Page 3 of Jack
He looked back at West. “I’ve been thinking that it’s time I hang this gig up. Maybe retake the bar.”
West glanced at his wife, back at Jack. “Don’t do that to us, bro. We live vicariously through you and your epic hunts.” He stopped the swing and reached for the baby as she spat her pacifier from her mouth. “Not a lot of excitement here in Iowa.”
Behind him, the dog barked, and Jack glanced over to see Pearl playing tug with him and his chew toy. Baby Amber resucked her passie, watching them with big blue eyes.
Seemed like enough excitement to him.
“Maybe what you need is a partner, though. A Watson to your Sherlock.”
He shook his head. “The last thing I need is to babysit some sidekick.” He glanced at Nat. “So, you hear from Austen? Is she coming to the wedding?”
“She’s your sister. You have to askme?”
“Please. I know you two still talk. You have that roomies-forever bond.”
Nat grinned. “Fine. Yes. Last I heard, she was planning on being there. And Steinbeck too.”
“Really? I thought he was on some Caribbean island.”
“It wouldn’t hurt for you to pick up the phone and call your siblings.”
“We talk. We all Zoomed in for Christmas.”
“Your poor mother.”
“She’s busy with the inn. And for the record, I talk to her and Dad once a week.”
Nat held up a hand. “It’s just that the Kingston family dinners are hard to forget.”
“Times change.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess.”
The words sank in like arrows, into his soul.
“So just Doyle and Conrad home this year for Christmas?” West said.
“Not even Conrad—the Blue Ox had a game in Toronto.”
A pause, and West glanced at Nat, back at Jack. “So Brontë’s big event will be the first time you’ve all seen each other since?—”
“Yes.” Jack’s mouth tightened.
West nodded.
“And Brontë’s okay with you showing up for her big day?” This from Nat, who’d gotten up to grab Amber from the swing.
“Dad called. It wasn’t optional. I’m in the wedding. And apparently she goes by Boo now.”
“Right, from the TV show.”
He nodded, but he could agree that the entire thing felt weird. Who knew what was going through Brontë’s head? And nobody needed to know about the fist in his gut, tightening with each mile north. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going home, lying low, no drama, no questions, and in five days, I’m gone.” He pointed to West. “And you’d better have a gig for me.”
West pointed at his wife. “She’s the one with instincts.”
“And the Crime Stoppers connection,” Nat said. She stopped the swing and unstrapped the baby. “Mommy’s going to have to scour the reward boards.” She handed the baby to her husband.
“Or maybe some of those cold-case podcasts—they often have rewards for ‘information leading to.’ I was listening toPenny for Your Thoughtson my drive up. She’s still trying to find the ‘masked man’ in the Sarah Livingston case.” He finger quoted the wordsmasked man.So much drama.