Page 52 of Trust No One

“The usual moans and groans. Odd being back. I’m sleeping in the spare room.” The admission slipped out.

He shook his head and pressed the elevator button. “A renovation won’t be pretty. You should sell the land to a developer and walk away.”

I pictured Hale House as a neighborhood country club—family portraits spying on strangers, champagne spills on the carpets, condensation rings darkening on antique tables, and the cemetery surrounded by a sea of new homes.

“Let’s see what the damage is,” I said.

The elevator slid open. As we stepped in, his scent caught me—cheap citrus-scented soap. It yanked me back to a fall night in the barn, naked on an itchy wool blanket, believing we had forever.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

“Jaw’s set. You’re wound tighter than usual.”

A small careful smile didn’t stick. “I’m always tense.”

“This is more so than normal.”

“We aren’t kids anymore. There’s more at stake.”

“Maria is awake. Good news. Still, you look worried.”

“Because someone poisoned her.”

The words sat between us as the car hummed upward. My mind drifted back to the summer before senior year. I’d just returned from a year in Montana when Maria had reintroduced me to Judson. A double date with Gabe.

I’d worn a short, full flowery dress, cowboy boots, and a thick stack of bracelets—already listing reasons to leave early if my date was a dud. When I’d arrived at the diner, there was no sign of Maria or Gabe.

But Judson had been waiting by the front door. Faded jeans, a clean sweatshirt, sneakers, a white T-shirt, and cheeks still flushed from a morning practice session. He had the best posture of anyone I’d ever met. And in a high school world of slouches and mumbles, it was hot.

“Delivery guy?” I teased.

He smiled. “Lawn girl?”

The memory dissolved as the elevator slowed. “Tell me what you know.”

“Let’s talk to the doctor first,” he replied, “then we’ll visit with Maria.”

The doors opened to the lobby. “Right.” His annoyance pleased me. “It’s how I make my living,” I added.

“Me too. But in this situation, I do the asking.”

“I’m Gabe’s lawyer. I have the same rights.”

“You have an agreement with Gabe?”

“I do.” A small lie, but if this turned into a case, Gabe would need my help.

As we crossed the lobby, he modified his gait so I could keep up. I was a runner and moved quickly, but matching muscled legs attached to a six-foot-six frame wasn’t easy.

On Maria’s floor, Dr. Webber was at the nurses’ station. When she saw us, she moved around the counter toward us.

“Thank you for calling.” I was blood family; my standing trumped his. “Is Gabe here?”

“Not yet.” Dr. Webber jabbed a pen back into the front breast pocket of her lab coat.

Had the doctor’s call woken him? Had he stayed up late talking to his mother or watching his daughter sleep? Had he drunk too much in front of the television texting the alleged girlfriend? I liked Gabe, but he hadn’t eased any of my worries.