Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(2)
There was a forceful tug on my yoga pants. “Tell them about his smile,” Delia said, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her black leotard. “And how he blew the best bubbles.” She crumpled into my side, burying her face in the folds of my sweater. Zach’s tiny forehead creased with concern. I was grateful he was too young to really understand what was happening as I echoed Delia’s sentiments and dipped the net into the water, scooping Christopher out.
She held my leg as we marched solemnly to the bathroom across the hall. Zach perched on Vero’s hip behind us, marking the end of our procession. We stood around the open lid of the toilet, paying our last respects as Christopher fell into the commode with a soft plink.
Delia grabbed my arm as I reached for the handle. “No, Mommy!”
“Sweetie, we have to. He can’t stay in the potty forever.”
“Why not?” she whimpered.
“Because…” I threw Vero a pleading look. This chapter was definitely not in my copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I wanted my money back.
“Because,” Vero supplied helpfully, “he’s going to start to stink—” I stepped hard on her foot.
“But I’ll never see him again,” Delia sobbed.
A bubble swelled from her nose and I wiped it on my sleeve. “We’ll always have his memories.” And the dozens of photos she’d made me post on #goldfishofinstagram.
“Maybe we could go to the pet store and get another one.” The words were out of Vero’s mouth before I could stop her. Delia erupted in a fit of keening wails. Zach’s lower lip began to tremble.
“I don’t want another fish!” Delia shrieked. “There are no other fish like Christopher!”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said, raising my voice as they both began to howl. “There will never be another fish like Christopher. We should honor his memory with a moment of silence.”
Delia’s mouth pinched shut. The bathroom fell quiet except for my children’s shuddering sniffles. I lowered my head, jabbing Vero in the ribs with an elbow until she bowed her head, too. I waited a full minute before reaching for the lever. This time, Delia didn’t try to stop me, and with a swirl of orange scales, Christopher was gone.
Vero gently ruffled the tear-soaked spikes of Delia’s hair. “Come on, Dee. I’ll make you some cookies.”
“Not too many,” I reminded her. My mother was preparing enough turkey and stuffing to feed an army, and she’d murder me if I spoiled the children’s appetites before dinner.
Zach squealed as Vero scooped him up and carried him downstairs. Delia lingered, giving the toilet one last look before following them to the kitchen.
As I reached for the light switch, I paused. Turning back to the toilet, I flushed it again. Because I’m not the luckiest person in the world, and I know better than to assume the dead don’t come back to haunt you.
CHAPTER 2
An hour later, Vero and I buckled Delia and Zach into their car seats. Vero wiped cookie crumb evidence from their cheeks as I hauled two small Rollaboards into the back of my minivan and slammed the hatch closed.
“What’s the luggage for?” Vero asked.
“I got an email from Steven this morning. He’s moved into his new place and he wants to take the kids for the weekend.” He’d attached photos of the restored farmhouse he’d rented in Fauquier County, careful to point out that the children’s bedrooms and toys were already unpacked, and the kitchen was stocked and ready for them. He’d cc’d his attorney, Guy, who had replied to both of us, congratulating Steven on finding such a “great place for the kids,” which was clearly lawyer-speak for you have no grounds to fight this.
It had been easy to keep the kids away from Steven’s farm since his ex-fiancée’s arrest. After five bodies had been found buried there and Theresa Hall had been implicated in the ensuing investigation, Steven had called off their engagement. He’d moved out of her town house within hours and had been sleeping on the sofa in the sales trailer on his farm since. He and his attorney had both agreed it would be best for the children to suspend their overnight visits until he was back on his feet. But they didn’t know what Vero and I knew. That someone had posted an ad on an online forum, offering a hundred thousand dollars to anyone willing to dispose of Steven Donovan. As far as Vero and I could tell, the forum was a virtual cesspool thinly disguised as a mom’s support group—an anonymous gathering space for hundreds of disgruntled middle-aged women to bitch about things that bothered them, namely their husbands, bosses, and boyfriends. Apparently, for those with means, it was also a way of getting rid of them.
Vero looked aghast as she slid the van door closed, shutting the children inside. “You’re not actually going to let them stay with him, are you?”
“Of course not. I called my parents and asked if the children could stay with them. Then I emailed Steven and told him the kids already had plans.”
A wicked smile pulled at Vero’s lips as we climbed into the van. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and she wagged an eyebrow. “Three whole days without the kids? I can spend a few nights at my cousin’s place if you want to invite Julian over to play house for the weekend.”
My face warmed when I pictured Julian in my kitchen. Or my bedroom. I snuck a shameful glance in the rearview mirror, but Zach’s head was already drooping against his car seat and Delia’s red-rimmed eyes were drifting closed. “I don’t have time to play house.” As tempting as it was to spend a weekend alone with the sexy young law student I’d been seeing, I had far more important things to do. “I have to figure out who posted that job offer. I won’t feel safe letting the kids spend the weekends with Steven until I’m sure nobody’s trying to kill him.” And if that wasn’t enough, I had a pitch due to my agent by nine A.M. Monday morning.