toward the Silver Bay Country Club. The golf greens stretched out on both sides of the road, which was lined with moss-draped oak trees. The sun was setting, and the sky was growing a deeper blue. A few stragglers were headed for the clubhouse on their golf carts, and as she turned in to the parking lot, she counted a couple of dozen cars, including Grayson’s BMW.
“Errands, my ass,” Conley muttered. She had half a mind to park, stroll into the bar, and confront Grayson right there. Make her come clean about the state of her marriage.
But she knew she wouldn’t do that. That wasn’t the Hawkins way. In their family, they didn’t talk of such things. Abandonment, betrayal, estrangement, depression? These emotions did not exist in her family. Or if they did, they were tamped tightly down. Way down.
She stopped at the IGA for supplies. The wine offerings were miserable—cheap sauvignon blanc, sour-tasting pinot grigio, and a Riesling so Kool-Aid sweet, one sip would rot your teeth. She’d managed to discover a passable chardonnay, so she piled three bottles in her cart, then headed over to the deli counter, where she picked up some pita chips and her favorite pimento cheese. Maybe she really would take a walk on the beach for a little sunset picnic.
“I’m home,” she called after she’d tromped up the stairs at the Dunes. She found G’mama and Winnie in the kitchen, seated at opposite sides of the enamel-topped table with a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle spread out between them.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Conley said, leaning down to give her grandmother a peck on the cheek.
Winnie held up the top of the puzzle box. “It’s either Venice or Florence. I forget which.”
Conley pointed at the picturesque gondola gliding down a canal. “I’m betting it’s Venice.”
“You’re home late,” Lorraine said. “Is there a big story brewing?”
“The Robinette thing is heating up,” Conley said, unloading her groceries on the counter. “Charlie made an official announcement that he’s running for Symmes’s unexpired term, and then, lo and behold, Rowena ran into Vanessa at the beauty parlor, and Vanessa told her she intends to run too!”
“Against her own son?” Lorraine looked up, startled.
“Sounds just like that family,” Winnie said. She picked up a piece, and her hand hovered over the puzzle as she considered its placement.
“Yup. Did you know Symmes had cancer?”
“No! Where’d you hear that?” Lorraine asked.
Conley found a canvas tote bag in the cupboard and began loading it. Wine bottle, opener, plastic cup, chips, cheese dip, spreader.
She quickly filled the two women in on the day’s developments. “We sent out a digital edition of the Beacon a little while ago,” she added.
Her grandmother looked confused. “Digital? Like television?”
“A little bit,” Conley said. “It’s our print content, but because this is such hot breaking news, we sent it out on the internet to our mailing list. And it’s got embedded video too, thanks to our hotshot young gun, Michael. Here. I’ll show you.”
She reached into her small cross-body pocketbook for her cell phone but came up empty.
“Must have left my phone in the car,” she said.
But a thorough search of the console and the floor of the Subaru failed to turn it up.
G’mama was waiting by the kitchen door when she got back upstairs, holding up her own ancient flip phone. “Sean Kelly just called me,” she said. “You left your backpack—and your phone—at the store today.”
“Thank God!” Conley exclaimed. “I was starting to panic. That phone has my whole life in it. Guess I’d better head back to town to get it, though.”
“No need,” G’mama said. “Sean said he’d just drive it out to you.” She gave her granddaughter an exaggerated wink. “I think that boy’s got a crush on you, Sarah Conley Hawkins.”
“Stop with the matchmaking! We’re old friends, G’mama, and that’s all. I’m going upstairs to change, then. As soon as Skelly drops off my phone, I’m going to go for a walk on the beach.”
“Put on something cute, like a sundress, and do something with your hair,” G’mama instructed. “Sometimes I think you forget you’re an attractive single girl.”
“Lalalalalala,” Conley said, putting her hands over her ears and starting for the staircase. “I can’t hear you.”
“Seems like it’d be kind of rude for you to just grab your phone and ask him to leave after he went to the trouble to drive all the way out here,” Winnie commented. “Your grandma and me already had our supper, but I can warm up something for the two of you, if you want.”
“Not you too, Winnie,” Conley said.