Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(80)

The barn itself had been transformed by the arrival of guests. Music was playing, and bright tablecloths added to the festive feel. The whole back wall had been slid open to let in the view, and Charlie and Shane had fired up the huge barbecue outside, where they were being heavily supervised by a group of men eyeballing the steaks. Most of the guests appeared to have brought something, which was a benefit of living in a food and wine region, Falk supposed, and the long table against the wall heaved with platters and bottles of wine.

“—so I told Cheryl I’d ask you, and she got quite annoyed with me—what a surprise!—and told me I wasn’t to bother you, but I—”

“Excuse us. He’s needed, Rachel, I’m so sorry.” A firm voice cut through the verbal stream, and Falk felt a hand grip his elbow. He looked down to see Naomi smiling up apologetically. “Godparent duties beckon.”

Naomi led Falk away until they were out of the line of sight, then waved a hand before he could say anything. “It’s fine, you’re welcome. She’s lovely, really, but there’s a trick to getting a word in edgewise. I’ll teach you if you end up being around here long enough to need it.” Naomi nodded across the room. “So Gemma’s over there—see her? Stuck with Neil and Carol Milton? Thought you might like to rescue her yourself.”

Falk smiled. “Thanks, Naomi.”

“I like to look after my investments.” She grinned. “Have fun.”

Naomi turned and Falk watched her weave away through the tables. She edged by Zara, who was chatting with a group of teenagers, and Falk saw the girl glance up, tracking Naomi as she passed. Zara lightly rolled her eyes and, catching Falk’s gaze, mouthed I told you so as Naomi headed outside and made a beeline for Charlie.

Naomi joined him at the barbecue, leaning up and kissing him lightly on the cheek. Charlie smiled as she murmured something and gestured toward the party in a way that could only be complimentary.

See? Zara mouthed again, and Falk was about to nod in agreement—he did see, yes—when he stopped himself. Naomi was still chatting, effusive and engaged, but even as Falk watched, her eyes were darting elsewhere. Somewhere beyond Charlie. Falk followed the trajectory, and all of a sudden, he could see exactly where Naomi’s gaze was landing. Ah. Falk smiled to himself. That possibly explained one or two things.

He caught Zara’s attention once more and motioned for her to look again. Not at her father this time—Falk tilted his head—but a little to the left. He saw Zara’s eyes move and then settle in much the same way as Naomi’s had. Arriving squarely on a man who, at an arguably unsafe distance from the sizzling hot grill, was keeping a crowd of blokes utterly spellbound as he reenacted that time he’d won Mark of the Year.

Shane? Zara spun her head back to Falk, the dawning realization morphing into baffled amusement. Seriously?

Falk smiled and shrugged. He didn’t know for sure, but Zara could see the dynamic playing out across the sausages and steaks as well as he could. Smart, self-assured Dr. Naomi Kerr may be engineering excuses to stop by the vineyard, but Falk would bet good money it wasn’t Charlie she was hoping to see. Falk wouldn’t have naturally put Naomi and Shane together, but he could picture it now he thought about it. The heart wanted what it wanted, he supposed. Falk wondered why Naomi hadn’t acted on it, though. She didn’t seem the type to hold back. He watched for another minute. Perhaps, he decided, because the whole time Naomi stood there, in that dress that clung like it was made for her and with a mildly perplexed look on her beautiful face, Shane barely glanced her way.

“Well, I’ll say this for you. You certainly know how to wear a nice suit.”

Falk laughed and turned at the voice.

“Very kind, Gemma.” He held out his hands in a mock pose, and she smiled. “And you. You look beautiful.” She really did, he thought. Like she was lit from within. He glanced around. She was alone. “I was supposed to save you from someone.”

“Neil and Carol.” She laughed. “Well, you’re too late, I saved myself. Actually, Rita did, to be fair. She says we should come and eat lunch at their table.”

The Racos’ table was two pushed together, to accommodate high chairs and multiple children. Food was piled high and Charlie had surrendered the barbecue to other keen hands and was now pouring wine. He pointed Falk and Gemma to a couple of empty chairs.

“Squeeze in. You know our brother, Ben?” Charlie nodded at a friendly man who looked a lot like Charlie and Raco, just a few miles farther down the track. “He’s a cop, too, and bloody loves talking shop, whether you’re interested or not. His wife, Dee. Their kids are—I dunno, somewhere around, anyway. And my mum, Diane.”

“Yeah, we spoke a little back at the church,” Falk said, shaking hands. “Good to see you all.”

“I don’t only talk shop, for the record, but as it happens we’ve got a mutual friend.” Ben Raco leaned over to Falk. “You were both seconded on the same case a couple of years ago—”

Falk remembered the guy well. He was very smart but with a shameless talent for getting himself both in and out of trouble, and they spent most of lunch entertaining Gemma with stories of his exploits. Ben started recounting one that Falk already knew—had indeed heard told a few times, always in the same semi-horrified whisper—and as he nodded along, he found himself vaguely tuning in to a different conversation across the table.