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“No, should I?”
“Nah, he’s definitely not someone you wanna know.” Still holding his glass tumbler, he leaned closer to the phone and put his elbows to his knees. “You have any connection to the Irish?”
“I think my dad said we were, like, one-sixteenth Irish, but my mom said that was just an excuse so she’d make corned beef on Saint Patrick’s Day.”
The man smiled. “I’m talking about the Irish mafia, lass.”
If my eyes shot open any wider, they’d likely pop out of my head. “The mob? No, definitely no connection to them.”
“How about a man named Lars? Or his club, Wicked?”
With as many clubs and bars as Boston had—and how quickly they turned over—my girls and I could go to a different one every night and still never get to every place. Since our nights out were rare, we tended to stick to a few tried-and-trues. Wicked wasn’t one of our usuals, but I couldn’t remember the name of the smarmy club we’d gone to a few months back.
Cringing at the memory of the cliché train wreck, I asked, “Is that the cheesy place with all the chrome, fake art, and ridiculous patches of fur everywhere?”
Judge barked out a noise that sounded like a mix of a laugh and a choke.
“Yes,” Nox wheezed, choking on his own laughter. “But I doubt it’s the same one you’re thinking of.” Getting control of himself, he continued his questioning. “What about Elder Oaks?”
I hesitated, not because I had something to hide, but because my instinct was to protect. But lying could backfire and get me in more trouble.
Plus, if he was asking, it was likely because he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, that’s where I work,” I said, and Judge’s hand squeezed my wrist.
“As a nurse.”
Even though it wasn’t a question, I answered anyway. “Yes.” I gave Judge a quick glare. “Not the naughty kind, either.”
“A man can fantasize,” he muttered back.
Nox cleared his throat. “Ever met a resident named Carol Anne Allan?”
“Ms. Carol Anne? Of course, she makes sure everyone knows her and she knows everyone. Why?” My heart sank in my tight chest. “Is she okay?”
“Aye. She’ll outlive us all, don’t worry.”
“You know her.”
That time, it was him who answered my non-question. “Aye. Her granddaughter is my wife.”
“You’re Gus’ husband?” Stunned, I mustered up a feeble, “Ms. Carol Anne’s been showing off the ultrasound pictures. Congrats.”
He looked as proud as a father-to-be could. “Thanks, lass.”
Elder Oaks was a premier senior living facility. The place was exclusive, cost a fortune, and featured all sorts of activities and amenities for when the seniors wanted to get out of their posh apartments. It wasn’t a nursing home, but since the residents were all over a certain age and income bracket, it was staffed with round-the-clock nurses and a rotation of the best doctors Massachusetts had to offer.
Landing the once in a lifetime job had been a miracle, and likely only happened because one of the surlier residents had struck up a conversation with me while I’d waited to drop off my resume. After that, he’d refused to see any other nurse and had offered to pay my salary himself.
Even though I was qualified—though inexperienced—I got the feeling my supervisor had only appeased him because she’d figured I’d quit within a few weeks anyway. But I was still there, loving my job and the residents, even if some days wore me down to the bone.
Or when a favorite passed away, to the soul.
Of all of my favorites, though, Ms. Carol Anne was top of the list. She was a feisty southern lady who went hardcore with euchre, knew all the good gossip, and was obsessed with the Kardashians. Her sharp wit could draw laughter or blood depending on whether she liked the recipient.
I’d met her granddaughter, Gus, a handful of times, and although I’d heard all about Gus’ ‘handsome beau’, I’d never met him. Carol Anne was a do-er and preferred to get out and about for their visits.
“We had dinner with Carol Anne today. She asked me to do my,” Nox lifted his hand for finger quotes, “‘scary man thing’ because her favorite nurse called off for work.”
