Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (24 page)

The weather matches the mood of the town. The dark clouds rolling over Holly Woods, sporadically dropping showers of rain over us, are in perfect alignment with the somber atmosphere that Wally’s funeral brings.

I don’t think anyone in town has smiled today. Except me, and that’s only because of the knowledge that Nonna has finally gone home. As in the Bond family home, not my home. My kitchen has never been cleaner, and I’m no longer afraid that I’ll find a parrot in my living room. Lord only knows, if I’d allowed the thing at my house, I would have been finding myself with a cat-calling peeper of a parrot in my bedroom while I’d slept.

Once again, I found myself promising Gianna that I’d attend Wally’s funeral with her. I have zero desire to do this too, because if I do, then I’m losing solid investigation time. My newest idea that Kat may be involved for her financial benefit has been swirling in my mind all night, and I can’t seem to shake it.

It’s like the fly that won’t stop buzzing around your head. The problem is I’m not entirely sure how to begin the process of finding that out. I can’t go ahead and ask her outright without seriously pissing her off, because really, it’s not my business. I was only just introduced to her two days ago—I can’t go accusing her of stuff.

God. It’s so much easier to investigate this stuff when you’re working with the police. I was totally spoiled in the last two cases I’ve worked on.

“You’re thinking hard.” Drake sits down next to me and hands me a can of Diet Coke.

“Yeah... Hey, I have an idea.” I meet his eyes. “Will you go to the funeral with your mom instead? I have a ton of stuff to do, and I think my ‘compassionate heart’ answered before my head could.”

He smirks. “I had a feeling you’d say this. I already pulled my suit out.”

“Because that’s so different to what you wear every day, right?” I roll my eyes and put the can on the coffee table. “I have no idea what to do with this investigation. I feel like I’m in a black hole with it all. Literally nothing is making sense.”

“Well, it’s only been a few days. Typically, they don’t get solved instantly unless the killer is on the scene or there are eye witnesses. Even then the eye witnesses need to be able to positively identify the killer or at least have gotten a good look at him.” Drake sits back and rests his arm over the back of the sofa. “It’ll come to you. Maybe you need to do something else so you’re not thinking about it so much. You know... Like clean your bedroom.”

“I’m not thirteen.”

“I know. But organizing your shoes has two benefits: You’re focusing on something other than the investigation, and I won’t have to worry about breaking my neck.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll organize my shoes. It’s not like they’re at your house, but whatever.”

“You have ten pairs at my house.”

“And I washed three of your shirts in my last laundry load. What point are we making here?”

“That ferrying between two houses is getting more and more ridiculous?”

I freeze. “I’m sorry. What?”

“And here comes the commitment phobia,” he mutters, getting up. “I’m going to take a shower so I’m not late for the funeral.”

“No.” I get up and follow him to the bottom of the stairs. “I want to know what you mean by those comments.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

A door slams shut, ending our conversation.

Maybe not to him... What the hell does he mean by that?
“Ferrying between two houses is getting more and more ridiculous?”
That doesn’t even make sense. He owns his house, and I own mine. Why wouldn’t we go between them?

Although, I suppose he does have a point about thinking about something else. The problem is what I’m supposed to think about. I don’t particularly have any other clients right now because I want to dedicate all of my time to Gianna and the problem she’s having.

But... Ugh. I don’t want to think about something else. I just want to finish this case, find her innocent, and now, find out what Drake means.

I swig from the Coke can and go upstairs. The shower is running, but the door is open, and I can’t help but pause and look through the gap. The glass from the shower stall is steamed up, but the water droplets running down the wet panes give me tiny glimpses at the toned, tanned body being blasted by hot water.

I feel so much like a peeper right now, but fuck, the view is damn nice. Like
damn
nice. I’m pretty sure Drake Nash doesn’t have an inch of fat on his body—except perhaps his butt—and is in fact a superhuman being, because no man should be that hot from the neck down. Or the neck up.

He shuts the water off, and I dart from the doorway and into my room and grab a hairbrush. Never mind that I’ve already brushed it today. Who said a second brush was a bad thing? Not me. Nope. Love glossy, soft, unknotted hair.

“You’re really not as stealthy as you think.” His voice, ringing with amusement, sends tingles across my skin. “Honestly, an avalanche would be less obvious than you perving on me in the shower.”

I peer at him then freeze. Shit. “Can you put some clothes on?”

He looks down at his torso, which is bare and dripping wet, then meets my eyes again. “Really? You want me to get dressed?”

Swallowing hard, I set the brush down. “I want you to tell me what you meant just then.”

“Told you,” he says on a small laugh. “Doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.”

“Obviously, it is.”

“Noelle. Drop it.” His words are short, but they’re not hard. “All right? Forget it.”

“No.” I stalk out of the room. Then, at the top of the stairs, I pause. “I’m going to work. Don’t forget to set the alarm before you lock up.”

“Never do. I save that for you.”

“Shut up.” I go downstairs, grab my things, and go out to my car.

Man, that was weird, telling him to set the alarm before he locks my house. My. House. Oh well. I guess that’s how it goes, and I have to admit that I’m thankful I don’t have to sit there and wait for him to get done in the shower. Mind you, though, he’d usually leave and go to his house, so...

Wait.

No.

That’s ridiculous.

He wouldn’t possibly suggest that.

I’m not even going to think the words.

Strange, strange man.

I pull up outside Bond P.I. feeling much better than I was two minutes ago. The terrifying, fleeting thought has been relegated to the very depths of my mind, where it shall stay until I deem such a time acceptable for it to come back.

“Yo! Noelle!” Carlton grabs me before I can get into my office. “I have something you want.”

“Save it for Tinder, Carlton,” I tease him. “Come in.”

“Ha ha ha. Hilarious. Did you think that up by yourself?”

“I will fire you.”

“No, you won’t. Because then you’ll never get this.” He waves some paper in front of my face.

I reach for it, but he jumps back so I can’t get it. Is he twenty-four or fourteen?

“Ah, do you want it?”

“Carlton.”

“Okay, so, what’s on this”—he taps his fingers against the paper—“is doubly good news. I’m gonna tell you the bad shit first.”

“Why does your good news never come alone?”

“It likes a simultaneous release.”

“Again, save it for Tinder.”
Oh my God. Must. Not. Laugh.

“Gotcha, gotcha. Okay, so the bad news? I still haven’t got into the server. I’ve been trying relentlessly, but whoever they got to do this knew what they were doing. It’s really fucking pissing me off, actually.”

As proven by the bulging vein in the side of his neck.

“Okay, now, breathe,” I tell him. “That’s shit, but it can’t be helped. I actually have someone helping me now. I don’t have all the info, so keep trying, but it ain’t as important as it was. What’s the good news?”

“Walter Thornton’s life insurance policy.” He slaps it down on the desk in front of me and points to the policy amount. “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fuck off.” I snatch the paper up and look at it. “Why does everyone in Holly Woods have their lives insured for the equivalent of a decent Powerball win?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. But there you go. That’s a lot of damn money for a guy who previously owned a business that’s ‘barely turning a profit,’ as you put it.”

“Right. Did I ask you to look into the financials of it?”

“Yes. I’ve made a start, but it’s a little harder than you’d think. Wally knew what he was doing, so it’s gonna take me a good twenty-four hours. I told Mike he’d have to get Grecia to Google-search for what he needs.”

“Atta boy. I’ve taught you well.”

He grins. “You have. Is that all you need to know?”

“Unless you can confirm via video that Katherine Thornton was at a press conference I know nothing about the night her father died, then yes. Thank you.”

“Sorry. Even geniuses have their limits.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Sheldon Cooper. He’ll argue that until you believe he’s right.”

Carlton tilts his head to the side. “Huh. Never took you for a
Big Bang
fan.”

“I have a girl crush on Kaley Cuoco.”

He leans forward with his hand up, palm to me, for a high five. I slap his hand with mine and sit down in my office chair. Everyone has time for a high five for crushing on Kaley Cuoco—let’s be real.

When Carlton’s gone, I read through Wally’s policy. That’s a large amount of money, even for a guy who was once a business owner. Three-quarters of a million dollars seems like overkill. I doubt Colton’s Classic Cars was making a shit-ton of money when it was selling cars the way a whore sells... Well.

That’s enough of that thought path.

I sigh heavily. This only reinforces my theory that money was the reason he was killed. The only person who would know about this policy is the beneficiary, which is, indeed, Kat. It doesn’t bode well, but it doesn’t bode badly, either.

This is circumstantial... And a hell of a lot less circumstantial than what has Gianna in the spotlight.

Once again, I sigh, this time running my fingers through my hair. For the first time in my life, I’m thankful it’s Friday night and I get to spend the night with my family and fall into the insanity that is Bond Family Dinner.

Only nine hours until six o’clock.

I
t’s only just occurred to me how fucking awkward this is going to be. Drake and I have barely talked since I went to work this morning, and there’s one hell of an elephant in the room—er, truck—right now as we drive to my parents’ place. Neither of us has spoken about the words I’m hoping he wasn’t thinking and the ones he was. They’re probably one and the same, but really, in the bigger picture, this is such a mild issue.

The problem is Trent.

He and I haven’t spoken unless we’ve been throwing shade at each other. Our relationship is practically eternal freaking night right now. He’s just a goddamn black hole, and I’m a pretty star. That’s how it works, because he’s wrong and I’m right.

I don’t care what anyone says. I’ll fight that belief until I no longer can. He should not be working this case. But that is the problem with small towns—everyone has a conflict of interest no matter the case.

Drake pulls into my parents’ driveway, and I note with both happiness and apprehension that we’re the first people here. Excellent. More time for awkwardness between me and him and less between me and Trent.

Karma, why do you hate me so? Bitch.

I step down from the truck. One of my heels catches on a stone from the gravel, and I just about stop myself falling by holding on to the truck door. Drake obviously notices if the shake of his head is anything to go by. Probably thinking it’s my own fault for not waiting. I blame the stone for being in the way. It should have known my heel would be there.

I slam the door shut and go to the house. I can’t hear the echo of any fighting or Gio squawking, so I push the front door open and pause. Still noth—wait. Laughing.

Laughing? In my parents’ house?

This is scary.

“Hello?” I call out.

“In the kitchen, Noelle!” Mom’s voice rings out.

Okay, this just got scarier.

“Um, okay...”

Either Nonna is dead or they’re getting along. It’s a sad state of affairs when I think it’s the former, isn’t it?

“Hot wench!” Gio bellows from the front room, having become accustomed to my voice. He follows it up with a catcall.

“Shut up, you damn bird!”

“Hot bloody wench! Whit whoo!”

I ignore it and walk to the kitchen. I stop before my feet have moved from carpet to tiles. Nonna is standing over the stove, and Mom is chopping something on the board, and they’re both laughing quietly. I look at them both, then the clock, then back at them.

Then I pinch myself.

Ouch.

Yep.

This is real.

“Is this an alternate universe, or...did you get drugged?” I question tentatively, looking at them.

“No, no,” Nonna says, winking at me.

Nonna winked.

Sweet fucking Jesus.

“We decided fightin’ wasn’t getting us anywhere, so we’re tryin’ to be friends,” Mom explains.

I needed the explanation, not gonna lie. “But you’re cooking together. I’ve never seen you cook together in almost twenty-nine years.”